Boom.

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boom
BY PETER SINN NACHTRIEB

★
DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
INC.
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boom — NACHTRIEB
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boom
BY PETER SINN NACHTRIEB

DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
INC.
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BOOM
Copyright © 2008, 2009, Peter Sinn Nachtrieb

All Rights Reserved

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that performance of

BOOM is subject to payment of a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws
of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International
Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British
Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright
Convention, the Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all
countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights,
including without limitation professional/amateur stage rights, motion picture, recita-
tion, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording,
all other forms of mechanical, electronic and digital reproduction, transmission and dis-
tribution, such as CD, DVD, the Internet, private and file-sharing networks, informa-
tion storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, and the rights of translation into for-
eign languages are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed upon the matter of
readings, permission for which must be secured from the Author’s agent in writing.

The English language stock and amateur stage performance rights in the United States,
its territories, possessions and Canada for BOOM are controlled exclusively by
DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC., 440 Park Avenue South, New York, NY
10016. No professional or nonprofessional performance of the Play may be given with-
out obtaining in advance the written permission of DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE,
INC., and paying the requisite fee.

Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to Bret Adams, Ltd., 448
West 44th Street, New York, NY 10036. Attn: Mark Orsini.

SPECIAL NOTE
Anyone receiving permission to produce BOOM is required to give credit to the
Author as sole and exclusive Author of the Play on the title page of all programs dis-
tributed in connection with performances of the Play and in all instances in which the
title of the Play appears for purposes of advertising, publicizing or otherwise exploit-
ing the Play and/or a production thereof. The name of the Author must appear on a
separate line, in which no other name appears, immediately beneath the title and in
size of type equal to 50% of the size of the largest, most prominent letter used for the
title of the Play. No person, firm or entity may receive credit larger or more prominent
than that accorded the Author. The following acknowledgments must appear on the
title page in all programs distributed in connection with performances of the Play:

The world premiere of BOOM was presented by Ars Nova,

Jason Eagan, Artistic Director; Jon Steingart & Jenny Wiener, Executive Producers.

BOOM was originally developed at Brown/Trinity Playwrights Repertory

in the summer of 2007, directed by Kenneth Prestininzi.

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For my science teachers

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Kenneth Prestininzi for invaluable dramaturgy; Lowry

Marshall for telling me to get rid of the third arm; Michelle Carter
for being there at the birth of this play; Constance Crawford,
Susannah Flood and Jimmy King for their innovation; Emily
Shooltz, Jason Eagan, Alex Timbers, Megan Ferguson, Lucas Near-
Verbrugghe, Susan Wands and everyone at Ars Nova for their
generosity and making the show so awesome; Brown/Trinity
Playwrights Rep and the entire summer 2007 crew; Howard
Shalwitz, Elissa Goetschius, John Vreeke, Sarah Marshall, Aubrey
Deeker, Kimberly Gilbert, Woolly Mammoth Theatre, Jerry
Manning and Seattle Rep; Mark Orsini, Bruce Ostler and the
Bret Adams Ltd. family; Lisa Steindler, Amy Mueller, Kent
Nicholson, Tracy Ward, Will Dunne, Sean Daniels, Roy Conboy,
Anne Galjour, Brian Thorstenson, Ken Clifton and the
Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, The Z Space Studio, The
Playwrights Foundation, San Francisco State University, Harold
and Ursula Nachtrieb, George Nachtrieb, Anne Zesiger, the entire
Nachtrieb clan, and a special shout-out to more-than-a-boyfriend
Mark Marino.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

On a year off from college, I landed a four-month job working for

a marine biologist on a Caribbean island station (more like a spit
of sand) just off the coast of Panama. For ninety days straight we
woke before dawn, boated out two miles to a shallow reef, and
observed fish spawn (specifically the Beaugregory Damselfish,
Stegastes leucostictus, for those of you interested in the details). We
recorded who was mating with whom, the number of eggs laid, the
number of laid eggs cannibalized by the male, and many other
exciting tidbits of fish data.

On occasional mornings, sudden, fierce, fast-moving storms would

blow through as we worked in the water. First a strong wind, then
hard rain that would transform the first couple feet of the sea to a
froth. Down below, as the sky got dark, the fish would retreat into
the crannies of the coral, as though they were readying for
sleep/night. Meanwhile we hapless humans bobbed at the surface
hoping that lightning wouldn’t strike our boat. The storms would
pass quickly, the sun would return, and the fish would gradually
emerge into the open once again.

So, yeah: fish, sex, hiding from impending doom … What a totally
awesome play that would be, I thought to myself approximately
ten years later. Am I right? Totally, right?

In college I majored in both theater and biology and I think this

play might be an attempt to understand the relationship between
the two. For me, both fields are attempting the same thing: to try
and make some sense of the world in an epic and intimate way.

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BOOM was originally developed at Brown/Trinity Playwrights

Repertory (Lowry Marshall, Artistic Director), in Providence,
Rhode Island, in the summer of 2007. It was directed by Kenneth
Prestininzi and the production stage manager was Kristen Gibbs.
The cast was as follows:

JULES ....................................................................... Jimmy King

JO ....................................................................... Susannah Flood
BARBARA ................................................... Constance Crawford

BOOM received its world premiere by Ars Nova (Jason Eagan,

Artistic Director; Jon Steingart and Jenny Wiener, Executive
Producers), in New York City, on March 20, 2008. It was directed
by Alex Timbers; the set design was by Wilson Chin; the costume
design was by Emily Rebholz; the lighting design was by Marcus
Doshi; the sound design was by Mark Huang; and the production
stage manager was Alaina Taylor. The cast was as follows:

JULES ..................................................... Lucas Near-Verbrugghe

JO ...................................................................... Megan Ferguson
BARBARA ............................................................... Susan Wands

BOOM was subsequently produced at Woolly Mammoth Theatre

Company (Howard Shalwitz, Artistic Director), in Washington,
D.C., in November, 2008. It was directed by John Vreeke; the set
design was by Thomas Kamm; the costume design was by Ivania
Stack; the lighting design was by Colin K. Bills; the sound design
was by Neil McFadden; and the production stage manager was
William E. Cruttenden III. The cast was as follows:

JULES .................................................................. Aubrey Deeker

JO ..................................................................... Kimberly Gilbert
BARBARA ............................................................ Sarah Marshall

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CHARACTERS

JULES — a marine biology graduate student. Twenty-eightish,

uncomfortable, excitable, literal.
JO — an undergraduate journalism student. Twenty-twoish,
strong, skeptical, physical.
BARBARA — A natural history docent. Forties to fifties, buoyant,
vulnerable, passionate, grand.

PLACE

Jules’ subterranean university research lab that has been awkwardly

fashioned into a living area. There are no windows. A large thick
door is the only entrance. There is a fish tank, bubbling.

A sea of cabinets and drawers and other modes of storage dominate

the walls.

This is also an exhibit.

There is a control station that looks like an old-style tech booth

with giant levers, switches, analog knobs and such. And a timpani.
Maybe some other special devices. This is Barbara’s main area.

TIME

When we least expect it.

A NOTE ON BARBARA’S SPEAKING HABITS

Barbara occasionally uses a gesture instead of words. In the script I

have placed the text that the gesture is intended to substitute in
brackets. [Like this!].

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The universe could so easily have remained lifeless and

simple — just physics and chemistry, just the scattered dust
of the cosmic explosion that gave birth to time and space.
The fact that it did not — the fact that life evolved out of
nearly nothing, some ten billion years after the universe
evolved out of literally nothing — is a fact so staggering
that I would be mad to attempt words to do it justice.

—Richard Dawkins, The Ancestor’s Tale

There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about

every human being.

—Thornton Wilder, Our Town

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boom
Barbara bursts into the space.

She wears a nametag. She’s just come from a meeting. Severe

emotion is being wound up and contained.

A deep breath.

She puts something on the lab set that should have already
been there. Fish food, maybe. She crosses to her area.

She pulls a big lever that, with a snap, shuts off the lights,
except perhaps an interesting one around her.

Barbara picks up a set of timpani mallets and plays a brief,

loud, introductory song that suggests danger. The ferocity of
the playing contrasts her exterior calm. She’s working some-
thing out hitting the drum.

Upon completion, she sets the mallets down, pulls another

lever that turns on the lights of a fish tank.

Barbara pulls another lever that lights up the lab/apartment.

Jules, smiling, stares at Jo.

Jo, not smiling, stares at the fish tank.

JULES. Are you thirsty?

JO. No. (Beat.)
JULES. Can I take your coat?
JO. I’m not wearing a coat. (Beat.)

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JULES. Can I take something from you and put it somewhere?

JO. Take off your shirt.
JULES. Pardon?
JO. You’re not deaf.
JULES. Now?
JO. Did you want to fuck clothed?
JULES. You sure you don’t want some water? Something stronger?
(Beat. Jules begins to unbutton his shirt. Jo stares at the fish.)
JO. What kind?
JULES. Um, Old Navy.
JO. The fish.
JULES. Oh. Beaugregory Damselfish.
Stegastes leucostictus. As they were called in ancient Greece.
That’s Dorothy.
JO. Like the Golden Girl?
JULES. Like my younger sister. Her name, at least.
JO. Is she tall and mannish?
JULES. No, we’re from Kansas.
You know … Dorothy?
My parents were into obviously relevant names.
JO. What’d they call you?
JULES. Jules.
After Jules Verne. I’m glad they didn’t call me Vern, you know,
because …
They had a hunch I liked aquatic things.
JO. Why?
JULES. I was a water birth. Unintentionally.
You never told me your name.
JO. Take off your pants. (Beat. Jules slowly undoes his belt and pulls
his pants down. He has difficulty disrobing. Balance issues? Forgetting
to take his shoes off first? While doing this … )
JULES. I only lived there till I was five. Kansas. Then we moved.
My mom, two sisters and me did. My dad stayed. Sort of. I mean,
I was five so I don’t really know the actual details, you know, he,
um, well, he stayed in Kansas. But left. In a way, I guess. More like
sucked up. And then dropped. Into a field.
He wasn’t really happy. Before. Hated being a weatherman. I
think he hated Kansas. I remember that much. My five-year-old
intuitive sense of … grief.
Anyway, we moved to Florida. Which, at least in my opinion,

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was much nicer than Kansas. For a while. Until, well, until my sis-
ter decided to run outdoors in a hurricane right when a palm tree
decided that it couldn’t stay in the ground anymore, and my mom,
other sister and I moved to Kenya. “Let’s start fresh! Let’s get away
from it all!” my mom said. Although the “all” we were getting away
from apparently didn’t include malaria, and the fevers that malaria
causes and the hallucinations that the fever causes and the hyenas
that wait outside of medical tents ready to pounce on weak young
flesh staggering out in a dream, and soon my mom and I moved here,
where we’ve lived ever since. Except for my mom, who couldn’t have
picked a worse time to go on a tour of un-reinforced masonry in
California. And here I am. (Jules is now in his flannel boxer shorts,
T-shirt, and socks.) Where are you from? (Jo kisses Jules actively,
aggressively, maybe pressing him against a wall. Jules is frozen, stiff, not
responding. Jo stops kissing, steps away. Beat.)
JO. Massachusetts.
JULES. Oh. Nice.
JO. No, it’s not.
JULES. Too many blizzards?
JO. I like snow. (Beat.)
JULES. Which part of Massachusetts?
JO. What was that?
JULES. Worcester?
JO. You said you loved to kiss.
JULES. When?
JO. “I love kissing, body contact, oral sex, and intensely significant
coupling.”
JULES. Oh right.
JO. You wrote that in your ad.
JULES. You remember things.
JO. That was the worst kiss ever.
JULES. It was surprising. I was surprised.
JO. That was a kiss of someone who does not enjoy the feel of lips.
JULES. I was hoping we could talk a little bit first. (Jo smiles.)
JO. I didn’t come here to talk.
JULES. It would help me relax.
JO. Why?
JULES. I’ve never met anyone. This way.
JO. Which way?
JULES. With the help of technology.

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JO. So?
JULES. I’m anxious.
JO. Why?
JULES. It’s abrupt.
JO. And?
JULES. I’ve got some spanakopita. I just heated them up. So
maybe we could — (Jo goes to kiss Jules. He jumps back. Jo and Jules
engage in a little cat-and-mouse. Maybe furniture is involved.)
JO. Come here.
JULES. We should eat them while they’re warm.
JO. This is not a game.
JULES. Warm and flakey.
JO. Sex! Now!
JULES. I appreciate your youthful eagerness, but you should under-
stand that sometimes it takes me — (Jo jumps on Jules, pushes him
onto the ground or futon and gets on top of him.) Holy crap.
JO. Stop thinking.
JULES. But —
JO. Start fucking.
JULES. I —
JO. Make me believe in life!
JULES. I can’t just —
JO. Listen to your instincts!
JULES. I’m a homosexual. (Jo stops. A beat.) I think that’s why I’m
having a difficult time. (Jo gets off of Jules.) I should have mentioned
it earlier.
JO. You didn’t.
JULES. No.
JO. Why didn’t you?
JULES. I thought it would make you not want to come over.
Do you mind if I put my pants back on?
JO. You don’t look gay.
JULES. Clothing-wise?
JO. You don’t have gay eyes.
JULES. I’m wearing contacts right now so —
JO. Did you think I was a man?
JULES. What?
JO. Jo with an e?
JULES. Your name is Jo?
JO. The female spelling.

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JULES. You sent me a picture.

JO. So you’re bi-curious.
JULES. Oh, no. It’s good to know your name.
JO. Did you just get born again? Are you a fundamentalist?
JULES. I’m a marine biologist.
JO. I don’t get it.
JULES. Well, it’s a field of science where we study —
JO. What is this?
JULES. I should put on some music.
JO. This is bullshit. (Jules walks to an iPod with speakers.)
JULES. I just bought one of those things that play all your songs.
JO. I don’t have a lot of time! (Barbara dums the timpani, lightly.)
JULES. No. We don’t.
JO. I’m twenty-two.
JULES. OK.
JO. It’s Saturday night.
JULES. I think if I explained why —
JO. And there is an enormous world out there!
JULES. Uh-huh.
JO. Millions and millions of options.
JULES. It’s a vibrant campus.
JO. And I only get to pick one at a time! Of all the recitals, ragers,
and sex partners I could have selected from tonight, I picked this.
I picked you. And … And …
JULES. Yay?
JO. And what if? What fucking if? (Beat.)
JULES. What if what?
JO. What if this is it?
What if I’ve set a series of events into motion that will doom
me to be trapped forever in some desperate monotonous life and in
my last breaths, when I look back at all the mistakes I’ve made, I’ll
remember this moment, now, as the moment I truly fucked it all up.
And then I die.
JULES. Mm. (Jo collects her bag, about to leave.)
JO. Did you think about that?
JULES. Maybe.
JO. Did you think about what that means?
JULES. Don’t go!
JO. Maybe you should think about that ’cause WE’RE ALL
GONNA DIE! (Barbara pulls down a large lever/switch, which makes

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a loud noise. Jo instantly collapses to the floor as though she has just been
unplugged.)
JULES. Are you OK? Jo? Hello? (Jules shakes Jo gently. She doesn’t
move. Checks for breathing, pulse. None.) Shoot! Shoot shoot shoot.
(Jules looks around as though maybe someone could help, does that
“emergency situation” shuffle of indecision. Finally, he kneels beside her,
pinches her nose and slowly moves in to do rescue breathing. Jules is
almost over her lips when Barbara flips the switch up. Jo jerks awake.)
JO. AHHHH! (Jules falls back.)
JULES. Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness.
JO. Motherfucker.
JULES. That was shocking. (Jo sits up, looks at the surroundings sus-
piciously, searching for a cause.) Are you all right?
JO. I hate that question.
JULES. You weren’t breathing.
JO. What’s your point?
JULES. You were yelling at me, about to leave, and then you col-
lapsed and weren’t breathing.
JO. How old is this building?
JULES. Uh, I don’t know. Forty, fifty years?
JO. Is it safe?
JULES. It was designed to be a bomb shelter. I don’t … Do you
need to lie down?
JO. (To herself.) What now?
JULES. I should bring you some water. A pillow. Spanakopita.
JO. (To herself.) Why are you doing this now?
JULES. Has that happened before?
JO. What?
JULES. What just happened.
JO. What just happened?
JULES. I’m being confused.
JO. Do you have bourbon?
JULES. I might.
JO. I’d like some bourbon.
JULES. Are you sure that’s a good —
JO. On the rocks.
JULES. That’s one of the truths of biologists. We always have ice.
To freeze the things we kill.
And for drinks. (Jo pulls out a steno pad from a backpack and
scribbles copious notes. Jules opens a cabinet filled to the brim with plas-

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tic red frat-party cups. Gets two. He opens a cabinet filled to the brim
with bottles of bourbon. He gets a bottle. He opens a stuffed freezer,
retrieves some ice and prepares the drink. Perhaps he presses play on the
iPod. Before returning to Jo with drinks, Jules heads towards the door
and locks the deadbolt, or perhaps some futuristic impressive electronic
locking knob.) So. You go to school?
Here?
What are you majoring in?
JO. Do we have to talk?
JULES. No. No. (Beat.)
JO. Journalism.
JULES. Oh neat! Journalism. That’s really neat.
JO. Yeah, it’s neat.
JULES. What got you into that?
JO. The hair. Newscaster hair.
JULES. (Not hearing.) Oh. That’s great!
JO. Never seen in the real world. Difficult to reproduce. Huge.
That’s powerful.
JULES. Mmm-hmm.
JO. Newscaster hair keeps the public from going insane. A soothing
visual balance to that cruel graphic icon in the corner of the screen,
some artist’s rendering of the worst things. The world may be unrav-
eling at a disturbing pace but lo, the hair is not: noble, reliable,
immobile … it’s the helmet we all need so badly to help us tolerate
another day.
I wanted hair like that. (Jules returns with the drinks, and a plate
of spanakopita.)
JULES. That’s so great to be a journalist. Guardians of the First
Amendment. Protectors of democracy. Deep Throat. What?
JO. You weren’t listening.
JULES. I was making the drinks.
JO. What was I saying?
JULES. The ice was loud.
JO. You just want to talk about you?
JULES. I’m listening now.
JO. So, your family’s dead?
JULES. Pardon?
JO. You have an entire family of dead people? Tornadoes, hyenas,
whatnot.
JULES. Oh. Yes.

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JO. That must suck.

JULES. Not exactly how I would phrase the —
JO. That must’ve really messed you up.
JULES. Everything does something.
JO. You’re haunted by ghosts.
JULES. More by the laws of physics.
JO. What are all the thoughts rattling in your mind when you’re
not listening to the answers to questions you ask? (Barbara hits the
timpani. Jules looks upwards. Jules hands Jo the drink.)
JULES. Cheers.
JO. I don’t think so.
JULES. You don’t like cheering?
JO. This isn’t a date.
JULES. It isn’t?
JO. A “casual encounter” does not have a toasting portion.
JULES. I was starting to feel a bond.
JO. Why am I here?
JULES. That’s something we all want to know, isn’t it? Is there a
“purpose” to our form and substance? Or are we simply the ran-
dom result of billions of years of chemical reactions and accidents
influenced by pressures from the environment? Do we really —
JO. That wasn’t my question.
JULES. It’s what you asked.
JO. Why did you invite me to your … what is this, a lab?
JULES. My grant doesn’t cover housing.
A drink. Or two. Conversation. Dinner. Building trust. A con-
nection. Dessert. Probably some more drinks. Deep breaths. Focus.
Keeping the goal clear. And then …
JO. What?
JULES. You know.
JO. No I don’t.
JULES. What I wrote. Intensely significant coupling. (Beat.)
JO. You’re a fag.
JULES. You shouldn’t make assumptions based on that.
JO. I’m assuming that you fuck men.
JULES. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to with a woman.
JO. Have you ever?
JULES. No.
JO. See?
JULES. I’ve never had sex. With anything.

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JO. Interesting.
JULES. I mean, of course, with myself. I’m familiar with the gen-
eral sensations.
JO. How do you even know you’re a gay?
JULES. The non-randomness of the erections.
JO. And still you’ve never.
JULES. I don’t know if it’s been a choice.
JO. Yes it has.
JULES. I haven’t found the opportunity.
JO. There are thousands of men out there with low standards.
JULES. I know. Was that meant to be insulting?
JO. You have chosen to only make sweet love to your hand. Just
like you chose to go online, post a misleading ad and have me here
for … why am I really here?
JULES. The future of humanity depends on it. (Barbara dums the
timpani.)
JO. I have a final project for my magazine class: “Find a story in an
unconventional place that uplifts you. Personally. Deeply. Truly.”
JULES. Are we changing subjects?
JO. “The following topics and items may not be used in your uplift-
ing story: the sick, disabled, whales or any animal with fur, sports,
war, poor people getting rich, rich people getting morals, underdogs
in general, or anything that could be celebrated on a card.”
JULES. I used to send those to myself from across town.
JO. “In other words: no tricks. No lies. Find a story that makes
you feel honest, genuine, hope.”
JULES. Neat.
JO. I’m having a hard time with it.
JULES. So … you went online to clear your head —
JO. This is the assignment.
JULES. Oh.
JO. Random sex as the last glimmer of hope in a decaying society.
Everyone feels alone. Betrayed by their friends and families, their
country, their dreams, their own selves. You know?
JULES. (Doesn’t know.) Mmm.
JO. With nowhere to go in their normal depressing lives, people are
forced to turn to the anonymous, the stranger. Alone, on laptops in
isolated homes, a series of emails or an online chat brings two or
more people together for a brief moment in time. No past. No
future. All that matters is the moment.

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They meet to fulfill each other’s carnal needs, to find a

moment of freedom, release, of sensory bliss that makes them for-
get how motherfucked up everything is. In no-strings sex, hope is
still possible.
It’s due Monday. (Jo writes in her steno pad.)
JULES. I could be uplifting.
JO. I should just make something up.
JULES. You can’t do that.
JO. Why not?
JULES. You’re a journalist. (Beat.)
JO. Where’ve you been the last few years?
JULES. On a desert island.
JO. ’Cause even The New York Times …
Really?
JULES. Well, more like a spit of sand …
JO. Really.
JULES. There was a volleyball net. That was nice. Of course there
wasn’t anyone else to —
JO. Sounds nice.
JULES. Very peaceful. Except when it rained. Corrugated tin.
JO. How long were you there?
JULES. Four years. Off and on. Nine months straight the last
stretch. Lots and lots of data. Did you see The Shining?
JO. Yes.
JULES. It was much nicer solitude than that.
JO. Four years.
JULES. Yeah.
JO. Fish?
JULES. That’s them.
JO. What about them?
JULES. Sleeping patterns. The significance of sunlight, radiation
levels and extraterrestrial disturbances on diurnal fish activity, to be
more specific. There are times of the year where storms come through
in the morning, big fierce ones where the sky goes dark and it rains so
hard that the first two feet of water is froth. It could be like ten A.M.
and the fish will think it’s time for bed. Time for bed, of course, is the
wrong thing to say.
JO. Fascinating.
JULES. I’ve been researching this radical new sleeping pattern that’s
been taking place on this one reef I study. It’s really really interesting.

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