The Anarchist Character Analysis

BERTOZZO: (To Audience) Good evening. I am Inspector Francesco Giovanni Batista Giancarlo Bertozzo of the Security Police. This is my office on the first floor of our notorious headquarters here in Milan. Notorious following a sordid little incident a few weeks ago when an anarchist, under interrogation in a similar room a few floors above, fell through the window. Although my colleagues claimed quite reasonably, that the incident was suicide, the official verdict of the enquiry is that the death of the anarchist was “accidental.” Bit ambiguous you see. So there’s been public outrage, accusations, demonstrations and so on flying around this building for weeks. Not the best atmosphere in which a decent nine to five plainclothes policeman like myself can do an honest inconspicuous day’s work.

BERTOZZO: I ought to warn you that the author of this sick little play, Dario Fo, has the traditional, irrational hatred of the police common to all narrow-minded left-wingers and so I shall, no doubt, be the unwilling butt of endless anti-authoritarian jibes.

MANIAC: I’ll throw myself out! How high are we? I will.

BERTOZZO: Bugger him! I’ll give him a hand.

CONSTABLE: This place has got a bad enough record as it is. We can’t afford another one.

BERTOZZO: You’re right, Constable.

CONSTABLE: I know I’m right.

MANIAC: And when I’m down there all sludgy on the pavement and doing the death rattle and be warned I shall take a long time to die and I’ll be rattling a lot—the journalists will be flocking round and I’ll tell them, rattling away, that you pushed me!! (He makes to jump)

SUPERINTENDENT: Who is this dribbling cretin?

PISSANI: Professor Marco Maria Malipiero!

SUPERINTENDENT: What!

PISSANI: First Councillor to the High Court!

SUPERINTENDENT: What!

PISSANI: His honour, the judge is here to conduct the new enquiry…

SUPERINTENDENT: (To PISSANI) Why didn’t you warn me. (To MANIAC) We were expecting you, your Honour, but not so soon.

MANIAC: What imaginations! Is it any wonder with your incredible inventions battering him from all sides that the suspect is seized with the most enormous raptus and launches himself into space? I’ll be frank. You two are done for. You will be charged forthwith with instigating this man to commit suicide.

Both protest.

PISSANI: The second version.

CONSTABLE: What second version do you want?

SUPERINTENDENT: That one.

CONSTABLE: No. That’s the second first version.

PISSANI: Well where’s the first second version?

CONSTABLE: Here.

All three give file to MANIAC

ALL THREE: The second version!

MANIAC: So there has been a re-writing of events.

SUPERINTENDENT: A slight correction.

MANIAC: Yes?

SUPERINTENDENT: We corrected the time of the original interrogation in which we employed the…

MANIAC: The lies?

SUPERINTENDENT: … Er deception strategy. The session ended at eight instead of nearly midnight as previously stated.

MANIAC: You moved everything forward four hours.

PISSANI: Except the fall from the window. There were witnesses to that.

PISSANI: He’s right!

He climbs onto the window sill.

PISSANI: I can’t bear the disgrace! Famiglia, pardona me!

SUPERINTENDENT: No! No! No! There has to be another way!

MANIAC: Can’t you feel the raptus boiling up inside you?

PISSANI: Oh oh oooh.

Swaying there, about to jump.

MANIAC: One great liberating leap!

SUPERINTENDENT: (Suddenly) I’ve got it! Don’t panic! I’ve got it!

PISSANI: If I want to panic, I’ll panic! I’m going!

As he leaps the SUPERINTENDENT grabs him and pulls him back in.

MANIAC suddenly turns on them.

MANIAC: This explains why so many perfectly ordinary, bored people suddenly dress themselves up as anarchists and revolutionaries—they are completely innocent, they just want to get themselves arrested so they can have a fucking good laugh for once in their lives. Our cunning anarchist is obviously in his grave right now, pissing himself!

Pause. The irony has got through.

PISSANI: I was just scaring him. You are the nutter!

SUPERINTENDENT: I’m a nutter!?

CONSTABLE: Please.

PISSANI: Well you bloody pushed him, chum!

SUPERINTENDENT: Did I? Did I? That is a laugh alright! All on my own, was I!

Suddenly all three realise at the same instant that the MANIAC is listening. They freeze. Slowly turn. The MANIAC has a beatific smile. Pause. No one speaks.

FELETTI: So! Notwithstanding knowing that to handle, let, alone make, bombs of this kind probably requires military skill, you completely ignored all other avenues of investigation and concentrated your entire effort on the most pathetic and disorganised group of anarchists in Italy.

SUPERINTENDENT: Pathetic they may look, but their disorganisation is only a cunning façade.

FELETTI: And what do we find behind this cunning façade. Superintendent? I’ll tell you. A group of ten, one of whom was a spy employed by this office, two detectives from the crime squad, and a fourth member turns out to be a notorious fascist well known to everyone except this feeble bunch of anarchists. How many more government employees have you got scattered amongst the far left?

MANIAC: You are a journalist Miss Feletti, so you want to use your pen to lance the public boil, but what will you achieve? A huge scandal, a heap of big nobs compromised head of the police force shunted off into retirement.

FELETTI: Not a bad day’s work.

MANIAC: It’s just another chance for the pristine beauticians of the Communist Party to point out another wart on the body politic and pose themselves as the party of honesty But the STATE, Miss Feletti, the State remains, still presenting corruption as the exception to the rule, when the system the State was designed to protect is corruption itself. Corruption is the rule.

MANIAC: (Getting carried away. To audience) How many more Russian spies are downing port at Buckingham Palace? Why did the Anthony Blunt cover-up happen? Why? Because class runs thicker than nationhood or ideology. But who gives a TINKER’S about that—what the scandal-mongering press cares about Blunt is whether he is knocking off Guy Burgess.

SUPERINTENDENT: (Name of actor who is playing the part) This isn’t Dario Fo.

MANIAC: I know, but I love bit of political gossip. What about the bastard politicians and businessmen mixed-up in busting Rhodesian oil sanctions? We all know who they are. Are there any arrests? Not fucking likely. Meanwhile innocent black kids can’t walk the streets for fear of getting picked up on SUS charges.

PISSANI: This is unheard of distortion of the author’s meaning!

MANIAC: He’ll get his royalties. Who’s moaning?

PISSANI: Get back to the script!

SUPERINTENDENT: This is an insult to Dario Fo!

BERTOZZO: (To Audience) Good evening. I am Inspector Francesco Giovanni Batista Giancarlo Bertozzo of the Security Police. This is my office on the first floor of our notorious headquarters here in Milan. Notorious following a sordid little incident a few weeks ago when an anarchist, under interrogation in a similar room a few floors above, fell through the window. Although my colleagues claimed quite reasonably, that the incident was suicide, the official verdict of the enquiry is that the death of the anarchist was “accidental.” Bit ambiguous you see. So there’s been public outrage, accusations, demonstrations and so on flying around this building for weeks. Not the best atmosphere in which a decent nine to five plainclothes policeman like myself can do an honest inconspicuous day’s work.

BERTOZZO: I ought to warn you that the author of this sick little play, Dario Fo, has the traditional, irrational hatred of the police common to all narrow-minded left-wingers and so I shall, no doubt, be the unwilling butt of endless anti-authoritarian jibes.

MANIAC: I’ll throw myself out! How high are we? I will.

BERTOZZO: Bugger him! I’ll give him a hand.

CONSTABLE: This place has got a bad enough record as it is. We can’t afford another one.

BERTOZZO: You’re right, Constable.

CONSTABLE: I know I’m right.

MANIAC: And when I’m down there all sludgy on the pavement and doing the death rattle and be warned I shall take a long time to die and I’ll be rattling a lot—the journalists will be flocking round and I’ll tell them, rattling away, that you pushed me!! (He makes to jump)

SUPERINTENDENT: Who is this dribbling cretin?

PISSANI: Professor Marco Maria Malipiero!

SUPERINTENDENT: What!

PISSANI: First Councillor to the High Court!

SUPERINTENDENT: What!

PISSANI: His honour, the judge is here to conduct the new enquiry…

SUPERINTENDENT: (To PISSANI) Why didn’t you warn me. (To MANIAC) We were expecting you, your Honour, but not so soon.

MANIAC: What imaginations! Is it any wonder with your incredible inventions battering him from all sides that the suspect is seized with the most enormous raptus and launches himself into space? I’ll be frank. You two are done for. You will be charged forthwith with instigating this man to commit suicide.

Both protest.

PISSANI: The second version.

CONSTABLE: What second version do you want?

SUPERINTENDENT: That one.

CONSTABLE: No. That’s the second first version.

PISSANI: Well where’s the first second version?

CONSTABLE: Here.

All three give file to MANIAC

ALL THREE: The second version!

MANIAC: So there has been a re-writing of events.

SUPERINTENDENT: A slight correction.

MANIAC: Yes?

SUPERINTENDENT: We corrected the time of the original interrogation in which we employed the…

MANIAC: The lies?

SUPERINTENDENT: … Er deception strategy. The session ended at eight instead of nearly midnight as previously stated.

MANIAC: You moved everything forward four hours.

PISSANI: Except the fall from the window. There were witnesses to that.

PISSANI: He’s right!

He climbs onto the window sill.

PISSANI: I can’t bear the disgrace! Famiglia, pardona me!

SUPERINTENDENT: No! No! No! There has to be another way!

MANIAC: Can’t you feel the raptus boiling up inside you?

PISSANI: Oh oh oooh.

Swaying there, about to jump.

MANIAC: One great liberating leap!

SUPERINTENDENT: (Suddenly) I’ve got it! Don’t panic! I’ve got it!

PISSANI: If I want to panic, I’ll panic! I’m going!

As he leaps the SUPERINTENDENT grabs him and pulls him back in.

MANIAC suddenly turns on them.

MANIAC: This explains why so many perfectly ordinary, bored people suddenly dress themselves up as anarchists and revolutionaries—they are completely innocent, they just want to get themselves arrested so they can have a fucking good laugh for once in their lives. Our cunning anarchist is obviously in his grave right now, pissing himself!

Pause. The irony has got through.

PISSANI: I was just scaring him. You are the nutter!

SUPERINTENDENT: I’m a nutter!?

CONSTABLE: Please.

PISSANI: Well you bloody pushed him, chum!

SUPERINTENDENT: Did I? Did I? That is a laugh alright! All on my own, was I!

Suddenly all three realise at the same instant that the MANIAC is listening. They freeze. Slowly turn. The MANIAC has a beatific smile. Pause. No one speaks.

FELETTI: So! Notwithstanding knowing that to handle, let, alone make, bombs of this kind probably requires military skill, you completely ignored all other avenues of investigation and concentrated your entire effort on the most pathetic and disorganised group of anarchists in Italy.

SUPERINTENDENT: Pathetic they may look, but their disorganisation is only a cunning façade.

FELETTI: And what do we find behind this cunning façade. Superintendent? I’ll tell you. A group of ten, one of whom was a spy employed by this office, two detectives from the crime squad, and a fourth member turns out to be a notorious fascist well known to everyone except this feeble bunch of anarchists. How many more government employees have you got scattered amongst the far left?

MANIAC: You are a journalist Miss Feletti, so you want to use your pen to lance the public boil, but what will you achieve? A huge scandal, a heap of big nobs compromised head of the police force shunted off into retirement.

FELETTI: Not a bad day’s work.

MANIAC: It’s just another chance for the pristine beauticians of the Communist Party to point out another wart on the body politic and pose themselves as the party of honesty But the STATE, Miss Feletti, the State remains, still presenting corruption as the exception to the rule, when the system the State was designed to protect is corruption itself. Corruption is the rule.

MANIAC: (Getting carried away. To audience) How many more Russian spies are downing port at Buckingham Palace? Why did the Anthony Blunt cover-up happen? Why? Because class runs thicker than nationhood or ideology. But who gives a TINKER’S about that—what the scandal-mongering press cares about Blunt is whether he is knocking off Guy Burgess.

SUPERINTENDENT: (Name of actor who is playing the part) This isn’t Dario Fo.

MANIAC: I know, but I love bit of political gossip. What about the bastard politicians and businessmen mixed-up in busting Rhodesian oil sanctions? We all know who they are. Are there any arrests? Not fucking likely. Meanwhile innocent black kids can’t walk the streets for fear of getting picked up on SUS charges.

PISSANI: This is unheard of distortion of the author’s meaning!

MANIAC: He’ll get his royalties. Who’s moaning?

PISSANI: Get back to the script!

SUPERINTENDENT: This is an insult to Dario Fo!