There is darkness onstage, save for the very faint spotlight shining on an unknown individual standing center. Suddenly the silence is broken by three knocks of a gavel heard from the upstage area. The center spotlight is brought to full, revealing a man wearing dark brown slacks, a white shirt with its sleeves rolled, and a black tie. He adjusts his glasses and speaks as the Messenger, the clerk of the court: “I pray you all give your audience,” He continues on to say, “For ye shall hear how our Heaven-King / Calleth Everyman to a general reckoning” (“Everyman”). The Messenger retreats to his small desk upstage right, the spotlight is reduced, and the entire thrust stage is now lit with an amber glow, revealing a judge, God, sitting upstage center behind an elevated desk. God, an aged gentleman wearing the modern attire for a judge, is busily shuffling documents around and seems distressed. A lonely lawyer, Everyman, is also seen seated at a distance down stage right, wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. His feet are lazily propped up on the desk in front of him, and he is drinking a cup of coffee while reading the morning newspaper. He is unaware of the other individuals in the courtroom and makes no effort to hide his grotesque habits, such as slurping his coffee. This figure of Everyman is bizarre, but likeable at the same time, for his salvation, and that of human kind, should be something worth cheering for.
God speaks and displays his papers in front of him, as if they are testaments and records of the lives he has watched over. “I perceive, here in my majesty, / How that all creatures be to me unkind” (“Everyman”). As he speaks, he pulls out a particularly large file from his desk; this document has been slightly scorched and torn in a few places. Dirt is smeared on the cover, and as God opens it, he is struck with a horrible smell. Looking to Everyman, still seated downstage right, he proclaims rather loudly, “Every man liveth so after his own pleasure,” and smartly snaps the file shut, sending scraps of decaying paper to the floor. He heaves a great sigh, and reluctantly says, “Where art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger?” (“Everyman”).
Death, a tall and lanky officer with a dark sense of humor, steps forward from the shadows upstage left and presents himself: “Almighty God, I am here at your will, / Your commandment to fulfill” (“Everyman”). Following his instructions to “Go thou to Everyman,” God exits upstage center with the Messenger, and leaves Death to stalk Everyman, still seated lazily at the downstage right desk. As Death speaks, he swings his baton around and takes great joy in his potential startling of Everyman, for “Full little he thinketh on my coming” (“Everyman”). Everyman, during Death’s monologue, has risen and lit a cigarette. He checks his watch and is just about to leave downstage right when Death proclaims, “Everyman, stand still! Whither art thou going / Thus gaily?” (“Everyman”). Pretentiously, Everyman replies, “Why askest thou? / Why wouldest thou weet?” (“Everyman”). During the ensuing dialogue, Everyman backs away and attempts to escape Death in the courtroom, walking swiftly across the stage, but Death follows, eager to strike fear in Everyman. Finally, Death backs Everyman into the downstage right desk and traps him, saying, “See thou make thee ready shortly, / For thou mayst say this is the day / that no man living may scape away” (“Everyman”). Death, pointing his club at Everyman in a threatening manner, exits downstage right, leaving Everyman frightened and alone.
As Everyman delivers his next monologue he takes off his coat and leaves it on the adjacent desk. The upstage and downstage right desks are now wheeled offstage, leaving Everyman in the center, searching for a way out of his predicament. The lights are now brighter, and the shadow of a window pane, created by a gobo, is seen slanted on the floor. Everyman suddenly spies Fellowship, a fellow lawyer, heading his way from downstage left, fumbling with a stack of books and a briefcase. “Well, met, good Fellowship, and good marrow!” says Everyman, approaching him (“Everyman”). Fellowship, a jovial man wearing a tweed jacket and bowtie, recognizes Everyman and greets him warmly. Setting down his load, Fellowship inquires about Everyman’s plight and states that “Promise is duty,” however, as the conversation reaches the mention of Judgment Day, Fellowship begins to panic, hastily picking up his books and briefcase, saying, “Yea, by my fay! To God I betake thee” (“Everyman”). He then runs offstage through the upstage right exit, and in so doing, drops one of his books. As Fellowship scurries back onstage to retrieve it, Everyman approaches to pick it up. Fellowship snatches at the book, says, “For you I will remember that parting is mourning,” and quickly darts back into the wings (“Everyman”).
Everyman, left alone once again, walks from entrance to entrance, looking for anther person to accompany him on his journey. He loosens his tie partially from distress and partially from the warmth of the day. The lights are dimmer now, and the stage is filled with a light shade of green, suggesting a park. Birds can be heard, along with the sounds of city life: faint sounds of fire engines, cars, and quiet murmurings. He turns to find Kindred and Cousin, both wearing football jerseys and jeans, standing downstage right with beers in their hands. Kindred, a female in the likeness of Everyman, and Cousin, a male, approach Everyman with great enthusiasm. They are very physical with him, and this emphasizes a family relationship. Kindred asks Everyman, “What account is that which ye must render?” and Everyman replies hesitantly, “How I have lived and my days spent; / Also of ill deeds that I have used...Therefore I pray you go thither with me” (“Everyman”). On “ill deeds”, Kindred and Cousin look to each other in desperation, searching for excuses. “No, by Our Lady! I have the cramp in my toe,” says Cousin, laughing (“Everyman”). Kindred pulls a piece of paper and pen from her pocket, jots down a number, and gives the slip to Everyman, saying, “Ye shall have my maid with all my heart …/ Therefore farewell till another day” (“Everyman”). Kindred exits in a hurry upstage left, leaving Cousin to console Everyman. Cousin sighs in regret and says, “Now God keep thee, for now I go” (“Everyman”). Sadly, Cousin walks toward the upstage right exit, pausing briefly to turn and look at the wounded Everyman, then disappears into the wings.
Through his strife with Kindred and Cousin, Everyman’s spirit is cracked. He stands center, baffled, silently looking into the audience for a source of companionship. He finds nothing from the faces and curses, “Ah, Jesus, is all come hereto?” He loosens his tie further and rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing blasphemous tattoos: a devil and a snake on his right forearm and a voluptuous woman on his left. He wracks his brain for another companion who might accompany him and suddenly thinks of his Goods. “Where art thou, my Goods and riches?” says he, shouting into the air (“Everyman”). Goods saunters forward from upstage right, wearing a trench coat and fedora. As he speaks, he opens his coat to reveal a very large assortment of jewelry and watches, and plucking one of the watches from the lining of his coat, he offers it to Everyman, saying, “Sir, and ye in the world have sorrow or adversity, / That I can help you remedy shortly” (“Everyman”). Everyman accepts the watch. As he speaks of his trial to Goods, the dealer circles Everyman, surveying him. As Everyman concludes his plea, Goods steps forward to confront him, and says, “Therefore to thy soul Good is a thief… / As I have done thee, and all to his soul’s repreef,” promptly grabs the watch he has previously offered Everyman, and shoves it in his own pocket (“Everyman”). Everyman, still desperate for a companion, asks, “But wilt thou not go with me, indeed?” to which Goods’ reply is “farewell and have good day” (“Everyman”). Goods begins to walk towards downstage right just as Everyman clutches onto his arm in desperation. Goods looks at Everyman in disgust and shakes him free, continuing on his way, leaving Everyman utterly broken and on the verge of tears, his hair tousled and general appearance a mess. He looks to the audience for pity, but sees none, and in a state of total shame, he runs upstage, exiting up left.
Suddenly, a woman is seen in the downstage left entrance, sitting in a wheelchair with blankets in her lap. She is as old as she is dirty, weak and haggard with wild hair and a wild face. She has the appearance of a forgotten woman, alone and neglected. During this transition, the lights have moved from green to dark blue, suggesting an alley way. A sewer grate, simulated by a gobo, is positioned on the floor to the left of center. The woman, Good Deeds, wheels her way around the stage in search of a place to sleep. Finally, she finds a suitable spot to rest upstage left and stops. She tosses the blankets down on the floor and, in an awkward movement, slips out of the chair onto the ground and lays her head down. The lights are dimmed around her, and brought up on the entering Everyman who steps forward from downstage right, clearly out of breath. His shirt is un-tucked and his shoes have been discarded somewhere along his way. He stops to catch his breath just inside the limits of the stage, and wearily pleads, “Oh, to whom shall I make my moan for to go with me in that heavy journay?” (“Everyman”). He takes a seat right of center, pauses to think, and suddenly remembers with fondness his Good Deeds, saying, “Till that I go to my Good Deed. / But alas, she is so weak… / Yet will I venture on her now. / My Good Deeds, where be you?” (“Everyman”).
From her corner, Good Deeds speaks: “Here I lie, cold in the ground.” As she speaks, the lights around her brighten, revealing her features. This startles Everyman, for he expects a younger version of his good gestures, and as he pleads he remains distanced from her. “I pray you that ye will go with me,” he reluctantly asks. Good Deeds appraises him, and says that she will accompany him, but proclaims, “Though on my feet I may not go” (“Everyman”). She therefore calls on her sister, Knowledge, who enters downstage right, donning a short red dress and black fishnets. Her hair is just as wild as Good Deeds’, however she is younger and her figure is slimmer and mildly appealing. She speaks to Everyman as though he is a friend, not a customer, and promises, “Everyman, I will go with thee and be thy guide” (“Everyman”). As Knowledge leads Everyman downstage to converse with him, the lights are dimmed from center to upstage, masking the setting of a short podium and another member of the ensemble. Knowledge takes Everyman’s hand and brings him to center, where a matronly nun stands ready to take the sinners in. This woman is Confession, her arms open wide, welcoming both Knowledge and Everyman as they kneel before her. As he is healed, Everyman turns to face the audience and a joy is seen in his eyes. The podium and Confession are engulfed in blackness once again as they exit, and Everyman and Knowledge join Good Deeds as she tells of Everyman’s other friends.
Everyman then calls forth Discretion, Strength, Five-Wits, and Beauty, and, lit by an amber radiance, they appear from upstage behind a short wooden partition, all wearing neutral toned street clothes. Discretion, a middle aged woman, Strength, a toned young man, Five-Wits, a small boy of 10, and Beauty, a girl of 16, stand before Everyman as a people’s jury. However, though each of them at first proclaim their loyalties, one by one Beauty, Strength, Discretion, and finally Five-Wits betray him and leave the stage through alternating wings. Everyman is left with only Good Deeds and Knowledge by his side, and as he stands center, he breaks down and cries out, “O Jesu, help, all hath forsaken me!” (“Everyman”). Knowledge stands upstage left with Good Deeds as the haggard old woman says, “Nay, Everyman, I will bide with thee.” Knowledge assists Good Deeds into her wheelchair and pushes her over to Everyman, who has sunken to his knees on the floor. Knowledge states reluctantly that she cannot go with him, but will accompany him until it is his time to leave. Taking Good Deeds by the handles of her chair, Everyman implores into the air, “Have mercy on me, God most mighty,” to which Good Deeds’ comforting reply is, “Fear not: I will speak for thee” (“Everyman”). She places her hand on his as he wheels her about and directs both of them upstage, declaring, “Forever commendo spiritum meum” (“Everyman”). They disappear into the dimming lights upstage center and all is quiet. “Now hath he suffered that we all shall endure, / The Good Deeds shall make all sure,” says Knowledge with conviction as she stands center (“Everyman”).
An angel’s voice is heard from in the wings upstage, proclaiming that “Thy reckoning is crystal clear,” and Knowledge, satisfied, takes a seat on a chair which has been placed upstage right (“Everyman”). She directs her attention towards the downstage left wing, where the Doctor, a man wearing doctoral graduation gown and cap, enters. He is the same actor who portrayed God as the judge in the beginning of the play, and when he sees her, he salutes, as if to commend her recent labors. He speaks with purpose and reason, addressing the audience like a professor would address his graduates at a commencement, saying, “Ye hearers, take it of worth, old and young,” and finally, he concludes with, “Amen, say ye, for saint charity” (“Everyman”).He then turns to Knowledge, who has risen, and takes her hand warmly. Smiling he exits upstage right, leaving Knowledge alone waving after him. As she stands center, facing upstage where the Doctor has exited, the lights around her dim and finally fade into blackness.
This contemporary portrayal of a late 15th-century morality play holds its universality in the lives of every individual, young or old, who find themselves on a path to self-destruction. Through placing each aspect of Everyman’s life in a solid relationship, the play’s messages of sin, doubt, abandonment, and finally salvation become clearer to today’s current audiences, especially in a time of war, drugs, sex, and violence. It is important that the set be nothing more than a stage with a few set dressings, along with light and sound effects for the sole purpose that each person’s life does not take place in a single atmosphere, but rather many; the world is where a person’s relationships are formed. Since a complete set is lacking in this production, the importance of costuming is stressed. Costumes provide identity and personality to each character, and through identification, audiences will more easily understand and relate with Everyman’s plight. Finally, leaving religion aside, the moral trial of Everyman is a universal concept, drawing on universal moral principles, and through presenting this text in a contemporary context, audiences may come to find that their lives are not so different from that of every other man.
Costume Sketches:
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