Sunday Scribblings – the Johanna vignettes

 

This piece is Sunday Scribbling (prompt #116) done with a McSweeney twist (prompt #10)

 

 

 

Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo in NYC

 

JOHANNA VIGNETTES – THE DYLAN DISILLUSIONMENT

A Play on Dylan

By Miss A

 

 

VIGNETTE ONE – The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan

 

(Bob Dylan sits pensively smoking a cigarette with girlfriend, Suze Rotolo, at a small kitchen table in a NYC apartment. He’s got his chair tilted back and his feet up on the old-style cast iron radiator.)

 

Dylan

 

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet?

 

Suze

 

Yeah, who pushed fast forward?  Yesterday “Bob Dylan” sells 5000 copies and today you’re freewheelin’ with Miss Fame all over your ass with her critics and her record companies and her producers and all.

 

Dylan

 

And with America goin’ through some serious growing pains, from civil rights movements to men on the moon, and JFK on the brink of doom, it just don’t seem right.

 

Suze

 

Mmm.

 

Dylan

 

And now America, she’s sittin’ here stranded in a sea of Soviet missiles but most of her people just whistle or bury their heads back in the sand.

 

Suze

 

Exactly why you keep trying to wake people up!  Now you’re just dealing with a bigger platform…which is really ideal for the level of awareness that’s required here.

 

Dylan

 

(Suddenly in one sweep, Dylan swings his feet down from the radiator and under the table.  He puts his cigarette out and leans into the table toward Suze in mock excitement.)

 

So meanwhile the lights are flickering at Carnegie hall and I’m singin’ ‘bout the consequences that’ll befall us all, I’m singin’ ‘bout a hard-falling rain!  (Laughs.)

 

(Dylan leans back, dejected, disgusted.  Coughs.)

 

But the music’s been written for America and me, and more of the same’s comin’ down the pike.  The country crooning keeps spillin’ out the radio, and there’s no turnin’ it off, ‘cause America and me, we’re both singin’ it on a roll to our destiny.  

 

(The heat pipes cough.  Dylan lights another cigarette and swings his feet back up on top of them.)

 

Fact is, Suze, I’m in bed with Miss Fame…  Hey, let’s give ‘er a name…  Johanna, yeah.  And Johanna Fame just wants the bucks and it’s the poor that end up fucked.  And it’s partly on account of her conquering minds like mine.

 

(Blackout)

 

 

 

VIGNETTE TWO – The times they are a-changin’

 

(Dylan leaves a NYC recording studio with his manager, Albert Grossman.  It’s very late in the evening.  The two talk for a moment in the parking lot.)

 

Dylan

 

(Lights a cigarette, squints up at the street light.)

 

Who’d’ve thought, standin’ in an empty lot, I’d be watchin’ the critics’ playing blindman’s bluff—Silber sayin’ I’ve lost touch with people and Ginsberg sayin’ my “Chimes…” is chains of flashing images?  And you, Grossman…

 

Grossman

(Finishes for Dylan) 

 

…I’m a leech.  (Laughs)  Yeah, but I love you man.

 

Dylan

 

You and all the girls and women and Columbia and Macmillan…  All of ya’ll wantin’ to hop on the Dylan train…  (Mock laughs)

 

Night watchman

 

(Comes from around the corner of the studio and flashes his light on them.)

 

Oh!  Sorry Mr. Dylan, Mr. Grossman!  I thought you’da been long gone, sirs.

 

Grossman

 

(Nods at the watchman)

 

Don’t worry about it.  Glad you’re on the ball.

 

Night watchman

 

(Grateful no one is insulted, he continues on his way.)

 

Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.

 

Dylan

 

And that’s just it, Grossman…  Under the light I dunno who’s insane, them or me.

 

(Grossman pats Dylan’s shoulder.)

 

I tell ya, man, I’m wearing down, I’m gettin’ thin.  This Folk I’m doin’ is alright, it’s near to the innards of people, it reflects ‘em back to themselves but it’s not gettin’ it done… This is Johanna Fame, not me…

 

(Dylan throws his cigarette to the ground hard and twists it out with his foot.)

 

Been listenin’ to The Beatles.  Outrageous chords and harmonies that make ‘em work.  That’s where music is going.  That’s where I’m going.

 

(Blackout)

 

 

 

VIGNETTE THREE – Another side of Bob Dylan

 

(Dylan is debuting his new electric blues with a full rock band at the Newport Folk Festival.  The diehard Folk purists are booing and after just three songs, Dylan has had it.)

 

Dylan

 

(To the band)

 

Let’s go, man.  That’s all.

 

(Dylan and the band walk off, backstage.  The crowd is now doubly pissed, goes ballistic.)

 

Peter Yarrow

 

(Steps up to the microphone)

 

Hey hey!  (crowd quiets some) 

Your attention!  (crowd quiets more)

Attention please!  (crowd quiets enough to talk above them) 

I assure you, Dylan just went backstage to get his axe!

 

(Peter goes backstage and finds Dylan extremely distressed.  The band has taken off.)

 

C’mon man.  Come on back out solo, man.

 

Joan Baez

 

(Rushes in from the side.  She touches Dylan’s arm.)

 

Bob, fuck them!  Don’t let ‘em get to you.  Just finish for you, for the ones who understand.

 

(Both Yarrow and Baez continue coaxing Dylan.)

 

Dylan

 

Fuck it.

 

(He goes back out on stage flustered.  Realizes he doesn’t have the right harmonica and snaps angrily at Yarrow.)

 

What are you doing to me?

 

Yarrow

 

(Looks down, sheepish.  He realizes he wasn’t thinking of Dylan, just of appeasing the crowd, keeping peace.)

 

I’m so sorry, man.

 

Dylan

 

Fuck it.

 

(Dylan steps to the front of the stage his voice shaking a bit with nervousness and distress.)

 

Anyone got an E harmonica?

 

(A bunch of harmonicas fly through the air and hit the stage.  Dylan snatches one up and begins an impromptu acoustic set. Sings…)

 

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously

He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously

And when Johanna’s name comes up

He sees he’s left himself completely

He’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all

Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall

How can I explain?

Oh, it’s so hard to get on

And Miss Fame, she wears me out at night and shoots me down at dawn

 

(Music fades to blackout)

 

 

 

VIGNETTE FOUR – Bob Dylan World Tour

 

(Dylan is in Paris nearing the end of his world tour.  Last stop is London.  Portions of audiences are still refusing to accept his plugged-in material.  He’s taking a break in the Louvre with Grossman.  Dylan is silent, observes paintings, gets more and more agitated.)

 

Grossman

 

I know it’s hard, Bob, the audiences jeering, slow handclapping…  Your last few press conferences have been surreal…  The journalists are just doing their job and yet you torture them with your bizarre answers and rude behavior.  What purpose is that serving?

 

Dylan

 

(Acts as if he didn’t hear a thing Grossman has said.  Keeps walking and finally stops in front of the Mona Lisa.)

 

This is infinity, Grossman, all along this wall.  This is what salvation must be like after awhile.  But Mona Lisa here, she musta had the highway blues, she’s seen so much.  She and I have seen the exploitation, the selling out.  Look at Van Gogh:  painted all his life for the love of it, goes insane, kills himself.  Johanna Van Gogh facilitates his fame, too late.  Johanna Fame has me live by the balls.  Which is worse?

 

Grossman

 

(Clears his throat.)

 

Bob…

 

Dylan

 

(Interrupts him.)

 

Look at all these jelly-faced, bejeweled old crones ‘round here.  Most of these cows are so fattened by the success of their men that they can’t see their knees, but they can see that this is the place to be seen.  That is why this primitive wallflower here is smirking.

 

(Blackout)

 

 

 

VIGNETTE FIVE – Prophecy

 

(Dylan’s controversial World Tour crescendoed to a nasty confrontation between Dylan and the audience at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in England.  Dylan is back in NY pissed, pushed, and under more pressure than ever before.  He and his wife, Sara Lownds, are in the kitchen.)

 

Dylan

 

(He’s leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other.  Mumbles…)

 

The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him.

 

Sara

 

What?

 

Dylan

 

(Makes no effort to be clearer.  Mumbles.)

 

Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him.

 

Sara

 

Bob, for Christ’s sake…

 

Dylan

 

(Snaps back to the moment.)

 

The tour was screwed yet I’ve got ABC wantin’ a show, Macmillan demanding a final manuscript for “Tarantuala”, Grossman’s already scheduled an absurdly long summer and fall tour…

 

Sara

 

Honey, you will never not have appeal.  You will never not write shows, books, music, go on tour…

 

Dylan

 

(Mock laughs)  Ain’t it just a gas, how I down others who can’t see past their own puny joy and pain and jump on top of Johanna again and again, and here I am getting’ ready to do the same…again?!

 

(Sits forward, lights a cigarette, takes a drag.)

 

It’s depressing, don’t ya think?

 

Sara

 

Not if that’s what you’re cut out to do.  You haven’t yet settled into yourself have you? 

 

(Gets no answer)

 

Well, I guess that dissatisfaction’s what keeps you moving forward.  Look where you’ve been, all you’ve done!  Where you could go!

 

Dylan

 

(Elbows on table, head between hands.)

 

Shit, man.  I need an out.

 

(Sits up, leans back in the chair, takes a drag off his cigarette, stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, glassy-eyed.  Blows smoke out slowly, steadily.)

 

This thing’s on a roll I can’t stop.  I need a savior and I ain’t even seen the Madonna yet.

 

Sara

 

Well, Baby, you do what you gotta do…

 

Dylan

 

(Still staring, glassy-eyed.)

 

We see this empty cage now corrode

Where her cape of the stage once had flowed

The fiddler he now steps to the road

He writes ev’rything’s been returned which was owed

On the back of the fish truck that loads

While my conscience explodes

The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain

And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

 

(Blackout)

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

Narrator (V.O.)

 

Turns out these last few words, they were a prophecy.  A few days later, Dylan had a motorcycle accident that didn’t hurt him badly, and gave him just the right out.  The stage was devoid of Dylan for twenty months.  His debts of obligation were zeroed out with understanding.  He took a break to heal and reentered the scene casually on his own terms, not Johanna’s.

 

 

Fini

 

 

VISIONS OF JOHANNA

Lyrics from http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/visions.html

 

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin’ you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.

 

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman’s bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the “D” train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it’s him or them that’s really insane
Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near
She’s delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna’s not here
The ghost of ‘lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

 

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it’s so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

 

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, “Jeeze
I can’t find my knees”
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

 

The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”
But like Louise always says
“Ya can’t look at much, can ya man?”
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev’rything’s been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

 

Copyright © 1966; renewed 1994 Dwarf Music

 

 

FULL SONG

Studio version:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRdaBcymJPY&NR=1

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO CREDITS

 

Dylan and Suze snagged from http://www.cypress.ne.jp/kouchi/image/dylan-and-suzue2.jpg

 

Dylan / electric from http://www.aquariumdrunkard.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/bob-dylan-1966.jpg

  

 

Click here for more on prompt “#116 – Happy Ending” from other Sunday Scribblings participants.

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