BOUNCERS
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In Godber’s Bouncers, four doormen re-create a typical Friday night on the job at the Mr. Cinders disco. The evening begins with them waiting restlessly for the pubs to close and the customers to arrive (bars in England open at 5 PM and close some five to six hours later, during which hours the more raffish patrons chug as much alcohol as they can before proceeding to the evening’s entertainment). Tonight’s crowd at Mr. Cinders includes the usual varieties of condom-carrying studs and 18 going on 35 dollies; the Saint Luke’s College rugby team, who hold a drinking contest–the loser drops his trousers to dance; the spike-haired Punks, who call the doormen “fascist pigs” and threaten to write a song about them; the metal-head who exhorts the DJ to play “summat decent” (“Have you got any Yes?” “Who?” “They’ll do too”); a Dudley Moore soundalike who titters about “one more bottle of champers”; and a few guys the bouncers allow into the club solely for the fun of throwing them out later.
As the evening grinds on amid flashing lights and artificial smoke, we hear the DJ promise free admission for two weeks to anyone who brings him a matching set of bra and panties, and we learn why the restrooms are called “bogs” (“Your Hush Puppies are seeping through to your socks . . . one slip, and you’re up to your hip in urine”). We see the denizens of this universe dance and weep and grope one another–there is even one good free-for-all, sparked by the fury of a woman scorned. Finally it’s closing time, the house is evacuated, the odd change and underwear are cleaned up from the floor, and the bouncers can relax with a few drinks and an X-rated video chosen especially for the occasion.
Bouncers is not without social commentary–most of the partyers are spending their welfare money, and the four sergeants at arms freely admit to being rougher with the rich and higher-class patrons–none of which should come as any great news to even the most insular Americans. The pleasure of this production comes not from any minor political kick, but from the sense that we are there experiencing this environment–which at first seems so foreign to us, but which we gradually recognize as not so very foreign after all. I didn’t dance at Mr. Cinders before the show, but next time I just might.
