There should be a sign on the door. ‘Plotless play in progress.’ Moon on a Rainbow Shawl, by Errol John, won first prize in a 1957 scriptwriting competition organised by Kenneth Tynan and judged by Alec Guinness, Peter Ustinov, Peter Hall and others. The West End promoters thought the script uncommercial and never gave it a decent shot at success. They had a point. Errol John, an apprentice writer, hadn’t learnt how to shape his tale for the theatre and give it that insistent rat-a-tat-tat rhythm of twists and surprises that audiences expect.
His languid drama is set in a Trinidad ghetto where a crew of washouts and wanna-bes bicker and copulate their way through a few steamy midsummer days. The grinding poverty seems quaint, and even attractive, to modern eyes. The sun shines. The rum flows. The local tarts are cheap and friendly. Fruit drops from the trees. The Caribbean leaps with juicy, fresh-caught fish. Work is plentiful. And eager souls can supplement their wages by strumming a guitar in night-clubs filled to overflowing with ever-generous Americans. But as I watched this torpid snooze-in something weird happened. I got interested. Then I got hooked. By the end, I was desperate to know what the characters would do next. It’s like the first episode of some off-beat TV drama. Once you surrender to its slow-march rhythm you’ll find its unfussy intricacies entirely captivating.
The central dilemma involves Rosa, a pregnant teenage bombshell, torn between two unsuitable suitors. Ephraim is poor, young, handsome and feckless. Old Mack is ugly, earnest and past it. And he keeps ‘plumping her up’ like a hotel maid doing the pillows. But he’s rich too. So no prizes for guessing which she chooses.
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