Banjos and the backwoods
They recently showed that terrifying film Deliverance on television and I was reminded of Natural Theatre’s gig in Louisiana.
Our visit was first prize in a schools Shakespeare competition.
As we toddled round the innercity high school corridors in our Conehead costumes I couldn’t help worrying that we were irrevocably changing the children’s vision of the Great Bard! We later found that only one school had entered the contest.
On our day off we had use of a hire car. Noting there was a huge dam in the area where prolific wildlife could be observed, we set off, despite the heavy rain. It was certainly backwoods country, and en route I spotted a ramshackle building declaring itself to be the local post office and store. Hicksville personified!
I entered the shop, whereupon several locals who had been chatting away suddenly went silent.
I felt their eyes drilling into me as I purchased a postcard from the tight-lipped proprietor and then asked querulously ‘What’s it like down by the dam?’
There was a long pause and then he said ‘Kinda muddy.’
Now this comes over much better in the audio version of this story, but if you can imagine a comedy Southern drawl with every syllable drawn out to the extreme, and the ‘u’ pronounced as in ‘murder,’ then you’ve got it. ‘Kinda…murdy…’
I fully expected Duelling Banjos to strike up.
As the shop bell tinkled on my exit, the murmur of conversation renewed.
Down by the dam it certainly was kinda murdy. We parked on a vertiginous slipway beneath the vast concrete structure on top of which the service vehicles with their flashing lights looked like Matchbox toys.
The lake level was being lowered after the torrential rain and a plume of shiny brown water of similar circumference to that of a 747 could be seen shooting horizontally out of the enormous sluice hundreds of feet above us before plunging into the maelstrom far below.
Suddenly I noticed in our rearview mirror that a pickup truck full of dodgy geezers armed with hunting rifles straight out of Central Casting had drawn up closely behind us. Too closely in my opinion. They stared at us for a bit and then drove by, very slowly, all the time glaring in a none too friendly way into our vehicle.
‘I think we should go’ I said to my companion.
‘It’s Ok, they’ve gone ‘she said. And indeed, they had passed down the track, turned right and disappeared behind the trees.
But as I looked, the truck slowly reversed into sight again. More threatening looks.
‘I definitely think we should go!’ I said, remembering what happened to Burt Reynolds in the film.
But the automatic car refused to reverse up the slimy gradient. Indeed, we seemed to be sliding inexorably towards the edge. Eventually the wheels gained purchase and we backed out of our predicament and drove back to civilisation.
My relief was compounded next morning when I glanced at the local paper. The main headline read ‘Murdered teacher’s body found in alligator river.’
There go those banjos again, I thought.