The Accidental Death of an Anarchist. (). By Dario Fo. Digitalized by. RevSocialist for. SocialistStories. Page 2. Page 3. Page 4. Page 5. Page 6. Page 7. Let's see: the judge's reasons for adjourning the inquiry into the anarchist's death. .. Ha, and here's the police report into the anarchist group in Rome, the one. also seen as one of the leading, modern political satirists. Accidental Death of an Anarchist is one of his defining plays and its origins are absolutely rooted in the.
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Fo, Dario - Accidental Death of an Anarchist (Methuen, ).pdf - Download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. Barn's next show, Dario Fo's Accidental Death of an Anarchist, will after gaining access to a Milan police station, the scene of the death of a. Sydney Theatre Company, as the premier theatre company in Australia, has been a major force in Australian drama since its establishment in
Let me see: Order to close and file away record of judicial inquiry, issued by the Milan tribunal. Aha, there's also the inquiry on that Rome anarchist group, headed by the dancer.
He stuffs documents into his briefcase. At this point the inspector enters. Not recognizing the FOOL in his get-up, he is momentarily perplexed. Good morning, what can I do for you?
Were you looking for someone? No, Inspector, I came back to pick up my papers. Oh, no, you again? Get out!
Listen, maybe you're worried about your own problems; is that any reason to let it out on me? He half pushes half pulls him to the door. For heaven's sake! Are you all neurotic in here? Starting with that crazy delinquent who's going around looking for you so he can bust you in the mouth. Some guy, dolce vita type, in a turtleneck sweater; didn't he beat you up yet?
Listen, that's enough; you've already wasted too much of my time. Do me a favor; get out of here! Anyway, if you want a piece of advice, just because I think you're a nice guy.
Take it from me. Pretending to be crazy so he can rip off people's coats! Hey, you! He's walking out with my coat and hat. Sure, that's mine too! Quick, before he gives us the slip. Right away. He stops just beyond the door, talking to someone on the outside, in the wings. Yes sir, the Inspector is here. Please come in. What the hell happened to those indictments? Bertozzo, the investigator from the political division is here; he would like to talk to you.
Hey, old buddy. I was just talking about you a minute ago with this crazy nut who was telling me - ha, ha, get this - as soon as you ran into me, you were going to give me - An arm shoots out from the wings. The FOOL 's head appears in the doorway. He shouts: FOOL. I told him to duck! Lights out. In he darkness, a musical interlude; probably a grotesque sounding march, such as the kind used in vaudeville shows, long enough to allow time for a change of scene. Act 1 Scene 2 Scene moves to the fourth floor.
If possible, the scenery outside the office window should be rolled upwards so it looks like the office is moving up. The office here is much the same as the one in the first scene, except that the furniture is arranged differently.
A larger portrait of the president hangs on the wall. FOOL stands onstage, stock still, facing the window, his back to the entrance. What does he want? I don't know, sir. He busted in here like he owned the place, just as if he was the big boss. He says he wants to talk to you and the chief. He approaches the FOOL in a rather obsequious manner. Good afternoon, can I help you? I understand you were looking for me. FOOL gazes at him impressively, making the merest gesture of tipping his hat.
Good afternoon. What happened to your hand? May I ask who you are? You didn't hurt your hand? Then how come you're massaging it? Just like that, to make an interesting impression?
Some sort of nervous tic? I asked you, would you care to explain who you are?! I used to know a bishop who massaged his hand like that. That continuous massaging is a symptom of insecurity. Do you have trouble with women, by any chance? That proves it, you see? Tell the truth: it's not a nervous tic. What do you mean admit it? Instead of that, why don't you tell me, once and for all, who it is I have the honor of talking to. You're right removes his hat with studied slowness.
But I wasn't keeping it on out of rudeness, believe me. It's just because of that open window. I can't stand drafts, especially on my head. Don't you have that problem? Look, do you suppose you could close it?
No matter, I am Dr. First counsel of the High Court. A judge? Oh Christ! He almost faints. Please don't call me that - you'll only confuse me. Yes that's right, the former professor from the University of Rome.
Small p in "professor," and with a comma between "the former" and "from," as usual. Who informed you that I was coming to check up officially on the investigation and the order to have it closed? Now on the ropes Well, actually. You'd better not lie. That's something that makes me horribly nervous. I have a nervous tic too; it hits me here, on my neck, the minute somebody tells me a fib. Look how it's trembling. Now, did you know about my arrival, or not?
Right, and that's exactly why the superior council decided to do it early. We have our informers, too - so we caught you off-balance!
The FOOL points to his trembling neck. I mean, yes.
Good heavens, no; you keep it if you like. He goes toward the window. Would you like to have the window closed? Not at all, don't bother. But I would appreciate it if you'd call the Chief. We should get started as soon as possible.
But wouldn't it be better to go over to his office? It's more comfortable. But that nasty business with the anarchist took place right here in this office, didn't it? Yes, it was here. He sits down and takes some papers out of his briefcase. We then discover that he has another briefcase with him as well: a huge one, from which he removes a quantity of miscellaneous items: a magnifying glass, pair of tweezers, stapler, judge's wooden mallet, and finally a bound copy of the Criminal Code.
Continuing to organize his papers. I would prefer, Captain, that in my presence you always speak in a normal tone of voice! Of course, I'm sorry. Even if he can't! He has attached a number of them with thumbtacks to the side wall, the window frame and cabinet. All at once remembers something. Oh, that's right, the transcripts! He grabs the telephone and dials a number. Hello, may I please speak to Inspector Bertozzo? Where has he gone?
To the Chief's office? He hangs up, then starts to dial another number. The FOOL interrupts him. Excuse me, Captain, if you don't mind. Yes, your honor? This Inspector Bertozzo you're concerned with, does he have anything to do with the review of the investigation? Yes, Well, I mean.
Oh, but that won't be necessary. I have everything here with me; why bother getting another copy? What's the point? You're right, there's no point. From outside we hear the approaching. The officer follows close behind him, abashed and nervous.
I would like to know, Inspector, just what is this nonsense about me having to run over to your office even if I can't? No, sir, you're right.
But since, my ass! Have you been promoted to my superior all of a sudden? I'll tell you right now, this high-handed attitude of yours doesn't please me one bit. Especially the way you've been treating your associates. To go around actually punching them in the face: for god's sake! Ah, yes, but you see, Chief Bertozzo didn't tell you about the razzberry, and that crack about the sub-basement in Calabria - The FOOL, pretending to put away his legal folders, is squatting behind the desk, hidden from view and immediately comes into view.
What the hell are you talking about, razzberry! Come on, quit acting like a kid. We should be laying low, instead, with everybody watching us. Oh my god, who is that - a reporter? Why didn't you tell me - FOOL. There won't be any kind of rumors, I assure you. I appreciate it. I understand and share your concern; in fact, I tried scolding your young associate here, even before you did. I noticed that this young man has a rather irritable and intolerant character; now it appears, from your conversation, that he's also allergic to the razzberry - Do you know anything about the subject?
No, I really. Chief; I'm talking to you like a father: this boy needs good psychiatrist. Here, send him to this friend of mine; he's a genius. Antonio, the former professor. Please sit down and let's begin. No, I'm sorry but I didn't have time. Antonio, he is first counsellor of the High Court.
For heaven's sake, forget about that "first counsellor;" it doesn't mean a thing to me. If you prefer. I really had no. Your Chief is much more honest! He puts his cards right on the table! You should follow his example!
But of course, this is another generation, a different breed. Yes, a different breed. Listen, I hope you don't mind my telling you this now, but you seem - how can I say it - almost familiar to me. In a concentration camp, perhaps? Oh, what am I saying? You, director of a concentration camp? Ridiculous idea. Now, this is an exact quotation from you, Chief: "There was serious circumstantial evidence against him.
Yes, your honor, at the beginning. Later on - FOOL. That's just where we are, at the beginning. Let's proceed in order: toward midnight, the anarchist, seized by a fit of raptus - it's still you, Chief, who are talking - seized by raptus, threw himself out of the window, crashing to the ground.
Now, what is "raptus? Then we have to find out who or what caused this anxiety, this anguish. We have no choice but to reconstruct the events of that day. Chief, your entrance, please.
My entrance? Yes, yours. And with feeling, please. What entrance, your honor? The one that caused the raptus. Your honor, I think there's been a mistake. It was not my entrance but an assistant of mine. Eh, eh, it's not nice to throw the responsibility onto your own staff members; in fact, it's rather naughty.
But judge, it was one of those expedients that's often used, in every police department. I don't recall asking for your opinion! Please be good enough to let your superior officer speak! You're very nude, you know that? From now on, answer only when spoken to, understand?
Now, Chief, please play that entrance scene for me, in first person. Go ahead, and give it all you've got. All right. It went something like this. The suspected anarchist was sitting there - where you are now.
The inspector. I mean, I. Come on, be specific. Give me detail. I want to be able to know what you're thinking. I want to be able to know what you had for breakfast. Keep to the script! Oh right. I say: "You've messed around long enough. Yes, I swear to God. I believe you. Keep going. Finish him off.
What bombs? No, answer with the same words you used that evening. Pretend I'm the anarchist railroad man. Come on, don't be afraid: what bombs? Don't give me that innocent act! You know exactly what bombs I'm talking about: the ones you people planted in the railway cars at the central station, eight months ago.
But did you really have the proof? It just like the Captain was trying to explain before, it was one of the usual tricks we police officers apply pretty often. Ha, Ha! What a line! But we did have suspicions. Seeing as how the suspect was the only anarchist railroad worker in Milan, it was easy to deduce that he was the one.
So, if it's beyond doubt that a railroad worker planted the bombs in the railway, we can also logically deduce that it was a judge who planted those famous bombs in the Rome courthouse, the commander of the guard put the ones under the monument to the unknown soldier, and that the bomb in the Agricultural Bank was left either by a banker or by a farmer, take your choice.
Let's continue! It says here he reads from a page. I did, you honor. Good, so he was smiling. But there's another remark here, in your own precise words - which were also repeated by the judge who closed the investigation: "fear of losing his position, of being fired, definitely contributed to the suspect's suicidal breakdown.
Who told him he was going to be fired? It wasn't me - I swear to. Now, now fellas - this is reality I'm talking about. Reality, with warts, and dirty hair and heavy breathing, like in the movies. You guys want to come off looking like a bunch of puffs? Every policeman in the world's got to come down hard sometime, it's expected. But you stand here claiming you never took off the kid gloves. I mean, it's your right to use force.
Thank you, your honor. You're welcome. On the other hand, as we know, it can be risky sometimes - you tell an anarchist: "things don't look so hot for you; when we tell the railroad managers you're an anarchist they'll throw you out in the street - canned!
The truth is that an anarchist cares about his job more than anything else. Basically, they're petty bourgeois. Of course, I'm talking about our own homegrown variety, those easygoing, domesticated types.
Nothing like the ones we used to have back in the old days! Those were always being hounded from one country to another. You know something about that, Chief - people being hounded? Oh goodness, what am I saying?! Well, then, to recapitulate: you beat the anarchist down emotionally, he becomes angry and depressed. If you'll allow me, your honor - in all honesty, it didn't happen right away. You haven't gotten to my part yet. You're right, so I haven't. The first part happened while you were still out, Inspector.
Then you came back in, and after a dramatic pause he said - come on Inspector, recite your line, still making believe that I'm the anarchist. All right, of course: "they just called me from Rome. There's some good news for you - " Excuse me, can I try that again? Of course, and take your time.
There's some good news for you: your comrade has confessed to planting the bomb in that bank in Milan. And the railroad worker, how did he take it? What should I do? He turned pale, and asked for a cigarette. No, not yet. But that's what it says here. Let me see that. Oh, I'm sorry. Don t worry about it. He was "cornered. Yes, that's just what I said: "cornered. And then what else did you say? That his alibi, his story about spending the famous afternoon of the terrorist attack playing cards in a bar down by the canal, had collapsed.
It didn't hold up anymore. Therefore, that the anarchist was under heavy suspicion for the Milan bank bombings, as well as for the attacks against the trains. And in conclusion, you added that the anarchist's suicidal act was "an obvious gesture of self-accusation. Yes, I said so. And you, Inspector, shouted that during his life the man had been a delinquent, a troublemaker.
But after only a few weeks, you, Chief, declared - here's the document - that "naturally," I repeat "naturally," there was no concrete evidence against the poor guy. Therefore, he was entirely innocent. You yourself even commented, Captain, "that anarchist was a good kid. Yes, I'll admit. Good grief, anybody can make a mistake.
But you boys, if you'll pardon my saying so, really laid a big one. First of all you arbitrarily detain a free citizen, then abuse your authority by keeping him over the legal time limit, after which you traumatize the poor signalman by telling him you've got proof that he set the dynamite in the railway; then you more or less deliberately give him the psychosis that he's going to lose his job, then that his alibi about the card game has collapsed; and finally, the last straw: that his friend and comrade from Rome has confessed to being guilty of the Milan massacre - his friend is a dirty killer!?
To the point that he cries out in desperation, "this is the end of the anarchist movement," and jumps out! My god, are we all crazy? By this time, who could be surprised if somebody who's been worked over like that gets a fit of "raptus"?! Oh, no, no, no; I'm sorry, but in my opinion you are guilty, and how!
You're totally responsible for the anarchist's death! With grounds for immediate indictment on charges of inciting to suicide! But your honor, how can it be possible?! You admitted yourself that it's our job to interrogate suspects and in order to get them to talk, every once in a while we have use tricks, traps, occasional psychological violence - FOOL.
Oh no, in this case we're not talking about "occasional," but about continuous violence! First of all just to raise one example: did you have absolute proof that that poor railroad man lied about his own alibi, yes or no? Answer me! No we didn't have any absolute proof. I'm not interested in your "buts! Yes, there are.
So, you also lied to the press and TV when you said the alibi had collapsed and there were serious motives for suspicion? Then you don't use those traps, schemes, lies and so on just to trip up suspects, but also to take advantage of those gullible assholes out there - to astound their good faith!
All right, then, Inspector, you answer me this time: where did you get the news that the anarchist dancer had confessed? We made it up ourselves.
Wow, what imagination! You two ought to be writers. And believe me, you may get the chance. Jail is a great place for writing. Depressed, eh? Well then, to be perfectly honest, I'd better let you know that they have overwhelming proof of extremely serious counts against you in Rome.
You're both washed up! The department of Justice and department of the Interior have decided to get rid of you, to make the worst possible example out of you, in order to build up the credibility of the police - since practically nobody believes in them anymore! No, It's impossible! But how could they -?
Sure, two careers ruined. That's politics. First you came in handy for a certain scheme: union agitation had to be put down: there was a real witch-hunting climate.
But now things have turned around a little. Our heads?! There's an old English proverb that says: "the nobleman sets his hounds against the peasants, and if the peasants complain to the king. And you think. Why do you suppose I'm here?
It's my job to deliver judgment on you. Damned job! I know who stabbed me in the back. Ah, but I'll get even with him! Of course, there are a lot of people who'll gloat over your misfortune. Sure, beginning with our colleagues. That's the thing that really makes me see red! Not to mention the press. They'll drag us through the mud. Can't you just see the daily scandal sheets?! You can imagine what kind of stuff they'll say about us - those bastards, who used to come around licking our hands.
And don't forget the humiliation. The snide remarks. Lousy goddam world! No, lousy goddam government! At this point, maybe you can tell us - is there anything left for us to do? Please give us some advice! What can I tell you? If I were in your shoes. In our shoes?
I would throw myself out the window! You asked for my advice. And under the circumstances, rather than put up with that kind of humiliation. Go on, you can do it! Yes, O. Exactly, it won't change anything. Just give in to the "raptus" and jump!
He pushes them both toward the window. No, don't! What do you mean, "wait? What's the point of staying in this filthy world? You call this a life?
Lousy world, lousy government. Lousy everything! Let's jump out! No, please, your honor. I've still got hope! There's no more hope. You're both finished, can't you understand that? Don t push. I'm not the one who's pushing; it's the "raptus. No, no! What s going on, sir? Right, Inspector? Right, Chief? Go ahead. A "raptus. Yes, they tried to throw themselves out of the window. Them too? No, no. You tried to jump out, your honor? No, he was pushing.
It's true, it's true: I was pushing them. And they almost went along with it; they were desperate. The smallest pretext is sufficient when one is desperate.
Yeah, gee, the smallest pretext.
And look at them, they're still desperate. Look what long faces! Hey, have you gone out of your mind? I'm sorry, I meant in the hole. Come on, cheer up - and flush it all down, as they say.
Sunny side up, gentlemen! Sure, it's easy for you to talk. In our position - I swear to you for a minute there I was almost ready to jump for real! You were about to jump? In person? There, gentlemen, you see. When they use the term "raptus?! Those bastards in the government who else!? First they push you: "come down hard; create a climate of subversion, of threatened social disorder".
No, not at all. The fault would have been entirely my own. Because none of it is true; I invented the whole thing. What do you mean? Isn't it true that the want to get rid of us in Rome? No, that's the last thing on their minds.
And the overwhelming proof? There never was any proof. And the story about the cabinet minister who wanted our heads? All hogwash. The cabinet ministers are crazy about you; you're the apple of their eye. And the head police commissioner gets all mushy and sentimental every time he hears your name - and calls his mother! You're not joking, are you? Absolutely not! The whole government loves you! And I'll tell you another thing: the English proverb about the nobleman killing his hounds is false, too.
No lord ever killed a good hunting dog to satisfy a peasant! If anything, it's been the other way around. And if the hound gets killed in the free-for-all, the King immediately sends a sympathy telegram to the nobleman. Along with flowers and funeral wreaths! If I didn't misunderstand you. Of course you misunderstood. Let me talk, Inspector. Yes sir, excuse me. I don't understand, your honor, why you wanted to invent this tall story - FOOL.
Tall story? No, it's just one of those normal "exaggerations" or "tricks" which the high court also uses sometimes, to show the police how uncivilized such methods are - not to say criminal! Then you're still convinced that if the anarchist threw himself out of the window, we were the ones to urge him on? You proved it to me yourselves a moment ago, when you lost control! But we weren't present at the moment when he jumped. Ask the officer! Yes, your honor, they had just left the room when he jumped out!
That's like saying that if someone sets a bomb inside a bank and then leaves, he's not guilty, because he wasn't there at the time of the explosion!! Oh, we're really on the ball with our logic around here! No, no, your honor; there's been a misunderstanding. We're talking about the second one.
Ah, that's right. Well, I wouldn't say exactly a retraction. A simple correction. Well, we - FOOL. I warn you that I also have the transcripts of this new version. Please continue. We corrected the time of the. What do you mean by the time of the trick? Yes, to make a long story short, we stated that we set the trap for the anarchist, telling him those stories and what not, around eight o'clock in the evening instead of at midnight.
At twenty hundred hours, in other words. Ah, you set everything, including the flight from the window, at four hours earlier! A kind of super-extended daylight savings time! No, not the flight - that still happened at midnight, with no change. There were witnesses. One of them was that reporter who was standing down there in the courtyard, remember?
The judge shakes his head no. The one who heard the thumping noises on the building ledge and then on the ground, and was the first to come running.
The suicide took place at midnight and the fairytale session at eight. So where do we stand with the raptus? After all, barring contrary evidence, your entire version of the suicide is based on that raptus. Every one of you, from the examining judge to the district attorney, has always insisted on the fact that the poor slob threw himself out, "the cause being sudden raptus".
No, no - we're not dumping the "raptus" at all - FOOL. You are too dumping it! And where does that leave the "sudden raptus? You could have told him Bakunin was a fink working as an informer for the police and the Vatican: it would have been the same! But that was exactly what we wanted, your honor! You wanted to tell him Bakunin was a fink? No, we wanted to prove that the "raptus" couldn't have been caused by our deceptions, by our false statements.
Why yes, of course, you're right. What a first rate idea. Thanks, your honor. Of course; it's certain that this way nobody can lay the blame on you: there was a nasty fib, but it can't be considered a determining factor! Therefore we're innocent. Good for you, boys. Of course, now it's not clear why that poor jerk threw himself out the window.
But that's not important; for now the important thing is that you come out innocent. Thanks again. I'll tell you sincerely, I was afraid that you started out with your mind already made up about us. Already made up? Yes, that you wanted us guilty at any cost. For goodness' sake. If anything, it's just the opposite: I'll tell you, if I acted a little harsh and aggressive, it was only so that you'd be forced to come up with the kind of evidence and arguments that would allow me to help you as much as possible to come out on top.
I'm sincerely touched. It's wonderful to know that the High Court is still the police department's best friend! Let's say collaborator. Yes, let's call it that.
But you have to collaborate, too, so that I can help you all the way. We'd be delighted. First of all, we have to provide irrefutable arguments proving that during those four hours the anarchist had entirely gotten over his depression - his famous psychological breakdown, as the judge who closed the investigation referred to it.
Well, there s the testimony of the officer here, and mine too, stating that the anarchist felt better after a first, brief period of distress. Is it in the transcript? Yes, I think so. Yes, yes, it is there; it's included in the second version of the facts. Here it is reads "The railroad worker calmed down and stated that he and the ex-dancer were not on good terms. And let's not forget that our friend the railroad worker was aware of the fact that loads of spies and police informers hung around the anarchist group in Rome.
He had even said so to the dancer: "The police and fascists are using you to foment unrest. And the entire left is going to pay the price for it. Maybe that's exactly why they had the fight!
Right, and since the dancer didn't listen to him, maybe our railroad worker was beginning to suspect that he was a provocateur himself. Ah, could be. Therefore, since he didn't give a damn about him, there's your irrefutable proof: the anarchist was calm. In fact he was actually smiling. Remember, I said so myself, back in the first version. Yes, but unfortunately there's the problem that in the first version you also stated that the anarchist, looking "beaten-down," had lit a cigarette and commented in a tragic voice, "this is the end of the anarchist movement.
Now what ever gave you the bright idea of putting in that kind of melodramatic note - for crying out loud! You're right, your honor. The fact is that it was this young man's idea. I even told him, look, let's leave the big dramatic scenes to movie directors - we're cops! Listen to me: at this point, if we want to find a coherent solution, the only way to figure out what's going on is to throw everything up in the air and start all over again from the beginning.
Should we construct a third version? Good God, no! All we have to do is lend more plausibility to the two we already have. All right then, point one, first rule: what's been said is said, and there's no more turning back.
Therefore it's established that you, Captain, and you, Chief - or someone operating under your orders - told the fairytale; that the anarchist smoked his last cigarette and stated his melodramatic line.
As in the second version. And, as we know, a railroad worker always follows the timetable. The fact is that this way we have all the time we need to make him change his mood. It's a flawless argument! True but how did this change come about?! Time alone isn't enough to heal certain wounds. Somebody must have helped him. I gave him a piece of chewing gum! And what about you two?
Well, I wasn't there. Oh, no, this is too delicate a moment, you had to be there! To achieve the desired results from his intentions, Fo used the Brechtian theatre technique of subversive laughter. His plays lead the audience to an objective contemplation of the serious issues it deals with, by means of what Bertolt Brecht called the alienation effect in his Brecht on Theatre. He makes it a point to keep his audience laughing while also making them see, ideally with a sense of indignation, the injustices and the hypocrisies of the system.
This would separate the audience from the action on the stage, leaving them with an objectivism true only to what they witness on the stage. Super: You mean there is no hope? On one hand, as Wing notes, the characters Fo creates in the play challenge his authority by their dialogues and implications, on the other as a narrative the play works to challenge the authorities and their version of the Pinelli episode.
The primary character of the play, the Madman, seems to be blatantly modeled on Sigmund Freud. He is arrested for the crime of impersonating, and he claims to be suffering from Historonic Mania. In a turn of irony, the role he is accused of impersonating is that of an authority on psychology.
This characterization itself sets up a syllogism of comic contradictions. A madman is but that. Pisani: Hello? One moment. Super: Oh God, the reporter. Madman: Feletti? The one they call the vulture? Super: She wants to interview me about the suicide. Madman: Oh, but you must. Never upset a journalist, especially a woman like her. Think of the article she could write if you refused to see her. As Mitchell notes, the character of the Police men in the play are mere caricatures or stereotypes.
Fo anyway makes them the butt of the comedy via the inherent inconsistencies in their statements. This takes a more serious turn by the woman journalist, the sole woman character in the play. She seems to be based on Camilla Caderna, a reporter from the weekly magazine I Espresso who unearthed some embarrassing facts about the Pinelli affair.
A quite double faced character, she helps the madman play his tricks with the policemen, unintentionally of course. Her presence as a character in the play does in a quite precise manner satire the role of the press and media in Bhandari Fo situations such as the one the play is based on, making a hokum of the entire 5 situation, failing to ask the right questions, and doing the inquiry under the pretense of sympathy for the authorities. All she wants is to make a scandal, much like the real world media, least bothered with the consequences of their actions.
The play seems to avoid any kind of catharsis, any unwinding of the emotions induced by the play. Via this, Fo perhaps hoped to achieve what was the action of the collective, the very community that he was satirizing through his play. Thus, involving simple technique to engage the audience, and banking upon the feature of laughter, Fo put together his social and political satire on the State and the Police corruption via Accidental Death of an Anarchist.
Not only did his play use real life instances to serve his purpose of unnerving the audience, but coming from a strong right-wing grounding and opposition for the ill practices of the authorities, it very successfully it played on the idea of the inherent madness in anarchy.