The Caretaker’s main characters—Davies, Aston, and Mick—are all powerless in the face of the chaotic, oppressive forces that rule their world. Aston is forcibly institutionalized because of his mental illness, Davies’s homelessness makes him desperate and reliant on others, and Mick’s many familial and financial obligations overwhelm him. In response to their lack of power, every character—even the comparatively altruistic, harmless Aston—engages in manipulation and deception in an attempt to gain power and control over their surroundings (and, by extension, over one another). Davies lies about his past to ingratiate himself with Mick and Aston, Mick absorbs himself in his work and obligations to ignore the bleak reality of his life, and Aston talks incessantly of his plans to build a shed in an effort to convince himself and others that he is a motivated, functioning member of society. But none of these tactics genuinely fulfill the characters or change what they’re worried about. So, although the story positions deception a way to feel in control, it also suggests that lying to oneself and others doesn’t bring a person lasting power or solve their problems.
Davies recognizes that he’s powerless and unqualified in the eyes of society, so he lies to Mick and Aston to ingratiate himself with the brothers and prolong his stay in their home. In the society of the play (post-WWII London), productivity and social status are what give people value—so Davies’s poverty, derelict appearance, and lack of work ethic put him at a severe disadvantage. As a result, he resorts to lying: when Mick follows his offer to Davies to be the building’s caretaker by asking Davies if he was “in the services,” for example, Davies’s responds, “the what?” This rather humorously confirms what the audience surely must have guessed: that, of course, the lethargic and aimless Davies hasn’t served in the military. Davies follows this slip up, however, by responding affirmatively and with gusto to Mick’s suggestion, stating “oh…yes. Spent half my life there, man. Overseas…like…serving…I was.” In deceiving Mick into believing he served in the military, Davies projects the experience and credibility he needs to convince Mick that he’s qualified to be the caretaker of Mick and Aston’s house—qualities that he knows he can’t acquire through honest means. In this way, lying to Mick secures Davies the power that comes with having credibility, a job, and a roof over one’s head.
But Davies lies to himself as much as he lies to other people, and he merely reinforces his own powerlessness when he blames others in a futile attempt to gain power. Davies crafts a narrative about who is responsible for his setbacks, positing that others—namely Black people and foreigners—are to blame for the ills that plague him. For example, he grumbles to Aston about not being able to find an empty seat during his tea break at the café that night, explaining that “all them Greeks had it, Poles, Greeks, Blacks, the lot of them, all them aliens” were “doing [him] out of a seat, treating [him] like dirt.” He goes a step further, claiming that these foreigners “got the manners of pigs.” Davies’s statements are ironic, as it’s really he who has bad manners, which he demonstrates in his unwillingness to take orders during work and his tendency to lash out violently when he believes someone has wronged him. In this sense, Davies blames other people (often scapegoating certain races or ethnicities) for his own misdeeds or for circumstances that are beyond his control, which allows him to maintain an imagined status of importance and agency. But importantly, blaming others does not actually solve Davies’s problems: complaining about Black people and immigrants doesn’t free up a seat for him, just as lying about his military service doesn’t actually make him a qualified, disciplined person. So, although lying to himself might give Davies a sense of control over his life, it doesn’t empower or help him in any lasting, meaningful way.
While Davies is the most explicitly deceptive character in the play, Mick and Aston also lie to themselves and to others to feel some level of control over their chaotic, dissatisfying lives. Aston repeatedly tries to convince himself and others that he really can build the woodshed out back, going out on multiple occasions to pick up the tools and supplies he needs to start the task. Mick, meanwhile, lies to himself that he and Aston will one day live harmoniously in a fully repaired, lavishly decorated home in order to distract himself from worrying about Aston (who is disabled) and dealing with Aston’s failure to make the repairs. Like Davies, Mick and Aston tell themselves the lies they want to believe in order to bring order and purpose to their otherwise flailing, unfulfilled lives. But in the end, these lies don’t bring them any closer to achieving their goals, and in fact seem to leave the men paralyzed and unmotivated to actively improve their lives.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Power and Deception ThemeTracker
Power and Deception Quotes in The Caretaker
Ten minutes off for tea-break in the middle of the night in that place and I couldn’t find a seat, not one. All them Greek had it, Poles, Greeks, Blacks, the lot of them, all them aliens had it. And they had me working there…they had me working.
All them toe-rags, mate, got the manners of pigs. I might have been on the road a few years but you can take it from me I’m clean. I keep myself up. That’s why I left my wife. Fortnight after I married her, no, not so much as that, no more than a week, I took the lid off a saucepan, you know what was in it? A pile of her underclothing, unwashed. (Turns R.) The pan for vegetables, it was. The vegetable pan. That’s when I left her and I haven’t seen her since. […] I’ve eaten my dinner off the best of plates.
Shoes? It’s life and death to me.
DAVIES. What’s this?
ASTON. (Aston crosses to L. of Davies. Davies hands him Buddha. Taking and studying it.) That’s a Buddha.
DAVIES. Get on.
ASTON. Yes. I quite liked it. Picked it up in a…in a shop. Looked quite nice to me. Don’t know why. What do you think of these Buddhas?
DAVIES. Oh, they’re…they’re all right, en’t they?
DAVIES. Yes, I was pleased when I got hold of this one. It’s very well made.
DAVIES. (With great feeling.) If only the weather would break! Then I’d be able to get down to Sidcup!
ASTON. You Welsh? (Pause.)
DAVIES. Well, I been around, you know… I been about….
ASTON. Where were you born then?
DAVIES. (Darkly.) What do you mean?
ASTON. Where were you born?
DAVIES. I was … uh … oh, it’s a bit hard, like, to set your mind back … going back … going back … a good way… lose a bit of track, like … you see what I mean….
You’re stinking the place out. You’re an old robber, there’s no getting away from it. You’re an old skate. You don’t belong in a nice place like this. You’re an old barbarian. Honest. You got no business wandering about in an unfurnished flat.
MICK. […] You still got that leak.
ASTON. Yes. (Pause. Gets plug from shelf.) It’s coming from the roof. (looks up.)
MICK. From the roof, eh?
ASTON. Yes. (Pause.) I’ll have to tar it over.
MICK. You’re going to tar it over?
ASTON. Yes.
MICK. What?
ASTON. The cracks. (Pause.)
MICK. You’ll be tarring over the cracks on the roof.
ASTON. Yes. (Pause.)
MICK. Think that’ll do it?
ASTON. It’ll do it, for the time being.
MICK. Uh. (Pause.)
DAVIES. (Abruptly.) What do you do—? (They both look at him.) What do you do…when that bucket’s full? (Pause. Mick looks at Aston.)
ASTON. Empty it. (Pause.)
DAVIES. Who was that feller?
ASTON. He’s my brother.
DAVIES. Is he? He’s a bit of a joker, en’t he?
ASTON. Uh.
DAVIES. Yes…he’s a real joker.
ASTON. He’s got a sense of humour.
DAVIES. (Crosses to chair, sits. Faces Aston.) Yes, I noticed. (Pause.) He’s a real joker, that lad, you can see that. (Pause.)
ASTON. Yes, he tends…he tends to see the funny side of things.
DAVIES. Well, he’s got a sense of humour, en’t he?
ASTON. Yes.
ASTON. (Crosses to window, looks out.) Once I get that shed up outside … I’ll be able to give a bit more thought to the flat, you see. Perhaps I can make one or two things for it. I can work with my hands, you see. That’s one thing I can do. I never knew I could. But I can do all sorts of things now, with my hands. You know, manual things. When I get that shed up out there…I’ll have a workshop, you see. I … could do a bit of woodwork. Simple woodwork, to start. Working with…good wood. […]
DAVIES. Yes …well, I know about these sorts of shirts, you see. Shirts like these, they don’t go far in the wintertime. I mean, that’s one thing I know for a fact. No, what I need, is a kind of a shirt with stripes, a good solid shirt, with stripes going down. That’s what I want. […]
MICK. No, he just doesn’t like work, that’s his trouble.
DAVIES. Is that a fact?
MICK. It’s a terrible thing to have to say about your own brother.
DAVIES. Ay.
MICK. He’s just shy of it. Very shy of it.
DAVIES. I know that sort.
MICK. You know the type?
DAVIES. I’ve met them.
MICK. I mean, I want to get him going in the world.
DAVIES. Stands to reason, man.
DAVIES. I was saying, he’s … he’s a bit of a funny bloke, your brother. (Mick stares at him.)
MICK. Funny? Why?
DAVIES. Well … he’s funny. …
MICK. What’s funny about him? (Pause.)
DAVIES. Not liking work.
MICK. (Rises.) What’s funny about that?
DAVIES. (Slow turn to Mick.) Nothing. (Pause.)
MICK. (Crosses to Davies.) I don’t call it funny.
DAVIES. Nor Me.
MICK. You don’t want to start getting hypercritical.
MICK. I’ll be quite open with you. I could rely on a man like you around the place, keeping an eye on things.
DAVIES. Well now … wait a minute … I … I ain’t never done no caretaking before, you know….
MICK. Doesn’t matter about that. It’s just that you look a capable sort of man to me.
DAVIES. I am a capable sort of man. I mean to say, I’ve had plenty of offers in my time, you know, there’s no getting away from that.
MICK. Well, I could see before, when you took out that knife, that you wouldn’t let anyone mess about.
DAVIES. No one messes me about, man. […]
DAVIES. (Crosses to L. of Aston.) Yes, but what about me? What…what you got to say about my position? (Pause.)
You can’t live in the same room with someone who … who don’t have any conversation with you.
Furniture … mahogany and rosewood. Deep azure-blue carpet, unglazed blue and white curtains, a bedspread with a pattern of small blue roses on a white ground, dressing-table with a lift-up top containing a plastic tray, table lamp of white raffia […] it wouldn’t be a flat it’d be a palace.
I’ve seen better days than you have, man. Nobody ever got me inside of them places, anyway. I’m a sane man! So don’t you start mucking me about. I’ll be all right as long as you keep your place. Just you keep your place, that’s all. Because I can tell you, your brother’s got his eye on you. […] He knows all about you. I got a friend there, don’t you worry about that. I got a true pal there. Treating me like dirt! Why’d you invite me in here in the first place if you was going to treat me like this? You think you’re better than me you got another thing coming. I know enough. They had you inside one of them places before, they can have you inside again. Your brother’s got his eye on you!
You’ve been stinking the place out.
What a strange man you are. Aren’t you? You’re really strange. Ever since you came into this house there’s been nothing but trouble. Honest. […] I can take nothing you say at face value. Every word you speak is open to any number of different interpretations. […] Most of what you say is lies. You’re violent, you’re erratic, you’re just completely unpredictable. You’re nothing else but a wild animal, when you come down to it. You’re a barbarian. And to put the old tin lid on it, you stink from arse-hole to breakfast time.
