Theater of the Absurd focuses on existential ideas about what happens when existence lacks meaning or purpose and communication breaks down. The genre is an acquired taste. Having brilliantly directed
End Game last season, Ciarán O’Reilly continues his penchant for Samuel Beckett with three of the playwright’s short pieces.
From the program: “Why now? Has there ever been a more consequential time to delve deeper and ask the fundamental questions – The Whys? Why Beckett? Because he’s Irish and he knows things.” If this evoked a wry smile and/or raised eyebrows, you’re in for an interesting evening of theater.
Not I (1972) is a bleak, tragicomic monologue during which, in accordance with Beckett’s directions, we ONLY see a moving mouth. (The theater is pitch.) It’s apparently spoken by a 70 something woman, mute since childhood but for occasional outbursts. Having sustained a silent, loveless existence, she erupts- at top speed. Sentences are often jumbled. The heroine is plagued by traumatic memories, buzzing and light.
Sarah Street
In his own words, Beckett wanted to “work on the nerves of the audience without intellect.” It certainly does that. Slowing speech somewhat would make it more intelligible. (I attended early on. This may have been adjusted.) Sarah Street imbues the monologue with palpable emotion.
Play (1963 – then in German) finds a deceased man sandwiched between his mistress and wife. The trio’s heads extend out of funeral urns much like Nell and Nagg’s from garbage cans in Endgame. Each character is only concerned with her/himself, facing forward, oblivious of neighbors. Samuel Beckett: A Biography by Deirdre Blair, states Beckett wrote each part separately, then interspersed them, working out breaks.
The affair was not unique. There are recriminations. The distressed wife threatened suicide, then confronted her husband’s cocky mistress. Each disdains the other. Fickle, the man made promises convincing both women. Sentences are fragmented. At some point, these repeat, decelerating
like wind-up dolls. Characters and relationships are clear; timing adroit; hiccoughs droll. Eternity looms. Sarah Street, Roger Dominic Casey, Kate Forbes, each with character specificity.
Sarah Street, Roger Dominic Casey, Kate Forbes
Krapps Last Tape (1958) is the most accessible of the three one acts. Sixty-nine year-old Krapp is listening to his 39 year-old self on reel-to-reel tape, cross referencing a diary. Research reveals it’s his birthday.
(I didn’t catch this in the script.) Bitter and alone, he searches for good memories, proof of attractiveness and virility. “I lay down across her with my face in her breasts…” The actor leans forward, face almost on the table.
F. Murray Abraham makes a meal of the piece. He’s riveting. Inventive stage business – locked drawers that stick, swigging from bottles (seemingly wine, then whiskey – a glass!) and marvelous mime with bananas (ostensibly his only sustenance) bridge reactions. We observe him wistful, frustrated, bruised, upset, resigned. There are flickering moments of pride, some, touching and parentheses when Abraham’s expression conjures a scene described by his younger self. Nothing seems forced or fake. Focus is sustained as if organic. Masterful.
Direction by Ciarán O’Reilly is filled with flashes of nuance and dark humor. Physical acting in Krapp arrives fly-on-the-wall real. Even deep coughing elicits a wince. The theater is silent. We are THERE.
Design is pitch perfect: Charlie Corcoran’s sets- “boxing in” Play and Krapp’s overstuffed, dirty, disorganized room; eloquent Props by Nicole Rozanski; Orla Long’s old-man-alone costume makes one itch; painterly lighting by Michael Gottlieb; evocative music by Ryan Rumery.
Photos by Carol Rosegg
Opening – F. Murray Abraham
Beckett Briefs- From the Cradle to the Grave
Three Short Plays by Samuel Beckett:
Not I, Play, Krapp’s Last Tape
Directed by Ciarán O’Reilly
January 15-March 9, 2025
Irish Repertory Theatre
132 West 22nd Street
