Review: The End

The End
Malthouse Theatre presents a Belvoir production
25 February 2011
Beckett Theatre, CUB Malthouse
to 11 March
www.malthousetheatre.com.au

Samuel Beckett said that "Words are all we have." I'm a word lover and if it weren't for theatre makers, I would have missed too much of Beckett's astonishing writing.

As Coner and Judy Hegarty Lovett showed me the painful bliss of the Beckett's Molloy novels at the 2010 Melbourne International Arts Festival, performer Robert Menzies and director Eamon Flack have convinced me that Beckett's plays are just a hint of his genius.

The novella The End was written in 1946 (originally in French), before Waiting for Godot (1953) and Beckett's Nobel Prize for Literature (1969). His first person storyteller is kicked out of an institution and back on the streets he knows too well. Conned out of his rent money, he heads to the country and finally returns to the suburbs "... beyond the stupid hope of rest or less pain". Beckett's characters are usually in despair, but they show us a light so dim that it's often uncomfortable to laugh – and Beckett wanted us to laugh.

On a bare wooden floor with a cross to mark his place, it's performed as written. Beckett's language is so compelling that the story, for all its drama, can become secondary. Reading Beckett is about the words and language and I don't hear the narrative voice when I read him.  What Menzies's remarkable performance does is turn the wordy narrator in to a character so unforgettable that the words become the music to his story.

Menzies and Flack have created a telling of The End that surpasses the words and creates an experience where the emotion overwhelms the admiration – and the admiration floods in after. This isn't a show to miss.

This review appears on AussieThearte.com

The End is in this book

Review: The Beckett Trilogy

MIAF 2010

The Beckett Trilogy

Gare St Lazare Players Ireland

Melbourne International Arts Festival

15 October 2010

the Arts Centre, Playhouse

www.melbournefestival.com.au

Three hours, one man, one writer – Go! Some people didn't make it, but so what; everyone else was spellbound.

I am embarassed to admit that The Beckett Trilogy: Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable has sat unread in my bookshelf for many years. Some of Beckett's plays sit nearby, but this trilogy of novels with their long dense text that rarely gives the breath of paragraph break, sat untouched with its unbroken virgin spine. Within a few moments of Coner Lovett walking onto the stage, I knew I was going to read Samuel Beckett's novels.

Coner Lovett has performed 19 Beckett roles in 24 Beckett productions in theatres all over the world and my raving opinion can only agree with every rave review that I've read. He has performed in the plays, but found his reason to be on stage when he developed performances of the novels.

Guided by director Judy Hegarty Lovett, he brings voice to these novels; a voice so authentic that I heard it again as soon as I opened a page of Malloy. He brings the space and hesitation and nuance to the text and gives it a life so vivid that his will be Beckett's voice in my head from now on.

The performance is an empty stage, where a baldish man in variations of a black overcoat with brown scuffed shoes stands, with his feet turned out, in three spotlight variations. With nothing to distract, the details of how he stands or the mirrored hand gestures in each piece become vital and beautiful. And the text...I had no idea Beckett was so funny and so bleak (and I thought I loved Beckett before.) I left with images like a parrot saying "Fuck the son of a bitch" and green tea with saccharine and powdered milk, and the voice of a man hoping that he finds death a change.

There were times in Malone Dies where I drifted (possibly because it was in the third person, so not quite as personal), but it didn't matter, as it was so easy to just watch Coner perform, and even coming back to the text half way, it's so rich and evocative that missing a bit of plot didn't hurt.

I've seen some terrific shows this festival, but I think The Beckett Trilogy is the one I'll remember.


This review appears on AussieTheatre.com

Photo by Roz Kavanagh

Happy Days

Happy Days
Malthouse Theatre
12 July 2009
Merlyn Theatre, CUB Malthouse

As I feel uncomfortably stuck to my ergonomic chair and unable to move from the confines of my desk and the growing pile of deadlines surrounding me, I have a soft spot for Winnie. Overwhelmed, out of control, unable to move and pouring forth words to someone who may not be listening; perhaps Beckett wrote Happy Days as an allegory for writers?

Writers tend to like Samuel Beckett, so do actors and people who love to natter about symbolism over a glass of Annie’s Lane Shiraz and a wedge of King Island Brie. So, of course, we love Malthouse Theatre’s Happy Days.

Director Michal Kantor lets Beckett’s words speak for themselves, while shaking up the purist opinions and giving us plenty of post-post-existentialist ideas to ponder.

If you missed out on an arts degree, Happy Days is another one of Beckett’s plays where nothing happens, but this protagonist is buried in a mound of earth. In this case, a post-apocalyptic, jagged mountain of earth supported with shards of broken existences. Anna Cordingley’s design brings an unexpected impact to the work. The deco sculptures, the endless sky curtain and the incessant circle of stage lights sustain our curiosity and wonder, while the artistry of Paul Jackson’s lighting floods the stage with emotion and changes our perspective.

At the centre of this visual gorgeousness sits Julie Forsyth as Winnie. Forsythe is already a legend for playing the same role for Anthill in the 80s and this performance confirms her status. Faced with a deteriorating world and a life without hope, Winnie still finds enjoyment in her routines and her conversations with her mostly silent husband (Peter Carroll) who lives behind her in a cave and has a pot of Vaseline to help kill some time. There’s a gun in Winnie’s bag if she ever needs it, but who would consider such an act when there’s so many other things to do? She is the eternal optimist, or the ultimate passive aggressive who turns her controlling aggression on to herself. Winnie never forgets to mention her migraines or remind herself to count her blessings; she knows that it sucks being buried in a mound of earth, but also knows that she had no choice. Forsythe’s cheery Winnie is hopeful and funny, but she also lets us glimpse Winnie’s inner-self, who only wears a smile so that no one knows that she’s defeated.

I love listening to post-show and interval audience conversations. Happy Days had the usual share of “It’s not my cup of tea”, “I stayed awake for most of it”, “I love that blue curtain” and “I prefer something with a story”. I wonder why these people come to see a Beckett. I also saw them at the MTCs current Pinter, where they said the same (just replace blue curtain with tea towels). If you know you don’t like Beckett, Kantor’s production isn’t going to convert you , so stay at home and enjoy Masterchef, and give your subscription ticket to a financially-strapped actor who can’t afford to go and really wants to see it.

This review originally appeared on AussieTheatre.com.