She was not suffering...imagine!...not suffering!
The Beckett Project , a collection of 4 plays by our dear Samuel Beckett, reminds us that there is more in life than nothingness—there is darkness. Darkness overwhelms a solitary mouth in her deluded monologue in Not I, compelling the audience to focus on her torrents of bleak misery; darkness surrounds the solitary woman in Footfalls who has, like the rest of us, spent her whole life walking to and fro in the confines of a narrow strip of stage, making no progress whatsoever; and darkness is imminent on the old lady who pulled down her window-blind in Rockaby.
In all this darkness there lie, I suppose, a relatively discomforted audience. Indeed it is hard to find one of Beckett’s works that leaves one in a state of magnified happiness; our clarity on life is magnified, perhaps, but seldom our joy with it. A fragmented mouth suspends itself upstage in Not I, 3 characters with their faces painted find themselves placed in 3 gigantic urns in Play. A grey-haired, grey-robed woman drags her footsteps arcoss 7 feet of stage, then back again, for almost the entire duration of Footfalls. Another similar aged figure lies on her rocking chair in Rockaby and listens to a voice coming from elsewhere—her own voice perhaps, but she is not speaking. She is merely rocking on her rocker-chair, sitting by her window, looking at all the lowered blinds amongst the audience. The voices in Not I and Play rattle off at their own blazing pace, almost as if they were trying to leave the audience far behind. The voices in Footfalls and Rockaby proceed in a sleep-inducing pace, almost as if they were in a sleep themselves. Truly a remarkable experience.
The one strong point I admire about the Project (or maybe it is more to Beckett’s credit) is how it leaves indelible imprints on the audience. The sometimes-hysterical voice cries, ‘what position she was in . . . imagine! . . what position she was in!’ and then, later on, ‘she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . not suffering!’, and the hysteria converts itself into a memorable litany of aberrant expressions. The drawl of ‘one two three four five six seven wheel’ is hard to forget too, as would be the image of that old, bent figure slowly traversing across the strip of ‘bare floor’ over and over again.
In other, brighter news, bishan library is opening next week. It can only mean less people down at my library nearby. The Beckett Project is rather inspiring, we’ll see how things go.
In all this darkness there lie, I suppose, a relatively discomforted audience. Indeed it is hard to find one of Beckett’s works that leaves one in a state of magnified happiness; our clarity on life is magnified, perhaps, but seldom our joy with it. A fragmented mouth suspends itself upstage in Not I, 3 characters with their faces painted find themselves placed in 3 gigantic urns in Play. A grey-haired, grey-robed woman drags her footsteps arcoss 7 feet of stage, then back again, for almost the entire duration of Footfalls. Another similar aged figure lies on her rocking chair in Rockaby and listens to a voice coming from elsewhere—her own voice perhaps, but she is not speaking. She is merely rocking on her rocker-chair, sitting by her window, looking at all the lowered blinds amongst the audience. The voices in Not I and Play rattle off at their own blazing pace, almost as if they were trying to leave the audience far behind. The voices in Footfalls and Rockaby proceed in a sleep-inducing pace, almost as if they were in a sleep themselves. Truly a remarkable experience.
The one strong point I admire about the Project (or maybe it is more to Beckett’s credit) is how it leaves indelible imprints on the audience. The sometimes-hysterical voice cries, ‘what position she was in . . . imagine! . . what position she was in!’ and then, later on, ‘she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . not suffering!’, and the hysteria converts itself into a memorable litany of aberrant expressions. The drawl of ‘one two three four five six seven wheel’ is hard to forget too, as would be the image of that old, bent figure slowly traversing across the strip of ‘bare floor’ over and over again.
In other, brighter news, bishan library is opening next week. It can only mean less people down at my library nearby. The Beckett Project is rather inspiring, we’ll see how things go.
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