You could call me Lucky. I had the best seats in the house last night for the Beckett Shorts which are now running at New York Theatre Workshop. It's the most coveted ticket in town because Mikhail Baryshnikov makes a return to the stage in this much-publicized production. But Baryshnikov isn't the only, or even the primary reason to see this work. He is in the company of some serious heavy-hitters in the world theater.
The plays are directed by Joanne Akalaitis (founder of Mabou Mines). Volumes could be written on Akalaitis alone, especially in relationship to Beckett. She was one of the performers - along with Ruth Maleczech and Ellen McElduff - in a production of the Beckett short play Come and Go which opened at the Théâtre du Rond-Point on October 6, 1981, directed by Lee Breuer.
Akalaitis became a theatrical legend when her production of Endgame back in the 80's was closed down by the Beckett estate for taking too many liberties. The show did eventually open - with a letter written by Beckett disavowing the production included in the program. Writing for the New York Times (Dec. 20, 1984) Mel Gussow proclaimed "Miss Akalaitis's approach to this contemporary masterwork is volatile. In her hands, ''Endgame'' has an intense dramatic drive as well as profundity." It was a risk that worked in her favor, sealing Akalaitis' reputation as "great interpreter" of Beckett.
(BTW - Joanne Akalaitis isn't the only notable director to get in hot water with the cantankerous Irishman. Ten years earlier (February, 1973) André Gregory directed Endgame for New York University School of the Arts. His production featured "a wild array" of sound effects (bugles, machine guns, crowing roosters, automobiles) and quickly won disapproval from critics and Beckett.)
For this current foray into Beckett, Ms. Akalaitis' husband, Philip Glass, composed some new music. Not too much, however. The same loop plays incessantly before the show begins. The lighting has been done by the mother of all lighting designers: Jennifer Tipton. And another famous artist -Alexander Brodsky - was enlisted as the set designer. Brodsky is widely known as an artist of the Paper Architects school - one of the first artists to gain freedom of expression after the fall of the Soviet regime. His solo exhibitions have been seen all over the world (Russia, Venice, Guggenheim, Bilbao, MOMA, Whitney - you name it!) I kept wondering if
there was some connection between Brodsky, and the artist character "Aleksandr Petrovsky" played by Baryshnikov on TV's Sex and the City.Now, about the work itself. Let me preface this by saying that any performance of Beckett anywhere should be cause for celebration. I personally can't get enough of it, so an evening spent listening to the words of the master is an evening well spent no matter what. I had some great conversations with my friend Vyen both before and after the show. Vyen is a visual artist and often gives me a much deeper perspective on the theater - owing to the fact that she isn't invested in it in the same way I am. She sees it more objectively, and her experience last night was one of satisfaction. Sensing my irritation she said "Everyone takes Beckett so personally." Yep.
But I was underwhelmed. There's a kind of crispness to Beckett's writing. It has to do with the rhythm and the timing. So much of it should be funny. Really funny. Intentionally funny. Vaudeville funny. And comedy is all about precision. Not just in movement. But in intention. We need to see the characters' decision-making process. That was the secret to Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. I don't mean that you have to "telegraph" what you're doing. But there does need to be some thought process that goes from A to B (as Beckett himself writes in Rough for Theatre I - the third piece on the bill.) In Act Without Words I, Baryshnikov is scurrying about the stage hearing whistles, grasping for a jug of water, trying to cut down a rope....we need to know why he's doing it. Is he thirsty? Or is it just because this is what the stage directions tell him to do. It's a very tricky line, and much to Akalaitis' credit, they don't go in the opposite direction and over-reach. But when the production values are so high (a sand full of stage, neon lights, scrims, projections, a fully-mechanical palm tree), and the material is so superb, you can't help but wonder why there wasn't a little more time spent trying understand the moment-to-moment beats. It was unclear. And the audience felt it. There were a few forced laughs and some polite applause. It should've been so much better.
The second piece on the bill was Act Without Words II. Here again there was technical wizardry. The center of the stage elevated three feet and the action played out on a horizontal ledge. The mechanical "goad" that awakens both players from their "sleep" was similar in style to the palm tree, giving a retro-mechanical spin to the goings-on. I'm sure there is some very deep, well-thought out, aesthetic/philosophical statement being made by all of the scenic choices. That's all well and good if you have the money, which clearly NYTW does. But it all comes down to the performances, and this piece fell flat as well. There was no rhythmic clarity, no moment-to-moment decision making. The actions were muddied. David Neumann would take his watch out of his pocket and look at it without really registering the time, begin brushing his teeth before he'd even completed the next little "exercise", would move on to combing his hair. Each of these actions were done correctly, as indicated in Beckett's stage directions. But there were no moments of discovery, no moments of realization, no moments of wonderment, or frustration or humor. In fact, there were no moments at all. Just repetitive actions being done for no reason against a backdrop of repetitive music which also is void of any sentiment. Mechanical. I guess maybe that was the "concept".
The evening got a little more interesting with Rough For Theatre II. Characters began to speak. And this play, more than any of the others on the bill, is the quintessential Beckett. Here we have characters that are almost sketches for Endgame. Hamm can't stand and Clov can't sit. In this case A (Baryshnikov) can't see and B (Bill Camp) can't walk. The two characters are locked in a match of futility, each vying to be more pitiful than the other. Each trying to get one up on the other in whatever way they can. But about two minutes into the play I realized that Akalaitis had really handicapped herself with all that sand she put onstage. The wheelchair couldn't move!! That meant that all of the physical actions Beckett describes -- (He pushes himself forward a little, halts. He pushes himself back a little, halts. A. lays hold of the chair and starts pushing it blindly.) -- couldn't be carried out! I kept thinking - here you've got an actor in a wheelchair who can't move about the stage. Clearly much of the comedy of the piece lies in B's ability to evade the blind A, the interplay between sound and movement. But comedy was nowhere to be found in this production. Bill Camp growled through the play until you weren't sure what he was so angry about, and wondered why Baryshnikov's character didn't just leave the stage. Certainly there is cruelty in Beckett's writing. But the trick is to find all the light and humor you possibly can. Camp is a fine actor, and found a few great comedic moments. But he seemed like he was on his own with no directorial assistance whatsoever. (It was also disconcerting that the blanket he had on his lap kept slipping off as he tried to wheel around in the sand. Under the blank he was wearing blue jeans. Blue jeans?? C'mon. If you're going to spend this much money, at least finish the costumes off completely.)
The last piece of the evening was by far the best, and demonstrates the Akalaitis' true genius. Eh Joe was originally written by Beckett as a television play for the BBC. I kept wondering how she would reconcile all the specific camera moves that were written in the script. Essentially the play is a long monologue by on off-stage (or I should say "off-camera") voice. We watch the face of Joe (Mikhail Baryshnikov) while the woman recounts stories of betrayal, and questions Joe about love, God, existence. Joe is sitting on his bed listening. Is he about to die? Is this all the regret left at the end of a life? It's not a funny play, but again, there is humor there if you look for it. Akalaitis didn't. But the technological skill with which the play is accomplished overcomes any criticism you could have about the delivery of the words by the one-note Karen Kandel. I spent more time wondering how it was all being done than actually listening to the words. Baryshnikov's face is projected in multiple layers: on the front scrim and two places on the back wall. He holds a tiny little camera in his hand as he sits on the bed, and his camera movements are exactly as Beckett had written. This is a great innovation that makes use of all the technological advancement we now have. It also shows Baryshnikov's great strength as an actor - on camera, not on stage. His close-ups are moving and poignant, and it is here that the merging of theater and film - mediums that Beckett was interested in integrating throughout his career - are truly successful. In the final play of the evening Akalaitis shows us her real power as director. But it isn't in working with the actors.
