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The
Edinburgh Fringe
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1998 Fringe Reviews 8
Krapp's Last Tape An RSC performance on the Fringe is quite an event and this was a show I was really looking forward to. However.... As you would expect from the RSC - in the person of Edward Petherbridge - the performance is impeccable. The quality of the recorded sound, however, is poor, and this play depends on that sound, for most of the spoken words are on tape. Both I and many others in the audience found it hard to make out the words. It may be, of course, that those at the front fared better: I hope so, for otherwise there would have been a theatreful of disappointed punters! This early piece by Samuel Beckett has the old man, Krapp, looking back at his life by means of a series of tape recordings, forming a kind of audio-diary. The old Krapp actually says very little (there was no problem hearing the "live" sound), and there is some very well-done play with a recalcitrant desk drawer and a couple of bananas. The Sunday Times called the production "magnificent" and the Telegraph described it as "riveting", but for so many of us today it was a struggle to make out what was being said. Petherbridge's performance was, indeed, magnificent but the acoustic problem meant that for me, and for a number of others I spoke to afterwards, the whole thing was rather disappointing. Shaved Splits Shaved Splits, by Sam Shepard, was first performed in New York in 1970 but has not, until now, had a European production. In its day it had a great impact. The Los Angeles Times described it as "an obscene romp through the sexual, corporate and political gutter of America", but, to be honest, the impact is considerably less now. The plot is simple: the bored wife of a businessman who is constantly away from home passes her time reading pornographic novels and being massaged by a masseur who never speaks to her, whilst being waited on by a Chinese servant. This boring but peaceful existence is shattered when a criminal (we assume a mass murderer) on the run breaks into the house. The rest of the short (one hour) play shows us what happens. The play portrays America as a society in decline, even disintegration, and that is its point. Shepard's own programme note describes the effect of Americanisation on a small Canadian town: "Everybody was fucking and sucking and smoking and shooting and dancing right out in the open. And far off you could hear the sound of America cracking open and crashing into the sea." No one could question the quality of the performance or the production in general, but the play itself is little more than a historical curiosity, its effect being blunted by the passage of time. There is no attempt at understanding the situation - and, surely now, post-Dunblane and Hungerford and so many other similar incidents both here and elsewhere in the world, we need more than someone holding up a mirror and saying, "This is what it is like"?
The Cafe of No Tomorrows The programme describes this piece as "jazz theatre", a fixed script which allows the actors space to improvise dialogue, dance and music. It was one of the first things I decided to see (on the basis of looking at the programme), for it seemed to be an exciting experiment. To continue the quotation from the programme - the perceptive among you will realise that I am having difficulty finding something to say! - The Cafe of No Tomorrows attracts a man and a woman. As soon as they enter, the past is over. There is no future - only the present and the chance to say what they never dared think. They speak, hardly ever to each other, but out to the audience. Their voices are flat, almost toneless, and the message simple. There are many visual images - the woman enters with a balloon, which she ties to a chair; they both carry white cases in which each has a puppet of the other; three of the "scenes" are accompanied by the ticking of a metronome, a different beat for each scene. The pace is slow, reminiscent of Eastern European "art" films - the company, by the way, is from Eastern Europe. Pretentious tosh or deeply significant art? Don't ask me, pal. I'm just a poor theatrical hack!
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