Crapp's latest tape is a summary. The play is the last tape of crapp. I could be happy
If you wake up any theater expert in the middle of the night and ask him to name the ten greatest world directors of the second half of the 20th century, then there is no doubt that Wilson will be in one of the first places on this list. A director and artist in one person, he managed to turn all the ideas about the visual side of the theater that existed before him. His best performances, from the seven-hour "Deaf Gaze" to the seven-day "Ka Mountain and the Gardenia Terrace," are monumental canvases in which often for several hours not a single word was uttered and nothing concrete happened, but which inevitably mesmerized with their meditative beauty , perfect accuracy of details and every gesture.
Wilson is a poet and mathematician rolled into one.
He knows how to create on stage alien landscapes, a series of surreal visions that make the wildest dreams come true.
And yet each of his performances is a score painted in the smallest detail, in which there can be nothing superfluous and accidental, and in every turn of the actor's head, every change in lighting has its own meaning.
The performances have come to Russia only three times so far. In 1998, he showed the Persephone staged in Italy at the Chekhov Festival, and in 2001 he created The Play of Dreams based on Strindberg at the Dramaten in Stockholm, in which the degree of visionary freedom, even in the context of his theater, went off scale beyond all conceivable limits. A little later, in 2005, Wilson staged his so far only Russian production - Madame Butterfly at the Bolshoi; however, it was just another transfer of the opera, first staged by him back in the early 90s.
This time, the Moscow audience saw Wilson from a completely new side, not as the author of complex multi-figured actions, but as both the director and performer of the chamber solo performance. But for him "Krapp's Last Tape" is not the first such experience: not so long ago he had already directed "Hamlet. Monologue ", where he performed at once for all the characters in Shakespeare's play. Wilson's solo performances are a very special phenomenon.
Here we are not just talking about the author of the play, who is the same in all faces, but about the director who acts as an actor, not for a second forgetting about his second hypostasis, and as if all the time seeing himself from the audience.
The set is unusually modest for Wilson: a simple stage pavilion with narrow skylights and an entire glass wall of small oblong compartments in the background, somewhat reminiscent of a giant bookcase. Every now and then the window panes begin to sparkle with a bizarre play of light - it is raining to the sound of thunder.
Wilson himself, in the role of old man Krapp, created by Samuel Beckett, who listens to recordings of his own voice over and over again from different years, is dressed in an impeccable ceremonial suit, and his face is whitened like a clown. He solemnly sits at his desk, dismantles heavy boxes with reels of film and is somewhat reminiscent of Prospero from Shakespeare's The Tempest - a wizard-master in the middle of a deserted world.
Of course, the everyday background, which is quite easy to bring under this Beckett's play, disappears without a trace in Wilson's play.
Krapp is perceived not at all as a real lonely grandfather, but as the last person on a planet abandoned by all, where there has long been nothing but his pitiful house.
Wilson exists on stage with amazing virtuosity. You can forget about everything and admire his every movement, every artistic exclamation that he utters, the very sound of his perfectly set voice, and the English language, which sounds here more like British than American. For the first 25-30 minutes of the performance, he does not utter a word - and yet it is impossible to take your eyes off him. So he takes a banana out of the box for a long, long time, peels it carefully, then holds it in a frozen hand, then opens his mouth wide in advance - and, as if on command, promptly sends the fruit there. Here is the second time he repeats the same procedure without any changes.
When his own voice speaks of a baby ball dear to him, his fingers instinctively clench a little, so that you can imagine an invisible ball in his hands. When he remembers his love, he hugs the player, as if hugging a girl.
Wilson is, of course, the ideal actor for his performances. He is unquestioningly obedient to his own directorial drawing, and it is difficult to imagine that each next show of the performance would be at least one iota different from the previous one.
All the time you catch yourself thinking that Wilson the actor is on stage, and Wilson the director is in the audience, and as if watching the performance from the side, and guiding himself like the most obedient puppet.
As a director, Wilson this time diligently follows Beckett's directions (of which about half the play consists), and even the banana number was made exactly as the author directed.
"Krapp's Last Tape" is a textbook performance, by which you can learn the basics of acting and directing. An ideal technical specimen, a rigidly debugged mechanism that works exactly like an atomic clock.
That is why there is no room for anything living, nothing unexpected, nothing that would go beyond the rules in "Krapp's Last Tape". Strange, but Wilson, the grandiose reformer who transformed the world theater, appears in this production exactly as a classic - another, one of. The play's picture is still perfect, but there is no longer a trace of that unbridled fantasy of Wilson that ruled all his performances.
"Krapp's Last Tape" is a performance that looks quite ordinary and traditional today, does not carry any new and non-trivial meanings, does not even try to experiment with form, but simply walks along the repeatedly rolled rails laid by its creator. A performance that looks like a music box that sounds flawlessly, and the person who launched it is simultaneously touched by its sound and is inside it, replacing all the cogs. For Wilson, this is more of a child's play than acting, nothing more than just fun. Although, of course, against the background of even the best performances of so many other directors, Wilson's performance may seem like an unattainable summit.
Current page: 1 (total book has 1 pages)
Samuel Beckett
Krapp's last tape
A play in one act
Krapp "s Last Tape by Samuel Beckett
Translation from English 3. Ginsburg
Late evening.
Crapp's Den. In the middle of the stage there is a small table, the drawers of which slide out towards the auditorium. At the table, facing the viewer, on the other side of the boxes sits Krapp - an old, tired man. The red, once black, tight trousers are too short for him. There are four large pockets in a reddish black vest. Silver watch with a massive silver chain. A dirty white collarless shirt open at the chest. On his feet were dirty white shoes that were oversized, narrow, with a long toe. On a very pale face, a purple nose. Gray hair is disheveled. Not shaved. Nearsighted, but does not wear glasses. Hears poorly. Cracked voice with very characteristic intonations. Moves with difficulty. On the table are a tape recorder with a microphone and several cardboard boxes with reels of recorded tapes. The table and small area around it are brightly lit. The rest of the scene is dark. For a while, Krapp is motionless, then he sighs heavily, looks at his watch, feels for a long time in his pockets, takes out an envelope from there, puts it back in his pocket, rummages for a long time, pulls out a small bunch of keys, brings them closer to his eyes, picks out a key, gets up and goes to drawers of the table. He bends down, opens the first drawer, looks into it, feels with his hand what is there, takes out the coil, examines it, puts it back and locks the drawer; he opens the second drawer, looks into it, feels it with his hand, takes out a large banana, looks at it, locks the drawer, puts the key in his pocket.
Krapp turns around, approaches the proscenium, stops, peels a banana, takes the tip of the banana in his mouth and freezes, staring blankly in front of him. In the end, he takes a bite and begins to walk up and down the proscenium, in the bright light, not taking more than four or five steps in one direction and the other, and thoughtfully eating a banana. And suddenly, stepping on a banana skin, he slipped, almost fell. He straightens up, then bends down, looks at the skin, and finally, bending over again, throws it with his foot into the orchestra pit. He starts walking back and forth again, eats a banana, walks over to the table, sits down. He is motionless for a while. He takes a deep breath, takes the keys out of his pocket, brings them to his eyes, chooses the right key, gets up and walks over to the drawers of the table. Opens the second drawer, takes out another large banana, looks at it, locks the drawer, puts the keys in his pocket, turns, walks to the front stage, stops, strokes the banana, peels it, throws the skin into the orchestra pit, puts the tip of the banana in his mouth and freezes, meaningless looking in front of you. Finally, a thought comes to his mind, he puts the banana in his waistcoat pocket so that its tip protrudes outward, and with an axis of speed, which he is still capable of, rushes into the depths of the stage, into the darkness. Ten seconds pass. The cork slams loudly. Another fifteen seconds pass. Krapp returns to the light with an old ledger in his hands and sits down at his desk. He puts the book on the table, wipes his mouth and hands with the edge of his waistcoat, and begins to wipe them.
Crapp (suddenly)... BUT! (Leans over the ledger, flips through the pages, finds the place he needs, reads.) Box ... third ... coil ... fifth. (Raises his head and looks straight ahead. Joyfully.) Coil!.. (After a pause.) Ka-tu-u-u-shka! .. (He smiles happily. Pause. Bends over the table, begins to examine and look for the box he needs.) Box ... third ... third ... fourth ... second ... (Surprised.) Ninth ?! Oh my God! .. The seventh! .. Ah! .. Here she is, a scoundrel! (He picks up the box, looks at it.) Third box !!! (He puts it on the table, opens it and looks at the reels inside.) Coil… (looks into ledger)... fifth (examines the coils)... the fifth ... the fifth ... the fifth ... And ... here it is, the zavochka! (Takes a reel out of the box, looks at it.) Fifth coil. (Puts it on the table, closes the box, places it next to the others, raises the coil.) Third box, fifth coil. (Leans over the tape recorder, raises his eyes. Joyfully.) Katu-u-u-shka! (With a happy smile, he loads the film, rubs his hands.) BUT! (Looks into the ledger, reads the entry at the end of the page.)"And finally, the death of the mother ..." Um ... "Black ball ..." Black ball? (Looks into the ledger again and reads it.)"Black nanny ..." (Raises his head, reflects, looks at the ledger again, reads)... "A slight improvement in bowel action ..." Um ... "Memorable ..." What? (Leans down to get a closer look.)"... equinox, memorable equinox ..." (Raises his head, stares blankly into the auditorium. Surprised.) A memorable equinox? .. (Pause. Shrugs, looks into the ledger again, reads.)“The last I'm sorry ... (turns the page)... love. " (He raises his head, thinks, bends over the tape recorder, turns it on. Prepared to listen. Putting his elbows on the table, he leans forward, putting his palm to his ear in the direction of the tape recorder. Face turned to the viewer.)
Sitting comfortably, Krapp accidentally brushes one of the boxes off the table, swears, turns off the tape recorder and angrily drops the boxes and ledger on the floor, unscrews the tape to the beginning, turns on and assumes his listening position.
Today I turned thirty-nine, and this is a bell. Even without considering my old weakness, I have reason to suspect that I ... (hesitates) already at the very crest of the wave ... or somewhere nearby. He modestly celebrated this terrible event in a tavern, as in previous years ... Not a soul ... I sat in front of the fireplace with my eyes closed, trying to separate the grain from the husk. I scribbled a few notes on the back of the envelope. It would be nice to return to your den, to get into your old rags. I just ate - I'm ashamed to admit - as many as three bananas and could hardly resist not to eat the fourth. A fatal thing for a man of my size. (Passionately.) We must give them up! (Pause.) The new lamp above my desk is a big improvement! When there is complete darkness around me, I feel less alone ... (pause)... in a sense ... (Pause.) I "Love to get up and move in the dark, and then come back here (stammering)… to yourself. (Pause)... To Krapp ... (Pause.)"Grain ..." I would like to know what I mean by this ... (Thinking.) It seems to me that I meant those events that are worth keeping in mind, when all passions ... when all my passions subside. I close my eyes and try to imagine them.
Pause. Krapp closes his eyes for a moment.
An extraordinary silence reigns tonight. I strain my ears and don't hear a sound. Old Miss Mac Gloum always sings at this time. But not today. They say that he sings the songs of his girlhood. And it's hard to imagine her as a girl. And yet she is a wonderful woman ... And, probably, the same useless one. (Pause.) And I, too, will begin to sing when I am at her age, if only I live? .. No! (Pause.) Did I sing when I was a boy? No. (Pause.) And anyway, have I ever sung? No… (Pause)... I listened to a year of my life, some passages taken at random. I do not. looked into the book, but it must be at least ten or twelve years ago. At that time, it seems to me, I was still living with Bianca and with her support, on Kedar Street. And enough of that! A hopeless occupation! (Pause.) It’s not painful to remember her ... except that you should pay tribute to her eyes. They were so warm with her. I suddenly saw them again. (Pause.) Incomparable! (Pause.) OK… (Pause.) These old notches of memory are terrible, but often they to me ...
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, thinks, then turns the tape back on.
... help when I again ... (hesitates)... referring to the past. It's hard to believe that I, too, was once such a young puppy. And the voice! Oh my God! And what hopes! (A short chuckle, joined by Krapp himself.) And what solutions! (A short chuckle, joined by Krapp.) For example, drink less!
A short laugh from Krapp himself.
Let's turn to statistics! Of the eight thousand-plus hours lived, seventeen hundred hours were completely consumed by drinking. More than twenty percent, say even forty percent of my waking hours. (Pause.) Plans for something smaller ... (stammering) to surrender more and more to the sex life that consumed him. Father's last illness. I’m not so chasing after happiness anymore. Ultimate licentiousness ... Grinning about what he calls his youth, but thank God, she has already been left behind. (Pause.) The vicious circle ... (Pause.) Unclear outlines ... of the main work, ending ... (short chuckle) screeching reproaches addressed to the Lord God. (Laughs for a long time.)
Krapp joins the laugh.
And what is left of all this squalor? A girl in a pathetic green coat on a train station platform? Yes? (Pause.) When I help
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, thinks, then looks at his watch, gets up and walks into the back of the stage, into the darkness.
Ten seconds pass. The cork slams. Ten more seconds. Second plug. Ten more seconds. Third plug. Ten more seconds. And suddenly a trembling old man's voice is heard humming a song.
Crapp (sings)... Now the day is leaning towards the west. And the night draws its terrible shadows ...
Severe coughing fit. He returns to the light, sits down at the table, wipes his mouth, turns on the tape recorder, assumes his listening position.
Krapp flinches.
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, twists the tape back a little, tilts his ear closer to the tape recorder, turns it on ...
... a dying mother after her long widowhood, and more ...
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, looks up and stares blankly into the audience. His lips move as he silently speaks the word "widowhood." Pause. He gets up, walks into the back of the stage, into the darkness, and returns, carrying a thick dictionary in his hands, puts it on the table, sits down and starts looking for the right word.
Crapp (reading from a dictionary)... "The state or stay of a widower or widow who did not marry after the death of his wife or after the death of her husband ..." (She raises her eyes. Surprised.) Condition or stay? .. (Pause. Looks at the dictionary again. Reads.)"Deep widow mourning ..." It is also observed in animals, especially birds ... Widow mourning of a bird-weaver ... black plumage in males ... (He looks up, chuckling.) Dowager bird! (Pause. Closes the dictionary, turns on the tape recorder and prepares to listen.) The voice from the tape ... and also a bench by the dam, from which I could see her window. There I sat in the wind that pierced my face and waited for her death. (Pause.) There is almost no soul around, except that occasionally a soldier or a nanny with a child, an old man or a dog will walk by. I knew them all by heart ... well, of course, only by their appearance! I remember especially well the young black beauty, all dressed in white and starched, with incomparable breasts. She rolled a large, black, closed carriage that resembled a funeral cart. Whenever I looked in her direction, I noticed that her eyes were fixed on me. But nevertheless, when I finally had the nerve to speak to her ... without being introduced to her ... she threatened to call a police officer. As if I was encroaching on her virginity! (Laughs. Pause.) And what a face she had! And the eyes! Like ... (hesitating) like chrysolites! (Pause.) OK… (Pause.) I was just there when ...
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, thinks, then turns it back on.
... the blinds suddenly went down, and from there they threw the ball to a small white dog, so that she could catch him. And just at that moment I looked up, and the ball was in my hands. All this has passed, and finally it is over. For a few moments I sat, holding the ball in my hand, and the dog screeched and scratched me with its paw. (Pause.) Moments ... Her moments, my moments ... (Pause.) Dogs' moments. (Pause.) In the end, I handed the ball to the dog, and she gently, gently took it in her mouth. Small, old, black, hard and strong ball. (Pause.) Until my death hour, I will still feel this ball in my hand ... (Pause.) But I could have kept it. (Pause.) But I gave it to the dog. (Pause.) OK… (Pause.) And another year of deep spiritual darkness and need ... until that memorable night in March, on the pier, when the wind howled so, the night that I will never forget, the night when I suddenly saw all this. Vision ... It is the most important thing that, it seems to me, I must write down today for the day when my work will be finished, and in my memory there will no longer be a place, neither warm nor cold for that miracle that ... (hesitated) for the light that illuminates it. What I suddenly saw then ... it was what I believed in all my life ...
Krapp impatiently turns off the tape recorder, scrolls the tape forward, and turns it back on.
... tall granite rocks and scraps of foam flying skyward in the light of the lighthouse, and a weather vane that spun like a propeller. And it finally became clear to me that the darkness and darkness, in which I always tried to hide, were in fact my very ...
Krapp swore hard, turned off the tape recorder, drove the tape forward a little and turned it on again ...
... inextricably linked until the storm and darkness melted into the light of understanding and fire ...
Krapp swore even harder, turned off the tape recorder, scrolled the tape forward and turned it back on ...
... burying my face in her chest, and my hand rested on her body. We lay there motionless. But the water was running under us, and we were gently rocked, up and down, from side to side. (Pause.) It's already midnight. I have never heard such silence. As if the land was uninhabited ... (Pause.) Here I finish ...
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, spins the tape back and turns it back on.
... to the upper lake they lowered a punt from the shore, sat down in a punt again and swam with the current. She lay stretched out at the bottom of the boat, her hands under her head and her eyes closed. The sun was shining brightly, a slight breeze was blowing in, the water was calm, and the boat was sliding. I noticed she had a scratch on her thigh and asked where she got it from. “Gathering gooseberries,” she replied. I said again that if everything continues like this, then nothing good can be expected, and all this seems to me to be completely hopeless. And she, without opening her eyes, agreed with me. (Pause.) (pause) (Pause. Quiet.) Let me in… (Pause.) We sailed downstream ... (Pause.) I lay prone, my face buried in her chest, and my hand rested on her body. We lay there motionless. But the water was running under us, and we were gently rocked, up and down, from side to side. (Pause.) It was already midnight. I've never heard ...
Krapp turns off the tape recorder, thinks. Then he starts fumbling in his pockets, gropes for the banana hidden there, takes it out, examines it and hides it again, again looks for something in his pockets, takes out the envelope, feels it, hides the envelope in his pocket, looks at his watch, gets up, goes to the back of the stage, hides In the dark. Ten seconds pass. The bottle clinked, touching the glass, then the siphon rustled. For another ten seconds, one can only hear the jingle of the bottle, hitting the glass. Ten more seconds. Crapp is born. Moving not very confidently, he approaches the table from the side of the drawers, takes out the keys, brings them to his eyes, and chooses the required key. First, he opens the first drawer, looks into it, fumbles with his hand, takes out the reel, looks at it, locks the drawer, hides the keys in his pocket, goes around the table, sits down in his place, takes the reel off the tape recorder, puts it on the dictionary, loads a new film, takes an envelope out of his pocket, looks at what is written on its back, puts it on the table, turns on the tape recorder, clears his throat and starts a new recording.
Crapp... Just listened to this stupid bastard like I was thirty years ago. It's even hard to believe that I was so stupid. But thank God, now, in any case, this is over. (Pause.) And what eyes she had! (Freezes, thinks ... But suddenly realizes that he is recording a long pause, turns off the tape recorder and thinks again. And finally he speaks.) Everybody is here, everybody ... (Realizes that his words are not being recorded, turns on the tape recorder.) Everything is here, everything is in this old heap of shit, and light, and darkness, and hunger, and the feast of these ... (hesitates) centuries ... (Shouts.) Yes! (Pause.) Damn them! Oh my god! Drive his thoughts away from his work! Oh my God! (Pause. Tired.) Well, maybe he was right. (Pause.) Maybe he was right. (Thoughtful. Realizes that he has stopped talking. Turns off the tape recorder. Looks at the envelope again.) Ugh! (Crumples the envelope and throws it away. Thinks. Turns on the tape recorder.) Say nothing or even squeak. And what does the year bring with it now? Sour gum and hard iron stools. (Pause.) Reveling in my coil ... (With pleasure.) Katu-u-u-shka! The happiest minute of the lived half a million minutes. (Pause.) Seventeen copies were sold, eleven of which were sold at wholesale prices to overseas bookstores. Becomes famous ... (Pause.) One pound six shillings, I think ... Once or twice crawled out of his kennel until it got cold. Chilled was sitting in the park, immersed in dreams and longing to leave this world. Not a soul ... (Pause.) Last dreams ... (Passionately.) Don't let them go! (Pause.) Completely ruined, burned out his eyes, rereading Effie over and over again, one page a day, and again shedding tears. Effie ... (Pause.) I could be so happy with her, there, in the Baltic, among the pines and dunes ... (Pause.) And then Fanny appeared several times. The old bony ghost of a former whore. God knows not what I was capable of, but I didn’t hit my face in the dirt. And the last time it was not so bad at all. "How do you do it," she asked, "at your age?" And I replied that I had kept myself for her all my life. (Pause.) And once he even went to Vespers, as he once did when he was still running in short pants. (After a pause. Sings.)
“Now the day is leaning towards the west
And the night draws its terrible shadows ...
He coughed and then almost inaudibly.
... And the night draws its terrible shadows ... "Sometimes I thought in the middle of the night:" What if you made the last effort? ".. (Pause.) Oh, stop your drink now and go to bed. In the morning you will continue your chatter. Or stop there now. (Pause.) And stop there! (Pause.) Lie in the dark ... and wander. Return to the hollow on Christmas Eve again and collect the red-berry juniper. (Pause.) Come back to Krogan on Sunday morning, shrouded in light fog, with your bitch, stop and listen to the bells ringing. (Pause.) And so on… (Pause.) Come back, live again ... (Pause.) And again all these old sufferings ... (Pause.) Once upon a time all this was not enough for you. (Pause.) Lie next to her ... (Long pause. And suddenly he leans over to the tape recorder, turns it off, rips off the tape, discards it, puts on another, scrolls forward to the place he needs, turns it on and listens, looking straight ahead.)
Voice from the tape.... gooseberries ... - she replied. I said again that if everything continues like this, then nothing good can be expected, and all this seems to me to be completely hopeless. And she, without opening her eyes, agreed with me. (Pause.) I asked her to look at me, and a few moments later ... (pause)... a few moments later she fulfilled my request, slightly opening her eyes - slits in her eyes due to the blinding radiance of the sun. I bent over her so that my shadow protected her eyes, and then they opened. (Pause. Quiet.) Let me in… (Pause.) We sailed downstream. (Pause.) I lay prone, my face buried in her chest, and my hand rested on her body. We lay there, motionless. But the water was running under us, and we were gently rocked, up and down, from side to side. (Pause.)
Crapp's lips move silently.
It's already midnight. I have never heard such silence. As if the land was uninhabited.
Pause.
This concludes my tape. Box…
(pause)... third ... coil (pause)... fifth. (Pause.) Maybe my best years are over. Years when there was still the possibility of happiness. But I would not like to bring them back. No, I would not want to bring these years back. There is another fire in me now. Another fire.
Krapp is motionless, staring straight ahead. The tape spins and spins silently.
The cubism of a room the size of a stage, the squaring of a bookcase, a stack of white-gleaming newspapers in the foreground, the cubic capacity of an office desk and a black, shadowy figure of sleep, a figure of silence sitting motionless at the table. Yes it was Robert Wilson playing a play for the first time in Moscow Samuel Beckett"Krapp's last tape", at the SOLO festival at the Theater on Strastnoy. The master of stage dreams arrived in Moscow on the day of his 72nd birthday, which roughly corresponds to Krapp's age at Beckett.
At a meeting with theater experts before the performance, the idol of theatrical avant-garde artists said that the first 33 minutes would be silence. In fact, a thunderstorm of hurricane force broke out, the audience listened to low-frequency strikes and crackling of lightning, listened to the downpour falling in a billion drops, stayed, penetrated and felt the sound of rain cloned by the audio recording. Half an hour of "audio high definition surround sound" meditation. Small windows at the top of the room spattered electric blue-white fire. Some fell asleep, and some began to be horrified on the sly. It became clear as daylight that this shadowy figure with a mask-like whitewashed face would make me remember something very sad, moreover, from her own viewer's life. What else can total rain tune in if not a memory?
Horror is the result of exaggeration, blow up, peeping at oneself, tracking oneself with the impulse of a powerful theatrical form. Several acquaintances admitted that they did not feel anything at all at this performance, nothing at all. Wilson's well-adjusted form and timing are selective, not strong for everyone. There was a feeling that if it were not for the great reverence for the great Bob, half of the audience would have evaporated in the second act, as it happened at the play of Dreams, a powerful performance in color and form, back in 2001, at the Moscow Art Theater. So it's good when there is only one action. Others, including myself, felt a sharp reduction in time, hour ten swept by half an hour. How is this possible?
Personal memory, that's what had to be initiated. Dropping the fat ledger on the table, Krapp stopped the stormy sound of rain, and the auditorium experienced an aggravation of all senses: in the dead silence, the slightest creaks were heard, and the ventilation roared like Niagara Falls. Krapp's orange whites of eyes hinted at something, clearly not a slightly clown drawing of the role. The clown of sorrow. He took a banana out of a drawer, froze, peeled off the peel in three minutes, peering into the hall, threw the peel, slowly raised the banana to his face, bit it, froze with the banana hanging down like the soft beak of a Bosch heron, instantly swallowed the banana. Then a dummy of a reel-to-reel tape recorder and, most importantly, a reel with a record went into operation.
I had to re-read the play after the performance in order to clearly define - the main word in the play is fire, flame. For some reason I am sure that none of the directors before Wilson had ever accentuated or concentrated the meaning of the play around the mysterious word flame. The fact is that for this you need to understand the incredible, metaphysical, mysterious power of the simplest everyday action - to remember. That is, depending on how you remember, depending on how hard you remember.
Here we turn into a strange, purely mental theater, which, in the opinion of Konstantin Bogomolov, is absolutely necessary for the present, super-judicious spectator. Wilson's calls not to think, but to worry and feel, hang in the air. The form cannot be felt, we are not the ancient Greeks, but it is high time to “think the form”.
What are you talking about? "Suddenly it dawned on me, something dark that I always tried to suppress in myself, in reality, the very thing in me ...". Krapp listens to tape, recorded at 39 years old, describing the most important, mentally, events. He screams, yells, screeches, throws everything off the table, turns it off, turns it on, rewinds. He is not able to reconsider, rehearse some events of his life. A revelation is recorded on the tape, a breakthrough of understanding that overtakes Krapp in thirty years: "this storm and night until my death hour will be indestructiblely connected with understanding, light, with this fire ...".
And again a hysterical fit, screaming, turning off, rewinding, listening to her closed, slightly opened eyes - cracks, because of the scorching sun. "Let me in. We were carried into the reeds, and we got stuck in them ... How they sighed when they bent under the bow of the boat. I lay prone, my face buried in her chest, and I hugged her with one arm. We lay motionless. But everything was moving under us, and we were gently rocked - up and down, from side to side. "
He is absolutely mesmerized by his voice on the tape, captured by the memory of the sweetness of love, by the words about the boat. Immersion in a dream in reality, a vision of the long gone, the tape is spinning idle, blackout. Sadness, longing and sadness, this trinity, for a moment filled the hall. My sadness, my sorrow, my sadness, my sorrow, how my reality, how my distance ...
We must still speculate. Why is the emphasis on remembering and the impossibility of remembering so important in this play? Hypothesis: The strangest, most profound achievement of all the humanities of the 20th century is a random, blind, finding Sigmund Freud psychoanalytic procedure, which consists precisely in remembering. But this memory must be of such strength that it becomes indistinguishable from the final mortal experience. That is, it is known for sure that a dying person sees his whole life in an incredibly concentrated form. It can even be assumed that death, in fact, is the "removal" (by whom?) Of all memory for some afterlife unknown to science. The conclusion is natural - if you rewind the memory tape while still alive, then something will radically change in life and even after death.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead? Not really. He wrote all ten books about this ancient magical phenomenon of revision and fire from within. Carlos Castaneda hardly studied psychoanalysis. And many write about this, Vladimir Sharov recently produced the novel "The Old Girl", exactly about the same thing, about the revision of life with the help of a diary. Story Philip Dick Remember everything, again. It looks like Krapp is in charge of this business. Hence the orange eyes, hence the reluctance to change anything and return to samsara: “Now that this flame is in me. No, I would not want them back. "
Well, everything is clear, the flame is the blows of awareness with deep recollection. It seems that the whole meaning, all thoughts come to us from the latent composition of forgotten impressions, from the ocean of perceived, but unconscious, firmly forgotten.
Perfect in form, minimalist theatrical statement by Robert Wilson awakened a dormant anxiety - what if, like Krapp, he could not remember anything. Or did he remember? The default figures in Beckett's text are constructed by Wilson's game in a square, in a cube. Actually, this anxiety comes up after the performance and all sorts of rational digging. But even there, in the hall, there was a feeling of something most important that we were missing, which we were not catching up with.
Maybe Bob Wilson was hinting at this with an endless rain, timid, dreamy, freezing on the move, like the fins of a fish in an accident, movements "a la comic", foreshortenings with raised arms in three quarters. And Krapp got drunk, gurgling loudly behind the closet, sang after the street singer, renounced something irrevocably. The buzz of finality. The tape rustles in vain, the tape spins in vain. Blackout.
By the way, in Beckett's text, Krapp slips on a banana peel. Robert did not do this. Probably by instinct. Imagine - it slips, says the sacramental shyert bury, the audience laughs until you drop. But it would be Harms, not Beckett. And after all, Bob Wilson has already staged Daniil Kharms, moreover, recently, in the summer! Kharms's "Old Women" are played by the forces of, so to speak, the world's most powerful idols. Willem Dafoe and Mikhail Baryshnikov, Wow. Who knows, maybe this absurd but completely understandable thing will reach Moscow.
Krapp's last tape
Theater OCT / Vilnius City Theater(Lithuania)
Director Oskaras Korsunovas and actor Juozas Budraitis have been discussing the idea of staging the play by Samuel Beckett "Krapp's Last Tape" for more than two decades. And finally, in 2013, the play was brought to life.
The main and only hero of the play - Krapp - makes a retrospective journey into his past. A man who has lived a long life sits in a room surrounded by stacks of audio tapes of his own voice, made many years ago.
“Many of the details of the play are taken from reality. The play is collected from the memories of an elderly person, his thoughts, an analysis of his life and the recognition of his mistakes. Such paradoxes happen to everyone, even if it seems to someone that he is living a calm, dignified and logical life ", - says Juozas Budraitis.
Korshunovas himself admits that putting Beckett is not easy. But on the other hand, this is another accepted challenge, difficult but interesting, especially when it happens to work with an actor of the level of Juozas Budraitis. “Plays by Beckett, they are like stones. Refined existentialism and strong heroes leave no room for interpretation. You either become a symbol or you don't. There's nothing to play there. I would never have undertaken the production of "Krapp's Last Tape" if it were not for Budraitis, who is capable of becoming a symbol in Beckett's understanding due to his age, experience and intellect ", - comments on the iron logic of the play Korshunovas.
Author - Samuel Beckett
Producer - Oskaras Korshunovas
Painter - Dainius Lishkevichus
Composer - Gintaras Sodeika
Technical Director - Mindaugas Repshis
Props and dressers - Edita Martinavichiute
Administrator - Malvina Matikienė
Subtitles - Aurimas Minsevichius
Tour manager - Audra ZhukaiteStarring - Juozas Budraitis
Duration of the performance - 1 hourPremiered on May 30, 2013 in Vilnius (Lithuania)
Photographer - Dmitrijus Matvejevas
"Collision of three eras"
This latest production by Oskaras Koršunovas has some other interesting features. In the play, Krapp is already an old man. He listens to audio recordings of his own voice, made decades earlier. There he is 39 and he talks about his youth. People from different eras converge in the play: director Oskaras Korshunovas, who is 44, 74-year-old actor Juozas Budraitis and Samuel Beckett, playwright of the middle of the last century. A playwright from Ireland once admitted that he writes plays in such a way as to negate the director's attempts to change the structure of the text. This makes it even more curious to observe how the director Oskaras Korshunovas, who repeatedly reshapes classical drama to his taste, handles dramatic material. "Krapp's last tape" is a confrontation between a passing life and its inevitable end. Before us is an old and sick loser listening to his own voice, recorded decades ago. Krapp is a writer who has sold no more than a dozen copies of his book to overseas libraries.Throwing a banana at the viewer
The director treats Beckett's text with incredible deference, paying great attention to the playwright's notes and commentary. At the very beginning of the performance, to the accompaniment of atmospheric music by Gintras Sodeika, Juozas Budraitis sits in one of the seats intended for the audience. The lights go out and Krapp gets up and walks to one end of the rehearsal hall of the OKT Theater - a space created by the artist Dainius Liskevičius. There, a table with a tape recorder and a table lamp is waiting for him, illuminating the entire scene with a false light. Krapp breathes heavily and chuckles from time to time. He takes a banana out of the box, peels it with visible pleasure, takes a bite from it, teasing the audience. Moreover, the banana peel flies into the hall. The first banana is followed by the second. This time, Krapp is not so playful: he nervously peels a banana, tosses the peel over his shoulder, then huddles in a corner and hastily eats the fruit as if he were a restless hamster. After that, Krapp walks backstage, the sound of a hurriedly opening bottle and greedy sips is heard. Krapp is clearly drinking alcohol: he flinches, sighs, burps, and hobbles back to the table in embarrassment. He takes the cassette, with difficulty inserts it into the tape recorder, and finally we hear the recording. And then we are faced with practically the only freedom of Korshunovas, which turns the course of the performance upside down: the play indicates that Krapp's voice sounds strict and arrogant in the recording, but we hear the tired and hoarse voice of Budraitis-Krapp.Own vision of death
Comparing the physical and emotional expression of the actor, Korshunovas offers his own vision of death: aging, alcoholism and physical degradation are presented as a sobering up of thought and consciousness in a person. From a dirty and shaggy primate, eating bananas in his corner like a starving rodent, from an old senile, amused by the sound of the word "coil", throwing a banana peel at the audience and laughing at it, Krapp gradually turns into a human being. “Perhaps my best years are behind me. But I would not like to return them ”, - we hear the words on the tape in the last scene of the play, at the moment Budraitis-Krapp falls into his chair. Strong words sounding from the tape are the words of a person who understands the inevitability of death and consciously goes to it. This is a kind of reference to the play At the Bottom, which is taking place within the same walls. The hissing and rustling film, which at first forces Krapp to pull himself together, eventually ends ... The actor does not hang himself. And doesn't spoil the song. Sentimental? It's a pity? Maybe. But no more than the passing time. "
Andrius Evseevas, Lietuvos rytas“Krapp's Last Tape” is a play about a person's life, about decisions that one shouldn't be proud of, about the need to live in the past without having a future. This must be Beckett's poignant and saddest piece. He has enough self-irony, because the hero is quite comical, but in the drama all funny antics gradually become tragic, and each eccentric act takes on a new meaning - which amused us at the beginning, turns into the only way not even of life - existence and expectation of the early end of the old man tormented by the ghosts of the past mistakes. The gloomy atmosphere of the performance echoes the recent production of Oskaras Korshunovas “Cathedral” based on the play by Justinas Marcinkevicius. The atmosphere of the near end, the premonition of defeat and the darkness of the stage design, inspired by the lyrics, unite the two productions. Juozas Budraitis greets the audience sitting in the back of the OKT studio. The only light source is a table lamp. Only Krapp's table is lit, which creates a rather intimate and cozy atmosphere. As soon as the audience is seated, Budraitis-Krapp will bustle to get up and the performance will begin. Crapp's vision as a director leaves mixed feelings. On the one hand, the old fool is very annoying, but, on the other hand, when he listens to his voice or records it, he seems to be quite critical and sensitive to himself. As if two personalities coexist in one person.
[…] When Krapp listens to the sound of his voice, the audience, just filling in the darkness, seems to disappear. It seems that this is their only function - to sit in the dark and give the hero the opportunity not to feel lonely (“In this darkness, I do not feel so alone”). But he approaches these ghosts, driving away loneliness, even comes into contact with them in his own manner, and it is no longer easy to remain just a shadow or a target for a banana peel. This is similar to the play “At the Bottom”, where the actors freely came into contact with the audience, addressed them directly, and then returned to communication with each other.
[…] Some details are really good and justify the director's decision. For example, Krapp's clothes: light-colored pants, similar to pajamas, peek out from under his coat. Crapp's appearance is unpretentious and in keeping with the spirit of drama and production. It also helps to justify his image of an old fool: he looks like he was in the clinic and just escaped from it. It is also impossible not to notice one important detail when the actor is as close to the viewer as in this performance: a gold ring on his finger indicates that the one who voluntarily renounced any human relationship voluntarily bears a sign indicating his non-loneliness. Unlike the play, where Krapp tries to record his voice once again, in the play he dies broken at the moment when he listens to the recording of his best years in the past, “when happiness was so possible”. And his farewell to life is again accompanied, only now in complete darkness, by a farewell to love, sounding on tape. This is a very humane ending, because it puts an end to the suffering of the hero and gives rest to the body, which has not served as expected for a long time.
[…] Krapp dies, but his works (not only unbought books, but, of course, his notes about life, made for himself) continue to live. They suffer from their uselessness in the same way as their creator.
Christina Stableite, 7 meno dienos
