Theatre: Not I, Footfalls, Rockaby | The Royal Court

[I wrote this post back in January following the second night of the performance's original two week run at the Royal Court. The tour of this play continues into 2015.]

Samuel Beckett, I have begun to realise, is quite a big deal for those who know theatre. An Irish playwright who spent much of his adulthood in Paris writing in both French and English, he is a figurehead of something called 'theatre of the absurd'.

The only previous knowledge I had of Beckett's work is a rather well known play called 'Waiting for Godot' of which knowledge, the majority comes from Sesame Street's version of the play renamed 'Waiting for Elmo' which you can see here (http://youtu.be/ksL_7WrhWOc)

Waiting for Godot is a play about basically nothing at all (except perhaps the writer's own existential crisis) and features two characters called Vladimir and Estragon (or Grover and Telly Monster) as they wait for Godot (or Elmo) endlessly and fruitlessly while having a conversation next to a tree. There seems to be something about Beckett's work that attracts philosophers and grandiose theories, thereby forcing us to surrender any chance that we'll ever truly "get it".

Not I, Footfalls, Rockaby is in fact three short works packaged together into an hour long performance with just one actress performing, in this case an Irish actress called Lisa Dwan.

An hour sounds pretty short for a trip to the theatre but in this case, I'm quite glad it wasn't any longer. But that's not to say that the play was bad. As soon as you head into the Royal Court's auditorium you are warned that there are extended periods of darkness during the play - they are not exaggerating. Once you are seated, the lights are dimmed and the room is enveloped in pitch darkness. The kind of darkness that actually disorientates enough to make you temporarily forget about having arms or legs. Hearing is sharpened so that you are acutely aware of even the slightest movement which translates to a creak of the chair or rustle of your jacket. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was concentrating hard on keeping silent.

The first play, Not I, sees Ms. Dwan's disembodied mouth lit and suspended 8 feet above the stage (or where the stage would be if it were visible). I was impressed with how they'd managed to achieve this, but it was actually difficult to see from the distance we sat from the stage in the stalls. The mouth begins to speak, so fast that it is very hard to comprehend or separate words as they merge into one other. It's expressing a scripted stream of consciousness, which was expected to take about 15 minutes when it was written, though Dwan manages to get it down to under 9 minutes. 

I can't remember a single phrase from this blur of language, but it is truly impressive that she manages to speak, uninterrupted (except for a scream mid-way) so fluidly as if the mouth is on autopilot. But this doesn't stop it being a difficult few minutes to sit through. I found myself asking questions in my head as we sat in the choking darkness- what was I missing? Had she said something profound? Why? Am I sitting too far back to enjoy watching this woman's teeth and tongue moving?Lisa Dwan is clearly a brilliant and dedicated performer. Even someone like myself with an incredibly limited and rudimental understanding of acting can appreciate that. In one respect, it is worth experiencing the performance(s) just to witness an artist putting everything they have into their work. I hope she gets a well deserved holiday after this run.

The two plays that follow Not I are similar in that they demand a lot of the audience and provide little by way of an explanation, but are different visually and more conversational. Again the sets are incredibly minimalistic, Footfalls is lit dully but enough to see Dwan take the 9 paces back and forth across the stage many times (sometimes counting the steps) while speaking to her dying mother. Rockaby sees our actress on what I think is a large self propelling rocking chair, talking to herself and emphasising the intense loneliness she is going through. Not exactly uplifting then, but perhaps - like listening to Radiohead in a darkened room - it goes deeper than melancholy in some people, inspiring us and asking us to make our lives count for more. But maybe I'm reading too much into it. I certainly didn't feel uplifted as we left, however, I came away intrigued. Perhaps I should see this type of play as a type of performance art, where the meaning is hidden in the concept and not one's first impressions.

I haven't made my mind up about Beckett yet. It's difficult to understand him from my own cultural standpoint, but I think there is something to learn from his work. After all, this is a man who won the Nobel prize for literature, influenced many contemporary writers and artists and has a bridge in Dublin named after him...

Whatever I thought of the performance, it was clearly a hit amongst those who saw it as it was later taken to the West End for a two week run, followed by touring the UK and heading as far away as New York and Hong Kong.

Not I, Footfalls, Rockaby plays in Paris this March 2015 at the Athenee Theatre and returns to London at the Barbican 2nd- 7th June 2015 (standard tickets @ £20)