Review: Samuel Beckett, “All That Fall”

Samuel Beckett wrote All That Fall for radio broadcast and did not want it staged, saying, “Even the reduced visual dimension it will receive from the simplest and most static of readings . . . will be destructive of whatever quality it may have and which depends on the whole thing’s coming out of the dark” (quoted by Marjorie Perloff, with italic and ellipsis, in “The Silence That Is Not Silence” ). This Blackbird Theatre staging has the permission of the Beckett estate.

Throughout the production, Beckett’s portrait glows “out of the dark” down on the audience, needlessly distracting. Then, the presentation of the set as a sound studio with actors reading their parts produced an incongruity of costume and action with dialogue – should have listened to it with my eyes closed, as suggested by artistic director Duncan Fraser.

Still, a staged radio play is better than no radio play and this was a fine performance, especially Lee Van Paassen’s portrayal of Mrs. Rooney. But when Jerry gives Mrs. Rooney the thing that “looks like a kind of ball,” it makes a musical sound like a child’s toy. Mystery solved, yet, the sound was not in Beckett’s stage direction, and couldn’t have been his intention, since Mrs. Rooney says, “What is it, Dan?” (Wikipedia’s informative guide to this play provides more clues to what Beckett wished to remain “secret.”)

Perhaps the motion of actors and paraphernalia of sets can detract from the richly funny dialogue, such as this one between Mr. and Mrs. Rooney as they are walking home from the train station.

MR ROONEY: Do you know what it is, I think I shall retire.

MRS ROONEY: [Appalled.] Retire! And live at home? On your grant!

MR ROONEY: Never tread these cursed steps again. Trudge this hellish road for the last time. Sit at home on the remnants of my bottom counting the hours – till the next meal. [Pause.] The very thought puts life in me! Forward, before it dies!
[They move on. Dragging feet, panting, thudding stick.]

MRS ROONEY: Now mind, here is the path… Up! … Well done! Now we are in safety and a straight run home.

MR ROONEY: [Without halting, between gasps.] A straight… run! … She calls that … a straight… run! …

MRS ROONEY: Hush! Do not speak as you go along, you know it is not good for your coronary. [Dragging steps, etc.] Just concentrate on putting one foot before the next or whatever the expression is. [Dragging feet, etc.] That is the way, now we are doing nicely.

(Samuel Beckett, Collected Shorter Plays. Grove Press, 1984.)

All That Fall was broadcast by the BBC in 1957 (joy – it’s on Youtube! search for it). In 1957, BBC was in its seventh year of broadcasting The Goon Show (search for it). You could not stage this either:

[Taxi approaches at terrific speed. Jelly thud sound.]

BLUEBOTTLE: Oooh. You’ve taxied me. Look, the Christmas strings coming off my legs.

SEAGOON: Swallow this first-aid book and custard. I’ll have your legs relacquered free and exported to Poland.

BLUEBOTTLE: You’re a fair man, sir … Merry Krudmas.

ECCLES: Oooh, Bottle. What are you doing under that taxi.

BLUEBOTTLE: It ran over me, Eccles.

ECCLES: You must be rich … I can only afford to be run over by buses.

BLUEBOTTLE: Well, my man when you’re in the big money you know, you can do things like this.

ECCLES: You see, one day I’ll have enough money to be run over by a Rolls-Royce with a chauffer.

BLUEBOTTLE: Well, pull me out then.

ECCLES: Right. Hold this.

BLUEBOTTLE: What is it?

ECCLES: I don’t know, but I got it cheap.

SEAGOON: Let me see what you got cheap.

[Tiger growl]

SEAGOON: Good heavens it’s a genuine hand-operated 1914 tiger.

(The Goon Show, No. 250, December 31, 1958, “Battle of Spion Kop.” Eccles played by Spike Milligan, Bluebottle by Peter Sellers, and Seagoon by Harry Secombe. Spike Milligan, More Goon Show Scripts. The Woburn Press, 1973. )

And a bonus for visiting: this Theater Talk interview, in which Michael Gambon and Eileen Atkins talk about their New York performances in All That Fall.

Of dreams and the remains of memories

Brain research tells us that when people start losing their memories, emotional memory is the most persistent. I didn’t know that when I wrote the following. Or perhaps I did know it and have forgotten.

Aug. 16, 1998

She remembers the twelve-year-old sleeping on the cot beside hers – warm, brown, and breathing loudly. But he’s gone, long gone. This stranger coming in now, carnations in one hand, a mason jar in the other, this tall stranger with the strong brown arms – who is he?

She remembers to smile: her mouth smiles, anyway. She asks what he’s been up to. Somewhere in that conversation, there is a spark, a remembrance of laughter, from mouth to eyes to brain to heart – the heart is another muscle and needs to be exercised.

It’s eight o’clock and the visitors are leaving. He leans over the bed and reaches his arms around her. He pats her on the back and she holds herself up straight. “I’ll try to come again. I’ll come again,” he says. “See you, mom.”

This stranger is gone, but the boy, where did he go?

Dark Queen

There was a time when I was still using Windows95 and hooked on Freecell.

April 7, 1998

Kid: Mom?

Mom: Hey hon.

K: Were you talking to yourself?

M: Why do you say that?

K: Let me put it this way. Stop talking to yourself. It’s scaring me.

M: I’m not talking to myself.

K: Well, you’re talking to somebody and I don’t see anyone.

M: All right. I’m talking to the computer.

K: And it’s talking to you?

M: Well, yeah. See, the Queen of Spades is….

K: Now you’re really scary.

M: Go back to bed.

K: How come I don’t get to play so late?

M: ‘Cause you have to go to school.

K: Mom, tomorrow’s a P.D. day.

M: ‘Cause you’re a kid.

K: Yeah? Well, you’re crazy.

M: Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.

K: It is morning.

M: Go to bed.

K: Only if you stop talking to yourself.

M: OK – go…. Now where was I?

K: I can hear you!

Must work to free the Queen. The Queen speaks when freed, gives advice on critical issues. “Invalid parameters. Try again.” Losing streak: the Queen can’t be freed; life falls apart. “Fatal error. This program is closing because of invalid input.” Students are macho, racist. Boyfriend becoming verbally abusive. “Enter user-defined string.”

Driving home after dinner with parents.

K: Mom, are you watching the road?

M: Aaaa… yeah, I’m watching the road.

K: The Queen of Spades isn’t here you know.

M: Yeah, I know.

Living Wages

Reuters headline yesterday: “Minimum wage fight hits the streets of nearly 200 U.S. cities”

Aug. 17, 1998

I went to work for a day and they paid me $70 an hour for six hours. At $7 an hour that’s 60 hours, or 42 hours at $10 an hour, more than a week’s work, standing on your feet all day, lifting heavy bolts of fabric, opening drawers of dress patterns, bending and heaving, cutting and turning, until you hurt your back, your wrists, your legs. Arthritis, rheumatism, varicose veins, carpal tunnel, you’ve got it all. $10 an hour – that’s a lot of money. That’s a good job. They made you manager of the store.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“Oh, I – I teach. I work on my own. Not all the time. Just when they call me.” I mumble and avoid their eyes.

They look at me, not sure whether to feel sorry or envious. “It’s good to work for yourself. Set your own hours. No one to be your boss.”

“Ahh… well, I have to work when they call. It’s hard not to know when I have to work. A steady job is good.”

They feel sorry for me now. “Yes, a steady job is good. Bring in some money. Pay the bills. It’s not easy, getting a good job.”

Recent forays beyond the walls: Saint Joan

Saint Joan, the Arts Club production of George Bernard Shaw’s play, featured an amazing portrayal of Joan of Arc by Meg Roe. Shaw wrote the play after the canonization of Joan in 1920. In Shaw’s epilogue, the spectre of Joan asks: “[S]hall I rise from the dead, and come back to you a living woman?” As the men who were just revering the saint on their knees begin to make their excuses and leave, Joan says, “What? Must I burn again?” In this shortened version of the play, only the last lines of the epilogue, which in the original were voiced by Joan, were recited by Meg Roe:

“O God that madest this beautiful earth, when will it be ready to receive Thy saints? How long, O Lord, how long?”

Recent forays beyond the walls: The Four Horsemen Project

The Four Horsemen Project by Volcano Theatre of Toronto is a madcap romp based on the sound poetry of Rafael Barreto-Rivera, Paul Dutton, Steve McCaffery and bpNichol. Words degraded into sounds and sounds imbued with meaning, mitigated by the physicality of dance and facial expressiveness of the actors, made for a satisfying and educational experience. At last I understand bpNichol.

Recent forays beyond the walls: Cathedrals of Culture

Cathedrals of Culture. This beautiful documentary featuring six unique buildings and six directors left me with a warm glow for hours after. Michael Glawogger’s “National Library in St. Petersburg” was a mesmerizing movement of books over the intonation of the works of Russian writers. Robert Redford’s “Salk Institute in California” interwove stunning architecture with the prosaic routines of a busy science lab.