EAST CALAIS − The Unadilla Theatre in East Calais began its second offering of the season this past weekend with “The Best of Beckett, An Evening of Short Plays” by Samuel Beckett.
Famous for his well-known dramas such as “Waiting For Godot,” this collection of his much briefer works contains many of the same themes and puzzling sequences that made him one of the most influential playwrights of the second half of the Twentieth Century. An Englishman living most of his life in France, he put on stage many of the acute observations of the existentialists about the human condition, possibly summarized by the phrase, “Absurdity, but with a sense of humor.”
Director Jim Phinney has put together an excellent cast of experienced actors and actresses for these seven short plays. With a minimum of stage props created by Kate Shippee and skilled use of lighting effects managed by Lori Stratton, a series of worlds are assembled for scenes that at first seem strange until we realize that they mirror our own life.
The first play is entitled “Act Without Words 1” and features Case Phinney as a young man, with everything completely silent except for some random strumming on the guitar and an occasional bird call. Dressed very plainly and having his mouth open continuously as if slightly stupefied by all that happens to him, he was repeatedly frustrated attempting to get a pitcher of water suspended by a cord above him, using boxes to stand on and a rope, all in vain. Twice he tried to trim his fingernails with ridiculously large scissors, but then gave up. He ends on the floor staring at his hands with his fingers spread apart. All through these machinations, Phinney carefully maintained the consistently non-plussed look of his character. This play seems very reminiscent of frustration dreams, when we repeatedly seem unable to do the simplest things, but sometimes that occurs in waking life.
“Ohio Interlude” has two men dressed in black robes wearing white wigs seated at a table. One of them, Billy Weaver, reads out loud from a book while the other, Conor Emerson, listens without much response. The story line of the book at first seems to make sense, but it becomes increasingly disjointed and confusing. This situation raises the question of whether we ever really communicate with others or are we just vibrating molecules of air between us and doomed to an ultimate loneliness.
“Rough for Theatre” juxtaposes two old men with quite opposite personalities: David Klein as a blind violin street player hoping for donations, and Donny Osman as a rather bitter crippled man in a wheelchair. The latter talks about connecting to the other but his aggressive offensiveness is self defeating. Klein was particularly convincing as a rather helpless blind person, staring upwards and quite lost when separated from his stand and violin, not even able to tell if it was day or night. Osman well maintained his loud, difficult character that precluded any empathy for him, fating him to isolation.
After intermission there was a second “Act Without Words.” Two white sacks were on the floor of the stage when the lights came on and to the right was a man with a black cloak holding a long stick. He poked the nearest bag and Billy Weaver slowly emerged with just a shirt and his jocky shorts on. He crossed himself and said a prayer, looking very drowsy and worn out. He put on his pants, coat, shoes and hat, going through his morning routine, all the time appearing totally morose. Then he reversed everything taking off his clothes he just put on and climbing back into his sack bed. The old man next poked the other sack and Chase Phinney crawled out, stood up, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and put on his clothes. After looking at something in his shirt pocket, he, too, took off his clothes, brushed his teeth and got back into his sack. All this could make us at least wonder whether the daily routines of our lives might be similarly meaningless.
“Catastrophe” casts David Klein as a statue, Alana Phinney as an artist and Donny Osman as a critic. While Klein stood perfectly still on a pedestal, Osman made many suggestions about how to improve the statue, such as taking off its hat and coat, whitening the hands and feet, opening up the hands, exposing the chest, raising the angle of the head, all of which Phinney dutifully followed until Osman was satisfied. Perhaps this is a visual metaphor for how some people in the hierarchy of power treat others beneath them.
“What Where” was much more serious than any of the previous plays. Case Phinney plays a kind of secular Grand Inquisitor fond in any totalitarian country, who is trying to get information from a prisoner off stage. He kept sending his obedient minions Conor Emerson and Billy Weaver to see if torture has forced the victim to confess what he supposedly knows. But then after no results Phinney turns the tables and accuses his accomplices of having found out the information he sought but refusing to relay it to him, condemning them to the same procedure and torture. Throughout this scene a very officious voice is projected over a loud speaker like Big Brother, apologizing whatever Phinney does. All this is a perfect representation of the endless evils of dictatorships.
The final play, “Come and Go,” had three women on a bench, with Alana Phinney, Donny Osman and Conor Emerson, the last two wearing dowdy women’s coats and hats. They made small talk about how they met long ago, and then one of them whispers a secret in another’s ear, who replies, “Has she not been told?” and that is repeated with the third woman. Their present existence seems summed up by what one of them says; “One sees little in this life,” which somehow mixes with pathos. The ending is somewhat relieved, though, when someone asks, “May we hold hands in the old way?”
The Best of Beckett will continue for the next two weekends on Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 p.m., and Sundays at 2 p.m., July 25 to 27 and August 1 to 3.
David K. Rodgers
David K. Rodgers is a writer, mason and card carrying dilettante, who dabbles and babbles in art. He has lived in East Craftsbury for the past 40 years.
