Review of :Beckett Shorts

Dance legend Mikhail Baryshnikov, still lean, fit and craggily handsome at 60, makes a rare theatrical appearance in Beckett Shorts. He would no doubt sell out the house just reading the telephone book but instead has teamed up with five-time Obie award winning director Jo-Anne Akalaitis to bring these four Samuel Beckett playlets to life. Despite the stroke of genius in bringing Beckett and Baryshnikov together, director Akalaitis seems unable to spark the evening to dramatic vitality. Still, enough of the Irish playwright’s bleak vision comes through to carry the evening beyond being just another star vehicle.

Running about 70 minutes, the first two pieces are wordless, the third a dialogue and the fourth is basically a voiceover. Taking full advantage of Baryshnikov’s muscular torso and expressive face, Akalaitis tries to capture the author’s existential/universal message of survival with various degrees of success.

In the first piece, Act Without Words I, Man (Baryshnikov) tries various means to get at a pitcher of water just outside his reach (it is suspended from the rafters). On a stage floor of sand, Man continually reaches and falls for the water in a futile cycle until the thought of suicide seems a viable option. In Act Without Words II, A (Baryshnikov) and B (dancer/choreographer David Neumann) are inside large canvas sacks. Singularly, each is slowly prodded into action by a long, jagged metal armature until they go about the daily routines of everyday life (brushing teeth, dressing, eating etc.) until they reverse the process and reenter the bags (cocoons?). Symbolic of the deadening habits of daily survival, it is the most fully realized play of the evening and most Beckett-like in its constraints.

The third piece, Rough for Theater II, finds A (Baryshnikov) a blind fiddle player and B (the always intense Bill Camp) a cripple in a wheelchair. The two bicker about life’s vicissitudes with A exclaiming at one point, “I’m unhappy, but not unhappy enough” to stop living. The talking is somewhat jarring after a half hour of wordlessness especially with Camp’s rather overwrought diction. However, he and Baryshnikov make a reasonable Vladimir and Estragon facsimile.

The last play Eh, Joe is the most problematic. Originally written for TV, Joe (Baryshnikov) sits silently on a bed and reviews his life while a voice allows us into his thought process. Behind Joe, a video allows us to get a close-up of his face. Joe’s thoughts are verbalized by actor Karen Kandel in a strident, angry manner. It is direct contrast to the sad, evocative facial expressions of Joe. The entire playlet is viewed from behind a scrim. The whole piece feels arty and false and ends the evening on something of a pretentious note.

The production design is first rate; Jennifer Tipton’s lighting, Alexander Brodsky’s sand-scape of a set and most prominently Philip Glass’ original music weaving hypnotically throughout the evening. Their work brings a stylish patina to Beckett’s gloomy vision. There is nothing gloomy about Baryshnikov’s performance, however. His doleful Russian melancholy is perfectly suited to Beckett’s existential dilemma and he is able to summon up that classic comic physique reminiscent of Keaton or Lloyd. It is certainly not his fault if we find the evening somewhat unfulfilling.

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