Miriam Gillinson
posted 5 October 2007

Beckett’s short, packed plays and Brook’s economical, loaded directing have combined to sublime effect in the Young Vic’s Fragments. This is theatre brought back to basics by two artists who understand the medium better than most. The result is a restrained, witty and effortlessly moving production. One of the most surprising aspects of this show was its audience, with the Young Vic hosting the most varied crowd I’ve seen in a while. Despite its variety, Beckett’s plays are so stripped down that the audience reacted collectively throughout. One could feel the spectators respond on a united, basic level; they are made to feel happy, sad, afraid, without ever really knowing how or why.

The first play in this collection (‘Rough for Theatre I’) has a simple premise: a cripple (Jos Huben) and a blind violinist (Marcello Magni) meet, talk, share. The two begin to respond to each other, though Brook ensures a violent resentment rumbles beneath their dialogue. They explore the bigger stuff via the minute details of everyday life; namely the practicalities of living with their disabilities. So the cripple explores his life by explaining how he gets around: Beckett has reduced his mobility to a stool with wheels, which the cripple moves across the stage like a third-rate gondola. This set-up results in some great Beckett quips; after a tricky stool manoeuvre the cripple gleefully notes, ‘Now I may go back since the mystery is over.’

The actors work seamlessly with Beckett’s script, subtly marking out his endless shifts in tone. They carry the audience sensitively through the text, allowing us to laugh and think in equal measure. What actor and director also highlight is the wonderful vaudeville moments (which run rife in this collection of plays) and shamelessly ham up the visual gags to great effect. They also pull off the sparkling one-liners with ease: ‘Overall, I have been lucky. The other day, I tripped over a small bag of nuts.’

‘Rough for Theatre I’ inevitably slips from the sombre to the downright morose: when the cripple repeatedly asks ‘Why don’t you just die?’ the blind-man replies ‘I’m not unhappy enough.’ Brook is careful to tighten the noose gradually, using his sparse stage design with skilled restraint. He allows the blind-man off centre-stage only once and the result is terrifying: the actor is immediately lost, stranded and tiny, framed against the vast, brick backstage wall. Using moments like this to maximum effect, Brook commands a unique respect from his audience. After the blind-man’s claim ‘I can stay for hours listening to all the sounds’, not a rustle could be heard from the crowd.

Through a series of light changes on the back-wall, Brook purges the stages and prepares us for the next onslaught: ‘Rockaby’. A woman creeps on-stage, microphone in hand, and sits. What follows is a circular, rambling but precise monologue about a sad, mad lady coping with life alone. The same refrain is repeated in various forms: ‘till in the end, close of a long day – when she said to herself – whom else – time she stopped going to and fro.’ Glimmers of sense survive this refrain – moments of truth between the monotony of everyday life. Without noticing we get a full picture of this woman’s life, so that by the close she has transformed from a loony lady to the sad, old person we could all become. It’s hard to listen to and watch – but it’s worth it and played with wonderful composure and maturity by Kathryn Hunter.

Another throbbing light change and we begin ‘Act Without Words II’, certainly the cheekiest of the plays on offer here. The lights come up on two bulging bags, dumped on-stage. Slowly, a huge stick falls from above and pokes a bag. Pokes again. A grumpy Marcello Magni appears from his bag and enacts his day through a series of expansive mimes. It is fascinating to watch: Beckett’s stage directions hold the same rhythm and pattern as his dialogue. Watching his characters’ mime is like watching his script move. The man retreats, the poker reappears and a beaming Jos Huben clambers out of bag number two. His day is played out, but everything Magni’s character resented Huben now delights in. Once the ‘day’ is over, Huben returns to his bag and Magni is again summoned by the poker, which has by now become a character in its own right. Just as we worry the whole cycle might begin again, Magni drops to his knees in prayer. The audience clings onto this emotion for a second, before the lights snap out and clarity is again distinguished.

When Kathryn Hunter walked on-stage for ‘Neither’, a groan came from an audience anticipating another vocal beating in the manner of ‘Rockaby’. ‘Neither’ is a different beast though, as Hunter walks back and forth across the stage searching for a resting place. The flickering lights backstage mirror her search, until they finally stop still with the words: ‘Unspeakable Home’. It’s one of those small, quiet, impossibly sad moments that I’ve only ever experienced when watching Beckett.

‘Come and Go’ is perhaps the rawest and most accessible of this collection. The lights come up on all three actors, seated and serious despite their gauche drag. Three friends re-uniting, they continually wonder ‘When did we last meet?’ One by one, a ‘lady’ is ejected from the bench, leaving the other two to gossip; as each lady returns, decorum is re-established before the whole cycle kicks off again. The three old friends are soon three old enemies and their entertaining encounter becomes a much harder, more disturbing affair to watch.

It is a testament to this production that despite the Beckett doom and gloom, the audience left the theatre talking, beaming, interested. This is Beckett’s unique skill – to find the funny behind everything, yet still retain this heavy, frightening weight beneath the easy laughs. Brook and his actors understand and execute this perfectly; at just over an hour long, this is a production you’ll remember for a great deal longer.

Till 6 October 2007