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 Krapp's Last Tape by Samuel Beckett  

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Cutting Ball Theater Stages Beckett's 'Krapp's Last Tape'
Despite Being a One-Man Show, This Production of The Baffling Playwright's Short Work Is Worthwhile
 
Daily Californian ( Arielle Little)
 
It would be easy to argue that Samuel Beckett's one-act, one-man show "Krapp's Last Tape" has no plot, no progression and no purpose. That is what critics said about Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" when it first premiered in 1953. And they were right about the lack of plot, but they missed that the lack of plot was sort of the purpose. "Krapp's Last Tape" is likewise not focused on plot-it is instead focused on the thoughts and personal struggles of one man.
 
San Francisco's Cutting Ball Theater's production of "Krapp's Last Tape" is a fascinating piece of theater. It is not so much a play about the way people interact with each other as it is a play about how people interact with themselves.
 
Semi-autobiographical, the piece consists entirely of one man, who is given only one, semi-comical name: Krapp. Having recorded a tape for every year of his life, Krapp (Paul Gerrior) sits at on 69th birthday and listens to the reel he made thirty years prior.
On a superficial level, there isn't much to this production. The intimate Exit on Taylor Theater is shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by a single, hanging lamp centered above an old desk. Boxes upon boxes of old tape spools are stacked beside of it, and a singular, ancient tape recorder rests in one corner. Needless to say, it is all about Krapp. One-man shows have a reputation for becoming very tedious, very fast. This production of "Krapp's Last Tape," however, around 50 minutes in length, is utterly entrancing.
 
The minimalist staging, as prescribed by Beckett in the script, allows the audience to be absorbed in the minutiae movements of the actor. Gerrior's Krapp is a intriguing creature: His fingers slip as he tries to place the tape in the recorder, he greedily chews a banana, he walks grudgingly around his desk and his mouth curls around certain words.
It is clear that director Rob Melrose was attentive to the details. Rightly so, as the details are what makes this production. As the recording plays and the elder Krapp listens and reacts, the vague details of his life are unearthed, strewn about on an aluminum desk and slowly pieced together. He laughs at his former self, slightly disgusted at his own foolish romanticism, but the overall feeling his performance is one of somber isolation. Often Gerrior goes in and out of very brief moments of being aware of the audience. This phenomenon, usually grounds for criticism, was here so subtle and so fascinating to the point of being almost spooky-as if he tries to connect with the audience but somehow fails, remaining trapped in the recesses of his own memory.
Also memorable is the invisible performance of David Sinaiko as the voice of the younger Krapp, emanating from the tape recorder onstage. His voice is emphatic but soothing and calmly measured, maintaining the poetry of the lines without compromising realism.
"Krapp's Last Tape" is as bizarre it gets. But it is wonderfully so. The performance is transfixing, and the puzzling playwright's strikingly poetic lines are spoken with care and reverence. This show is done with a great appreciation for Beckett, which is to say that it takes a great appreciation of Beckett to understand it. Cutting Ball has created a to-the-letter interpretation of this eerie script, a sort of psychic look into the human condition. As the show ends and the light above the desk fades into darkness, the tape recorder continues to spin monotonously, the soft grating noise still barley audible as the real world comes back into focus.


 

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