Introduction S.E. Gontarski "Waiting for the Show": Beckettian Performance
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Introduction S.E. Gontarski "Waiting for the Show": Beckettian Performance With the creation and success of En attendant Godot, staged (finally) in January of 1953 by Roger Blin at the Théâtre de Babylone, Samuel Beckett's preoccupation with performance increased dramatically, and he began to explore its possibilities beyond theater. Soon after writing Godot he would extend the dialogue format into a personal aesthetic commentary, Three Dialogues with Georges Duthuit, which he published in the newly revived, post-War «Transition» magazine in 1949, as Godot was circulating among producers and as he was wrestling with the last of his three French novels, L'Innommable. In the self-deprecating critical piece, Beckett exploited the performative and travestied both aesthetic debate and the philosophical dialogue favored by Plato. The philosophical tradition through which Beckett seemed to be working included as well George Berkeley's decidedly undramatic Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, echoes of which persist in his next work for theater, Fin de partie (Endgame), which he began writing, in fits and starts, shortly thereafter. Hamm's neo-Romantic dreams of fertility beyond the local sterility and decay, for instance, parallel Hylas's admonition of Philonous's skepticism of the senses: «Philonous-Look! Are not the fields covered with delightful verdure? Is there not something in the woods and groves, in the rivers and clear springs that sooths, that delights the soul?». But this single, serio-comic venture into philosophical debate may owe as much to William Butler Yeats's dialogic poems. Beckett certainly owed a debt to Yeats's stark, asian-inspired theater. Most notably, of course, Beckett drew on Yeats's poem The Tower for the teleplay ...but the clouds... After writing Godot, Beckett began to extend the idea of performance to his fiction as well, developing a form of monologue with a consciousness of audience that would eventually find its way to the stage with Krapp's Last Tape in 1958 and dominate the short, late theatre thereafter. It is Auditor's echo of the spectator, of an audience, that makes him (her?) so critical to the performance of Not I, for example. In The Unnamable, published as L'Innommable in Paris by Les Éditions de Minuit in 1952, Beckett explored the dialogic within the monologue and, more important, folded the sense of an audience into what was becoming a dramatic narrative: Well I prefer that, I must say I prefer that, that what, oh you know, who you, oh I suppose the audience, well well, so there's an audience, it's a public show, you buy your seat and wait, perhaps it's free, a free show, you take your seat and you wait for it to begin, or perhaps it's compulsory, a compulsory show, you wait for the compulsory show to begin, it takes time, you hear a voice, perhaps it's a recitation, that's the show, someone reciting, selected passages, old favourites, a poetry matinée, or someone improvising, you can barely hear him, that's the show, you can't leave, you're afraid to leave, it might be worse elsewhere, you make the best of it, you try and be reasonable, you came too early, here we'd need Latin, it's only beginning, it hasn't begun, he's only preluding, clearing his throat, alone in his dressing-room, he'll appear any moment, he'll begin any moment, or it's the stage-manager, giving his instructions, his last recommendations, before the curtain rises, that's the show, waiting for the show... (> Three Novels, pp. 381-2) That final comment, «that's the show, waiting for the show», is as much a nod to surrealist performance as it is a gloss on En attendant Godot. Subsequently, much of Beckett's late drama, like A Piece of Monologue, became nearly indistinguishable from the late prose fiction, which is why so many theater professionals were eager to stage the haunting, late, monologic short prose [1]. From an Abandoned Work, for example, was initially published as a theater piece by Beckett's British publisher, Faber and Faber, after it was performed on the BBC Third Programme by Patrick Magee (14 December 1957). Although From an Abandoned Work is now generally anthologized with Beckett's short fiction, Faber initially collected it among four theater works in Breath and Other Shorts (1971), which grouping, of course, punctuated its debut as a piece "for performance". As Beckett explored the implications of performance fully in the mid-1950s, he began to understand its necessity to his theatrical creative process. The turning point seemed to have come with the Royal Court Theatre production of Krapp's Last Tape, written shortly after Magee's BBC reading of From an Abandoned Work and after the BBC broadcast of All that Fall. Writing his American publisher, Barney Rosset, on 20 November 1958, Beckett was unrestrainedly enthusiastic about Magee's performance, which he oversaw so closely that some claimed he directed it, although the director of record was Donald McWhinnie. Unerringly directed by McWhinnie Magee gave a very fine performance, for me by far the most satisfactory experience in the theatre up to date. I wish to goodness that Alan [Schneider] could have seen it. I can't see it being done any other way. During rehearsals we found various pieces of business not indicated in the script and which now seem to me indispensable. If you ever publish the work in book form I should like to incorporate them in the text. (Emphasis added.) [2] By the mid-1950s Beckett was already talking and working like a director, committed to the lexicon and processes of performance. In a letter to Rosset's editorial assistant, Judith Schmidt, 11 May 1959, Beckett referred to the staging of Krapp's Last Tape as its "creation." The Irish journalist Alec Reid reports a similar attitude towards performance when he noted that Beckett «will speak of the first run- through with actors as the 'realization' of the play, and when it has been performed publicly he will say that it has been "created"» (Reid, p. 12). That sense of "creation" on stage, however, has received scant attention from critics and scholars often more comfortable with the apparent solidity of the published text than the vicissitudes of performance. When performance attracts scholarly attention, interest tends to be restricted to how faithful a particular production was to the originally published text. And while Beckett's own interventions in the theatre have received considerable attention, the field of inquiry has too often been restricted to productions on which Beckett himself worked directly (admittedly invaluable and a substantial feature of this volume as well), or to theatrical traditions in France, England, Germany, or the United States, where he has a special relationship with a particular director, like Roger Blin or Alan Schneider, or with an actor like Rick Cluchey, primum mobile of the San Quentin Drama Workshop. Underestimating and so undervaluing Beckett's direct work in the theater, his commitment to performance, particularly from the inception of his full-fledged directing career in 1967 (see the list of Beckett's productions appended to this essay and my essay later in this volume) has often skewed our assessments of his theatrical art, his growth as a theatre artist, and the world-wide theatrical tradition he inspired. His theatrical notebooks for his productions, for example, have been published under the General Editorship of James Knowlson [3]. In addition, the series of productions Beckett at least oversaw with the San Quentin Drama Workshop has been released on videotape by the Smithsonian Institution under the general, if not entirely accurate title Beckett Directs Beckett [4]. And Alan Schneider's remarkable thirty-year correspondence with Beckett (1955-1984) has recently appeared from Harvard University Press (1998) as "No Author Better Served": The Correspondence of Samuel Beckett and Alan Schneider, edited by Maurice Harmon. But performance beyond Beckett's own involvement in it has attracted only scant attention. Italian productions, for example, have been slighted internationally perhaps because Beckett did not direct in Italy, but Italy was among the earliest of European countries to embrace Beckett's work and to develop its own tradition of Beckettian performance. Italian productions have, however, received short shrift from Anglo-American and French critics. If Beckett did not direct in Italy, his primary collaborator, director Roger Blin, certainly did. Blin brought his production of En attendant Godot (with a cast slightly altered from the Paris premier) to Milan's Piccolo Teatro in November of 1953. Almost exactly a year later an Italian translation was staged, well before the earliest English language production at the Arts Theatre in London, directed by Peter Hall in August of 1955, before moving to the larger Criterion Theatre that September. Aspettando Godot opened in Rome at the Teatro di via Vittoria under the direction of Luciano Mondolfi in November of 1954. Bolstered by the reception of Godot in Italy, Blin brought his touring production of Fin de partie to the Teatro del Ridotto in Venice in July of 1958, three months before the London premiere of Endgame at the Royal Court Theatre in October of 1958. And Blin directed Giorni felici at Turin's Teatro Gobetti in April of 1965. When the production moved to Milan's Teatro Gerolamo in September, Beckett sent his wife Suzanne to see it. He wrote to Alan Schneider shortly thereafter, «Suzanne back from Milan where Laura Adani is having a hit in Happy Days» (Harmon, p. 196). Suzanne was in fact so taken by Adani's performance that she offered to arrange to send her some new work.