BECKETT TRILOGY by Samuel Beckett (Canadian Stage). At the Berkeley Street Theatre (26 Berkeley). Runs to November 1. $30-$69. 416-368-3110. See Continuing. Rating: NNNN
Im not sure whether Canadian Stage timed their production of the Beckett Trilogy to coincide with Halloween, but its turned out to be apropos. The Irish masters series of solo works makes for a haunting night of theatre, and actor Lisa Dwans bravura performance will creep its way into your dreams.
For one thing, the show is dark like, literally dark. Even the exit signs are temporarily covered up. (Dont worry if theres an emergency, were told theyll go on.) The first piece is the infamous Not I, in which a spotlight illuminates only the performers mouth, appearing disembodied about eight feet above the stage.
Dwans rapid-fire delivery of the text is intentional this isnt meant to be understood rationally. Its singsong rhythms are like chatty gossip, with voices weaving in and out and everything broken up by the occasional burst of laughter. The sounds and the effect of the tiny lit-up mouth surrounded by complete darkness are disorienting and oddly claustrophobic. Is this what madness feels like?
Perhaps. After this, theres a pause and a few repeated notes from a menacing soundscape by David McSeveney. And then comes Footfalls, which is introduced by the lovely sound of a church bell. This time Dwan is a middle-aged woman pacing the stage and carrying on a conversation with her unseen mother. Is the older woman real? In her head? No spoilers!
Again, were not dealing with realism, but with someone stuck in a groove, obviously obsessed with the past, religion, illness.
After another much needed pause comes the final piece, Rockaby. Its a variation on the theme of loneliness and crabbed, inward obsession. An old woman (miraculously James Farncombes lighting, not makeup, makes Dwan seem aged), dressed genteelly, rocks back and forth in a sort of fugue state. Her voice-over plays whats going on in her head as she rocks, and she occasionally stops, makes to get up and exclaims, More! although in Dwans Irish accent it sounds like Moe!
Besides the womens obsessions and replaying moments in their lives, theres an arc to the hour-long show in Walter Asmuss production, from lively, chatty adulthood to sedate middle age to, ultimately, death. And although the mood is bleak and existential, there are moments of humour, too.
Dwan metamorphoses into all these women and the ghosts accompanying them with fierce conviction and a mournful lyricism thats unforgettable.
