Week #17 : 'The Room' by Harold Pinter

”My first play was The Room, written when I was twenty-seven.  A friend of mine called Henry Woolf was a student in the drama department at Bristol University at the time when it was the only drama department in the country. He had the opportunity to direct a play, and as he was my oldest friend he knew I'd been writing, and he knew I had an idea for a play, though I hadn't written any of it. I was acting in rep at the time, and he told me he had to have the play the next week to meet his schedule.  I said this was ridiculous; he might get it in six months. And then I wrote it in four days.”  

Harold Pinter interview with The Paris Review Fall Edition 1966 #39

Influenced by Samuel Beckett (and not being introduced to Ionesco until he had written a few plays), Pinter attributes him and Franz Kafka as being the most captivating literary voices in his own world of writing.

The first play written by Harold Pinter was titled 'The Room'.  Taking only 4 days to write in 1957 when he was homeless, always on tour with a Repertory Stage Company performing in small dingy theatres around provincial cities and small out-of-the-way seaside villages.

'The Room' is One Act play set in a single room in the house of Bert Hudd and Rose.
Rose dominates the conversation whilst making breakfast (yet it seems to be dark out with stars present, making the audience wonder if it really is day or night) for Bert with very... small.... talk....
"It's very cold out, I can tell you.  It's murder."
"Just now I looked out of the window.  It was enough for me.  There wasn't a soul about.  Can you hear the wind?"
Rose discusses (single handedly) the new tenants that live in the basement of the house.  We are given no stage directions for Bert, but can safely assume that he sits at the kitchen table ignoring all that Rose is saying whilst reading his magazine.  She continues the one sided conversation musing about the people living downstairs and the prospect of Bert going outside in the cold weather to drive on the icy roads. And she talks... and talks..... and talks......
Suddenly there is a knock at the door.  Mr Kidd drops by to let them know that he has been looking at the pipes.  Rose chimes in about the weather (again!) and they have a pleasant chit-chat.  (So far, we can really see the influence of Beckett here and the start of the conversations that happen in the 'The Dumb Waiter' which I previously blogged about.)
As per Absurdist theatre techniques, there is frequent repetitions in the dialogue.  Rose continually says to Bert "I'll have some cocca on when you get back."  also "Don't go too fast" - in relation to his driving on the icy roads.
After some more dialogue from Rose and ignorance by Bert, we meet Mr and Mr Sands, the basement dwellers!  In this initial conversation Mrs. Sands repeats the phrase from Rose earlier on "It's murder out."  and again we are given another Absurdist technique of misheard lines.  There is a confusion as to who the landlord is : Kidd or Hudd.

After Mrs Sands finishing telling Rose about how they came to rent the room below... by walking into a dark room and hearing a voice telling them that the room was free, Rose states that Mr Kidd said earlier that all the rooms were taken.  Mrs Sands responds saying that the 'voice' told her and her husband that room seven was free.  "That's this room" Rose responds.
(It is all becoming very Ionesco's 'Bald Soprano' at this point in the script!) 
Just then Mr Kidd comes into the room and Rose accuses him of renting the room to the Sands.  
Mr Kidd tells Rose that there is a man in the basement that knows her and she must go and speak to him immediately.  This man refuses to talk to anyone but Rose.  Mr Kidd fetches him and we are introduced to a 'Blind Negro' - as it states in the script.  We soon learn his name is Riley and that he has a message for Rose - 'Your father wants you to come home."
Riley starts to call Rose - Sal .  At this moment Bert arrives home regaling Rose of his tales on the road driving 'her' back.  (This is never referenced again...)  
Bert sees Riley sitting on the chair at the table, he looks at him for a coupleof moments , and with his foot lifts the chair up dislodging Riley, whom falls to the floor.  "Mr. Hudd, your wife - " Riley begins to say, and to this Bert strikes him, knocking him down, kicks his head against the stove a couple of times and walks away.  
Rose closes the play yelling "Can't see.  I can't see.  I can't see."


Throughout the play we are surrounded by fear.  Fear of the outside, fear of other people, fear of losing others, fear of losing oneself.
We are also blurred by the elements.  It is cold and dark outside.  Rose is cooking up breakfast foods.  No one seems to want to stand near the fire to warm up, yet they eventually gravitate that way.  
Rose is seen to be the dominate character due to her dialogue at the beginning if the script.  She is making all the conversation, delivering food and making sure that her husband is well fed, warm and has a jacket to wear on his trip. No one seems to be in control in the middle section of the play - Rose does not know why Mr  Kidd has come to visit. Mr Kidd is dependent on Rose to get rid of the blind man downstairs. Mr and Mrs Sands are not sure whether they have come up or are going down stairs, not to mention that they don't even know who the landlord is. 

This is a perfect example of Absurdism at its greatest.  Limited character profiles, disjointed scenes, repetition of lines and no knowledge of their place in their world.


To sum up quite nicely, a word from Pinter on seeing his first play in it's first performance...

“It was the process of writing a play that had started me going. Then I went to see The Room, which was a remarkable experience. Since I'd never written a play before, I'd of course never seen one of mine performed, never had an audience sitting there. The only people who'd ever seen what I'd written had been a few friends and my wife. So to sit in the audience—well, I wanted to piss very badly throughout the whole thing, and at the end I dashed out behind the bicycle shed.” 

Harold Pinter (same interview)

Next Week: 'Falling Petals' by Ben Ellis

Week #14 : 'EndGame' by Samuel Beckett

HAMM:  I wonder.  (Pause.)  

Imagine if a rational being came back to earth, wouldn't he be liable to get ideas into his head if he observed us long enough.

(Voice of rational being)  Ah, good, now I see what it is, yes, now I understand what they're at!

( Normal voice)  And without going so far as that, we ourselves...

(with emotion)  ...we ourselves... at certain moments...

(Vehemently)  To think perhaps it won't all have been for nothing!

Samuel Beckett, the God of Absurdism, brings us a disastrously tragicomedy in one long act.  EndGame, the tale of four misfits living their rudimentary lives in a post apocalyptic world, not in any hope of gaining a better one, but just - to be.

Living in a cyclical stasis, Hamm and Clov discuss the world, it's complexities and the nature of beginnings and endings, whilst being completely alone and devoid of happiness.

Clov and Hamm

Hamm is the Protagonist of EndGame.  All though his obnoxious and disagreeable behaviour at times makes him the Antagonist to his man-servant, Clov. Blind and completely imprisoned (we assume, by old age) in his wheeled chair, Hamm continuously comments that no one suffers more in life than he. For Hamm, there is no reason for being on this Earth, particularly not in the damp and chilly hole where he also polices over his parents - Nagg and Nell.

HAMM:   In my house. (Pause)

(With prophetic relish) One day you'll be blind like me. You'll be sitting here, a speck in the void, in the dark, forever, like me. (Pause.)

One day you'll say to yourself, I'm tired, I'll sit down, and you'll go and sit down. Then you'll say, I'm hungry, I'll get up and get something to eat. But you won't get up. You'll say, I shouldn't have sat down, but since I have I'll sit on a little longer, then I'll get up and get something to eat. But you won't get up and you won't get anything to eat. (Pause.)

You'll look at the wall a while, then you'll say, I'll close my eyes, perhaps have a little sleep, after that I'll feel better, and you'll close them. And when you open them again there'll be no wall any more.  (Pause.)

Infinite emptiness will be all around you, all the resurrected dead of all the ages wouldn't fill it, and there you'll be like a little bit of grit in the middle of the steppe.  (Pause.)

Yes, one day you'll know what it is, you'll be like me, except that you won't have anyone with you, because you won't have had pity on anyone and because there won't be anyone left to have pity on you.  (Pause.)

Clov is the Antagonist of EndGame (and as his character is more downtrodden and worn out – He is the more likable character and therefore assumes the role of Protagonist in our minds).  He is the servant to Hamm despite his own disability – Clov cannot ever sit, he is forever walking – often pacing from one side of the room to another and looking out the windows for something.

Adopted into his household by Hamm as a young boy, the play's tension centres around Clov's yearning to leave against his feelings of responsibility to stay with Hamm (an obligation he constantly questions throughout Endgame). Clov constantly attends to Hamm and his relentless commands, such as wheeling him around the dank hole, relaying the landscape outside the windows, giving Hamm his medicine and covering him up at night.  Clov has inexorable juxtaposing emotions of hatred and bonds to Hamm.

CLOV (as before):  I say to myself— sometimes, Clov, you must learn to suffer better than that if you want them to weary of punishing you— one day. I say to myself—sometimes, Clov, you must be better than that if you want them to let you go—one day. But I feel too old, and too far, to form new habits. Good, it'll never end, I'll never go.  (Pause.)

Then one day, suddenly, it ends, it changes, I don't understand, it dies, or it's me, I don't understand that either. I ask the words that remain— sleeping, waking, morning, evening. They have nothing to say.  (Pause.)

I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished, though I never saw it lit.  (Pause.)

It's easy going.  (Pause.)

When I fall I'll weep for happiness.  (Pause. He goes towards door.)

Nagg and Nell

Nagg is Nell's husband and Hamm's father. Living (or should I say – Not living, as Nagg and Nell are in all aspects of the word – dead) in a rubbish bin next to his equally ‘binned’ wife.   He arises every now and then to yell out for food or to try, and always in vain, to kiss Nell and retell the identical story he always tells (we assume on a daily basis). Often, especially when demanding food, he is childish, barely verbose, but sometimes he can be quite profound and articulate.

Nell is Nagg's husband and Hamm's mother. She is resigned to the routine and sameness of their existence, professing the frequent attempt and persistence of Nagg to kiss her a "farce." Nell, as a character, is minimal and not important to the plot, she appears to be the only reason Nagg keeps ‘living’ and is the the sole example of a normal relationship in the play.

NELL (without lowering her voice):  Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. …  ... ...  Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more. 

Hardly a verbose play, the dialogue is frequently one to three words in response from Hamm's musings and barking orders and Clov's responses.  Some of the longest sections are the stage directions for Clov.  They are long, detailed and highly important to the characterisation of EndGame.  The first entry to the play is Clov walking from one window, getting up on a chair, getting down and walking to the other side of the stage, only to repeat the same movement.  this is a long and laborious task, but gives the audience a clear depiction of the characters and the world that they are living in.

It is extremely  difficult to describe this play.  I suggest, if you have a week spare:

Read it.

Muse over it.  

Put it down.

Pick it up again and sigh.

Put it back down.

Stare at it wondering if the next time you attempt to read it, it will make a little more sense.

Pick it back up.

Read it.

Put it back down.

Sigh.

Pick up a pen.

Pick up the script again.

Read it and scribble notes all throughout the script.

Put it back down.

Sigh in realisation that you will NEVER fully grasp the complexity of Beckett's writings.

CLOV (straightening up): I'm doing my best to create a little order.

 (Don't ask why there is a red background to the text........ Grrrrrr... I have no idea why it is there and how to get rid of it......  Blogger is getting worse and worse to use.)

Next Week: 'Love, Loss and What I Wore' by Nora Ephron

Week #8 : 'The Dumb Waiter' by Harold Pinter

Gus:  Have you noticed the time that tank takes to fill?
Ben:  What tank?
Gus:  In the Lavatory.
Ben:  No.  Does it?
Gus:  Terrible.
Ben:  Well, what about it?
Gus:  What do you think is the matter with it?
Ben:  Nothing.
Gus:  Nothing?
Ben:  It's got a deficient ballcock, that's all.
Gus:  No?  Really?
Ben:  That's what I should say.
Gus:  Go on!  That didn't occur to me.

In the vein of Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot' and McDonagh's 'In Bruge' is a hilariously absurdist tale about two killers for hire waiting for the call from 'Wilson' for their next assignment.  

Written by Harold Pinter in 1959, 'The Dumb Waiter' cemented his career as one of the great  British comedy/absurdist playwrights.  Pinter acknowledges that Samuel Beckett had great influence particularly in his earlier work, later becoming friends whom shared and commented on their writings before publication. (Martin McDonagh also acknowledges Pinter as one of his influences in writing also!)

Waiting in a stifling, prison-like basement room with two uncomfortable beds, no window, a gas stove - with no gas, a faulty toilet off stage and a Dumb Waiter in the middle of one wall.  Ben and Gus, friends or possibly just accomplices wait for their next step.  Ben waits whilst mundanely reading the newspaper and reading out random stories to Gus.  Gus nervously walks the room and unties his shoelaces and removes a flattened matchbox case from one and an empty flattened cigarette box from the other. An envelope is pushed under the door containing 12 matches.  Gus questions the point of the matches whilst Ben points out that the matches will be always be helpful, especially when in need of a cup of tea.  They argue about the correct terminology of how to light a kettle... 

Ben:  Go and light it.
Gus:  Light what?
Ben:  The kettle.
Gus:  You mean the gas.
Ben:  Who does?
Gus:  You do.
Ben:  (His eyes narrowing)  What do you mean, I mean the gas?
Gus:  Well, that's what you mean, don't you?  The gas.
Ben:  (powerfully)  If I say go and light the kettle I mean go and light the gas.
Gus:  How can you light the kettle?
Ben:  It's a figure of speech!  Light the kettle.  It's a figure of speech!...


All of a sudden there is a loud bang and clattering noise and the dumb waiter in the centre back wall springs to life.  Shocked they silently move around the room in unison gathering their guns and point them at the dumb waiter.  Inside is a note asking for 'Two braised steaks and chips, two sago puddings and two teas without sugar". The men scramble though their belongings, gather all the food they have (all which belong to Gus) and send it up.  
This continues on for the remainder of the play - the dumb waiter lowers, a note with a food order, which gets more and more elaborate each time, and the men yell up the shaft stating that they have no food.  They finally figure out that there is a speaking tube beside the contraption so they can communicate with the upper levels of the house they are trapped in.
The audience only hears one side of the conversation, and are left guessing as to whom is on the other end...  Is it 'Wilson' sending cryptic messages?  Is it a waiter whom doesn't know that there is no kitchen in the basement?  Sorry to ruin part of the ending, but you never do find out where these orders are coming from!
Whilst Gus is in the toilet (again), Ben finally gets the call from upstairs with his orders for their next assignment.

There are many silences used within 'The Dumb Waiter'.  We find out more about these two male characters in their silences than we do in the dialogue.  Although the dialogue is quite limited at the best of times. There is no complexity within Pinters dialogue, it is the lower-class British vernacular that makes the characters jump off the stage with complex absurdist questioning notions of life and the point of it all.

Below is a set design from Vespertine Productions in the US and their take on 'The Dumb Waiter'.  The successfully funded their production via Kickstarter in 2010.  I really love how the design of this really brings the audience into the claustrophobic nature of the text and forces them to become part of the existential discussions that these two men have whilst they are waiting for contact from the outside world.
Sets like these are becoming more common as small fringe and underground theatres are opening up and becoming popular with artists to share their work.  

I for one know the perfect venue in Richmond Victoria (Australia) where this could be produced with brilliant results!!  (The only thing left to do would be to find the perfect cast....  Easy!)  
Who knows.... you may just see a version of this coming to an underground Australian theatre soon!!

Anyway, I am going to cut this blog post short as I am full of the flu and I am in great need of getting away from this computer screen.

Next Week: 'The Prodigal Son' by Jack Hibbert

Week #3 : 'Six Characters in Search of an Author' by Luigi Pirandello

"We have this illusion of being one person for all, of having a personality that is unique to all our acts. But it isn't true. We perceive this when, tragically perhaps, in something we do, we are as it were, suspended, caught up in the air on a kind of hook. Then we perceive that all of us was not in tha act, and that it would be an atrocious injustice to judge us by that action alone, as if all our existence were summed up in that one deed." (The Father)

'Six Characters in Search of an Author' is an absurdist play based on metatheatrical ideas. Six characters walk into a rehearsal in progress asking for an author to complete their story. The characters know what is to happen to them, but they need to play it out in order or it to be complete. The director/producer becomes enamoured with their story and is determined to replay their scenes with the actors of his company.

A paradox in the making? Complete nonsense? Prophetic and life destroying? 

Let us ask the character of the FATHER:

"...if we have no other reality beyond the illusion, you too must not count overmuch on your reality as you feel it today, since, like that of yesterday, it may prove an illusion for you tomorrow."

Confused yet? You're not far off the context of this play. As you start to read, Pirandello lulls you into a false sense of security: The characters story seems to be quite straight forward, the comedy of the actors watching this tragic (and in parts tragically awful) story that embodies traits of Mills and Boons formulaic writing.  Yet it is far from that as we delve deeper into the characters narrative, it becomes more of a 'game' for the Director and acting troupe, but so much more of a life for the Characters. 

The prose is beautifully written in two differing forms - Naturalistic and often comedically colloquial for the troupe of actors and poetical and prophetic for the characters. This alludes to the starkly different natures that Pirandello has specifically created for the audience to disassociate the two halves of diametrically opposed 'reality and make believe'.

Pericles Lewis at Yale University discusses that 'Pirandello’s work plays with the central tension in the modern theater between the desire to create a perfect illusion of extra-theatrical reality on the stage and the contrary impulse to celebrate the very illusoriness of all theater. Modern drama calls attention to the fact that theater is both a representational art, like painting or writing, and a performing art, like dance or music.  The actors on stage are at the same time real people and representatives of fictional characters. One of the startling elements of Pirandello’s play is the separation (which he emphasized in his stage directions) between the “characters” and the “actors.” As the theorist Bert States has written,

"we tend generally to undervalue the elementary fact that theater—unlike fiction, painting, sculpture and film—is really a language whose words consist to an unusual degree of things that are what they seem to be…. Or, as [the playwright] Peter Handke puts it, in the theater light is brightness pretending to be other brightness, a chair is a chair pretending to be another chair,”

and, of course, a person is a person pretending to be another person.'

FATHER (jumping up suddenly): Illusion? I would ask you not to speak of illusion! I would beg you not to use that word. For us it has a particularly cruel ring!
PRODUCER (astonished): For heaven’s sake, why?
FATHER: Oh, yes, cruel, cruel! You really ought to understand.
PRODUCER: What are we supposed to say? Illusion is our stock-in-trade [...]
FATHER: I entirely understand [...] As artists [...], you have to create a perfect illusion of reality.
PRODUCER: That’s right.
FATHER: But what if you stop to consider that we, the six of us (he gestures briefly to indicate the six characters) have no other reality; that we don’t exist outside this illusion!

In 1921 it was greeted with great hostility (and inciting riots in the theatre) in Italy when it was first produced, but soon became heralded as a great piece of Modernist theatre when it was performed in 1923 in Paris, helping to forge the way ahead for Beckett and Ionesco's Theatre of the Absurd.

This play, being in the public domain, has been adapted for the stage many a time. The most recent in Australia or the 2010 Sydney Festival. The team at 'Headlong Theatre' used a docu-drama premise for the very beginning of the play and coupled it with the use of video and white noise to disrupt the flow of the character and actor interaction to establish a sense of authenticity of the falsehood of the situation but also fragmentation of the plot devices.

This play would certainly be a challenging script to adapt for any producer/director/actor, but it would also bring great joy in the triumph of gaining the right mix of contemporary and ancient theatre practices.

Next Week: Hamletmachine by Heiner Muller