On stage, a man sits behind a large desk in the glow of a single light, staring off into the distance with anguished nostalgia. In the intimate audience sounds the cacophony of discomfort: manic program folding, accentuated by whispered conversations. Is something going to happen?
"Krapp's Last Tape," the newest production at Keegan Theatre, embodies all that made its playwright Samuel Beckett famous. Notions of drama, characterization and plot are wrangled into an absurdist web of meaning that bears little resemblance to our traditional standard of theater. In Keegan's staging, insightful directing and illuminating acting create a spare, but haunting performance, where each detail is significant.
Beckett's best-known play, "Waiting for Godot," made him an icon of the Theater of the Absurd movement that dominated the European theater scene in the 1950s and '60s. Largely influenced by the existential philosophy of Albert Camus, Absurd Theater often depicts characters in tragic situations performing meaningless and repetitive tasks, but with a hyperbolic, almost Vaudevillian sense of humor.
"Krapp's Last Tape" tells the story of an elderly man coming to terms with his past. Krapp is the only character, and he sits at his desk listening to recordings of his life as he reminisces throughout the entire play. His current, slightly crazed monologue mixes with the rich analogue of his recorded journal entries, in a powerful weaving together of the past and the present. He plays one segment about a love who got away over and over, eyes swept up as if searching for his love's familiar smile in the ceiling. Much as "Godot" is often used as a cultural reference for the search for meaning, "Krapp's" too could be reduced to its barest bones as a play about aging. But what makes Absurd Theater so rewarding and complex is how it pulls the audience into its experience of intellectual reckoning. The meaning of the play is much less important than its cathartic process.
In this light, the Keegan production makes compelling directorial choices to root the play's absurdity in emotional truth. Krapp doesn't speak for the first half of the play as he rifles through his belongings in search of his records. No context or character backstory clarifies the plot. Watching this is an incredibly jarring experience, especially in light of what is expected of theater. But the audience can understand Krapp's emotional journey without need of further clarification because it feels so familiar. In one early scene, Krapp searches hungrily for a banana. When he finally finds one in a desk drawer and peels it greedily before his eyes, Krapp's face lights up in delirious joy. The bananas could be a lover or a new child, transformed through skilled acting into one of life's more recognizable joys that we search for with equal hunger and desperation.
As the only actor, D.C. theater veteran Brian Hemmingsen makes a play with almost no props or dialogue incredibly compelling. He coaxes meaning and humanity out of the smallest detail. Like the Crayola mega-boxes of crayons that have nine shades of orange, so too can Hemmingsen's expressions and mannerisms bring to life the slightest nuances of emotion. Furthermore, in such a purposefully spare play, director David Bryan Jackson gave each production detail near-poetic consideration.
Keegan Theatre has hit its creative stride as of late, offering up a thoughtful series of performances that have earned it a growing local audience. "Krapp's" is staged in partnership with New Island Project, which produces thoughtful Irish works in minimal settings.
Indeed, "Krapp's Last Tape" is a gem of a production. Amid the play's intellectual complexity, intelligent directing and acting illuminate a surprising emotional richness.
Keegan Theatre's "Krapp's Last Tape" runs through March 14 at the Theatre on the Run in Arlington, Va. Shows are at 8 p.m. from Thursday through Saturday and 3 p.m. Sunday. For more ticket and show details, visit the company Web site at www.keegantheatre.com.
You can reach this staff writer at agoldstein@theeagleonline.com.
