It is often noted that most of the characters’ names in
Endgame – Clov, Nagg, Nell – are
variants on the words in different languages for “nail”, with Hamm as
the hammer that beats at them all. Less remarked, though, is that there
is in Hamm a deep vein of the actor-laddie – the ham, in fact. And I
have never seen this dimension played so fully as by Mark Rylance in
Simon McBurney’s Complicité production. The formal, measured
style of delivery invoked by much of Samuel Beckett’s writing is absent
here from both Rylance and McBurney as Clov. When they let fly in rage
or argumentation, they really empty their lungs; when Rylance’s Hamm
hams it up, he often accompanies it with self-consciously florid
gestures; and when he mutters an aside, as in his commentary on the
story he makes up to pass the time, it is with the naturalness of a man
obsessed with his own performance and giving himself notes.
This freshness may be partly because of, partly in spite of the fact
that three of the cast of four are Beckett virgins. Only Tom Hickey as
Nagg, Hamm’s legless, dustbin-ridden father, has appeared in the
playwright work before. Here he is coupled with Miriam Margoyles as
Nell in the bin next door, who is both grotesque and poignant when she
sighs for yesterday or asks whether it is “time for love?”.
McBurney’s principal innovation as director (assisted by Ian Rickson,
Marcello Magni and Douglas Rintoul) is this naturalness and fluidity,
in as much as Beckett can ever be fluid or natural: here, after all, is
a play set in Hamm’s gloomy room at a time when supplies of everything
have run out, from the painkillers in his tin to Nature herself beyond
the twin high, grubby windows. Paul Anderson’s lighting design poses
some visibility difficulties for those sitting more than about halfway
back in the Duchess, which is a small theatre by West End standards;
and Gareth Fry’s sound design before and after the play proper is
irritatingly reminiscent of ambient-industrial 1970s Krautrock, and
entirely superfluous. Nevertheless, this is a production that can hold
its head up beside the Michael Gambon/Lee Evans revival of the play
five years ago, and Rylance is setting up a West End double pending the
transfer in the New Year of his
tour
de force in Jez Butterworth’s
Jerusalem.
Written for the Financial
Times.