Some 12 years ago, Stephen Rea contemplated the possibility of performing Krapp’s Last Tape. He says: “I had no certainty that one day I might play Krapp, but I thought it a good idea to pre-record the early tapes so that the voice quality would differ significantly from that of the older character, should the opportunity ever arise to use it."
Rea captures the melancholy, reflexive mood while enjoying the playfulness of Krapp's fascination with the word “spool”
Now his day has come at the Barbican, and his foresight adds another dimension to director Vicky Featherstone's production of Samuel Beckett’s classic work. Here is the 78-year-old Rea in the role of a 69-year-old man listening to the words of his younger voice. Jamie Vartan’s spartan set places him front stage on a raised platform with just his table (that provides its own comedy) and a chair. Eoin Lennon’s lighting provides a very dimly lit space that appropriately creates the idea of the “den”, as per the script, but offers little to illuminate Rea or the business of the 55-minute play. While it scales down the enormity of the stage and auditorium, an 1,100-plus-seat theatre still feels inappropriate for such an intimate solo show.
A long pause opens the play, giving time to focus on the lone man before the familiar actions are rolled out. Our curiosity is aroused as to why someone living alone would bother to lock the table drawer, when it seemingly contains nothing of value, and to ceremoniously repeat the action after each banana is removed, always fumbling for his keys. And what are bananas doing tucked away in the depths of the drawer, anyway? But these are rituals no doubt developed over years of living in isolation, in the same way that every year on his birthday he would record a review of the previous year. On this birthday, however, he has also decided to listen to a tape he made three decades ago.
We hear of an intimate relationship, of love that was lost, and reflect on the hapless, empty life that ensued. Rea captures the melancholy, reflexive mood while enjoying the playfulness of Krapp's fascination with the word “spool”, providing moments of amusement. Overall, however, the measured delivery lacks the emotional depth to draw us in to feeling anything about the man or his plight.
