Beckett, Not I

Not I, Beckett's 10-minute piece for a woman's voice, was delivered over a few evenings at the Royal Court by Lisa Dwan (who got it down to nine minutes). It was a remarkable experience. Dwan's voice stuttered into life through gutturals, into which it faded at the end. The speech itself was delivered at the speed of thought - apparently the author felt it could not be taken too fast - with the effect that images were being scrambled and unscrambled in the mind continuously. It was great to hear it in Dwan's Irish accent  (I'd just been watching the Irish performance of 'Godot' on Beckett on Film and there, too, the expressions and rhythms seemed to find their natural home). It was surprisingly easy to focus on a single mouth, suspended in darkness eight feet above the stage. The performance was followed by a short film of Billie Whitelaw reminiscing about working with Beckett, and a Q & A with Dwan, James Knowlson and Benedict Nightingale, during which the demands on the performer became clear. Quite apart from dealing with breathing and projection at this extreme end of the repertoire, she is blindfolded, and harnessed to a board. Apparently earlier productions included a compassionate listener, who was later removed because of issues with lighting. Beckett said he knew such garrulous women from Ireland, but was apparently inspired also by the sight of someone waiting outside a school in Morocco (I think) and the head of John the Baptist in the painting by Caravaggio. I did wonder if, for £20, the Royal Court could have favoured us with more than ten minutes of actual theatre, but it bought an unrepeatable hour. Outside I caught a glimpse of someone I knew. But we did not speak. Beckett's poetry of absence floated through Sloane Square.