Waiting For John Hurt

Beckett and Hurt:  Is it me, or do  these two dudes look alike?

 

Last night, as we waited for "Krapp's Last Tape" to begin, and more on that in a minute, Maura reviewed the list of previous shows in the program.  Naturally, she had a favorite.  "We loved 'Elephant Room,'" she said. Here hubby leaned in, and whispered, "Elephants."  Our code word, our wink wink.  Yes, the SJG dragged him into my elephant fixation.  Turns out, he's not a big fan of the elephants these days.  In fact, he'll do anything to avoid them.  Just now, he turned off the TV to avoid watching another elephant guard his tusk.

But let's go back to the play, shall we?  Right before the theater went dark, Maura, a gal I met on a street corner, walking home from junior high, turned to me and said, "You can lead the discussion about the play when we go to coffee."  "What if I don't want to?"  Just then, the lights went out and it was pitch black at the Kirk Douglas.  We sat there in darkness for quite a while.  Disturbing?  Very.  I think that was the point.  Get us good and weirded out before the play even starts.  Or maybe it had started?  Remember, this play is by Samuel Becket, who brought us "Waiting For Godot."

So we waited and waited in the dark.  And then a dim spotlight revealed John Hurt, aka the Elephant Man, on stage, sitting at a desk.  Just sitting.  Sitting and saying nothing for quite a while.  Disturbing?  Very.  I think that was the point.  John Hurt, aka the guy called Krapp, just sat and sat and sat and said nothing.  The theater was silent, except for all the breathing and coughing and sniffling.  It was all a big WTF, a big artistic question mark.  Is this it?  Is he just going to sit there and say bupkis for 55 minutes, and let the audience completely lose our collective sh*t?   I sat there and read hubby's thoughts.  "I left Sherman Oaks for this?  I could be home, watching the Formula One Race."  Another minute went by, and then another, and finally, John Hurt, aka the guy in "Alien" who has a horrifying creature jut out of his stomach, and wreak havoc on the spaceship -- I hate when that happens -- started talking.  Hurray!  He ate a banana.  He ate another banana.  He listened to the tape his younger Krapp self had made at 39.  He stopped and started the tape.  He played the part about sex, rewound, played it again.  He liked that part a lot.  He got up, left the stage, came back, listened to the tape, threw stuff on the floor, and made a a new tape.

It was sad and what's the word I'm looking for?  Disturbing?  Very.  I think that was the point.  And then it was over.  The end.  Standing O for John Hurt.  Hurray!  He'd done a lot with very little.  Afterwards, we walked across the street, the four of us, to have coffee.  I attempted to lead a discussion, but  honestly, there wasn't much to to talk about.  Maura let me slide.