I remember watching this on good old BBC2. It was like sitting in a wind tunnel, being pummelled by someone else’s intensity of mind. A memorable moment fir a 13 year old, I’ll never forget.
Beckett loved Billie Whitelaw, and who wouldn't, an amazing actress. She never claimed to understand his plays but he trusted her to do them brilliantly. That's what I love about Beckett, he doesn't expect folks to understand him but he loves those of us who find his plays thrilling even though we don't understand him. Comprehension wasn't his interest, it was the emotional response he was interested in.
Truly, ridiculously good - there is nothing like it. I always think part of the truth, the horror of this play is contained in the almost throw-away line 'for on that April morning...'
@@writeordie5452 i second this question! so much so that i said it out loud almost verbatim as a reaction to the original comment, before looking down and seeing that it raised the same question for you
Beckett has said its about a woman about 70 who is deceased in the after life and something happened in a field that caused her to be able to speak she lived a life without love all her life ..and now she is dead and not suffering. and after muteness she now can't stop talking... :D
First saw this as an eight year old with Mum and Dad. It frightened the hell out of me. I've watched it now as an adult. It's beautiful, tragic and still scary. Just an incredible performance of a supernatural piece of writiing. Thanks so much for the upload.
I want more. I know my thoughts will run like this soon. I'm really surprised at her speed of speech. And Beckett made her memorise. Her memory versus her thoughts. Her speech versus her imagination, her emotions. But she kept all in place - her memory, her speech, her emotions regarding this. And that IS amazing. REally, Miraculous indeed.
In the UK and Ireland at least, Lisa Dwan is the pre-eminent performer of Beckett and famously performed Not I several times in the last few years. I recently saw her give a lecture on performing Beckett and I think the one thing that will stick will me most is the story of her rehearsing Not I with her director (whose name I'm afraid I can't remember) in Hyde Park. She wore a blindfold to replicate a small sense of the sensory deprivation experienced by the performer of this piece (which she said she found very liberating in some ways). She performed her 8 minute, 30-second version of Not I for her director and took off her blindfold to find that she was surrounded by a group of homeless people who'd been completely captivated. They shared a small moment of eyecontact and understanding with her before everyone went their separate ways.
I didn't see the Dwan performance, but judging from a little Guardian clip of it, it's a totally different take on Whitelaw's. Whitelaw manages to be technically more in control (she manages to avoid the big gasps for air that Dwan seems to need) and inhabits the character better: in Dwan you can sense the intelligence and even polish of the actor behind the performance; in Whitelaw, you can't. (Just an opinion based on 90 seconds of Dwan, I concede). Anyway, amazing piece of work.
tunes: I have seen Lisa Dawn perform it in Belfast. I love both hers and Whitelaw’s performances, but I see as the difference that with Whitelaw I never forget she is acting, whereas Dawn inhabits the character so completely, she becomes the ancient mad crone. So I’m guessing that Dwan’s big gasps of air are intentional and unavoidable because she accomplished the piece in a much shorter time than the original. I think she gets closer to the speed of thought than Whitelaw does. But I do not mean to imply any criticism of Whitelaw. Her performance is equally riveting.
Samuel Beckett taught Whitelaw bit by bit, every pronunciation and pause, so it captures it a lot better, and you can really feel the scream inside it. For me the clip I have seen of Dwan, does, as one critic noted, seem like a drama school attempt when compared to this version.
It no doubt helped a lot having Beckett personally coach her every step of the way, but Billie Whitelaw's vocal delivery is perfect. In Beckett's prose, singular voice, although literally, and paradoxically, silent as text, was usually a critical element, but was less so in his theater, but this piece absolutely resonates with it.
Amazing, awesome piece of theatre, lacerating. What surprised me, with the fast pace of Whitelaw's delivery, was the percussive quality of her voice. I could almost hear the clicks of the language of the bush people of South Africa, or the improvised rhythms of some Indian music, both drummed on the tablas and vocalized.
The key to understanding this, and several of Beckett's other short plays ("Play", "Come and Go"), is reading Dante's Inferno and understanding that these are more souls trapped within their own desires, unable to understand themselves objectively. IMHO.
It might be well to consider the backstory: this is a woman who never spoke until her epiphany in the field and then cannot stop speaking. Beckett likened her character to the hundreds of old broken-down Irish women seen in rural regions who never seem to speak and blend into the background like an autumn leaf two weeks free of the tree. Who speaks for them? Perhaps this mouth that will not shut speaks for them. Or perhaps it's only the babbling of an old madwoman who cannot stop because what remains of her mental wiring is as old and frayed as the thick woven wiring found in turn-of-the-last century houses. Who knows? Beckett wanted a lot of ambiguity and ambiguity does not necessarily mean lacking purpose or intent, it just means "not specified."
Kevin O'Connell I'm not a textualist. I've read quite a lot of interviews with Beckett and he brought up the backstory himself, or at least the motivation/inspiration to write this. I've always taken the position that a piece of art should be considered in as broad a context as possible; unpacking it fully, if you will. What makes art great (IMHO) is how well it withstands scrutiny at all the micro and macro levels. "Not I" fulfills those parameters admirably.
Michelle Rose I don't understand how a piece of art isn't considered complete without seeing an interview of the author explaining their intent, but ok. Seems to me that the piece should stand alone without needing an explanation of what the author was trying to make you think or feel.
Ah, but I did not say that, Kevin. I said: "in as broad as a context as possible." My phrase "I've always taken the position" is functionally no different than your position, which APPEARS to be "textual" as opposed to "contextual." Please feel free to correct me if I have misinterpreted your position. Regardless of our differences of opinion, it seems likely that ignoring or even minimizing in any way the scholarly or authorial commentary of any piece of art ignores the very point of scholarship: to increase the depth of understanding of any given subject of debate or discussion. I did not say that it was necessary, only valuable. Surely the author's own words have some bearing on how the piece can be interpreted.
"...fora... p'ra dentro deste mundo... este mundo..." The absolute monologue. A XX century radical drama masterpiece and Beckett's minimalist apotheosis.
MOUTH: . . . . out . . . into this world . . . this world . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . in a godfor- . . . what? . . girl? . . yes . . . tiny little girl . . . into this . . . out into this . . . before her time . . . godforsaken hole called . . . called . . . no matter . . . parents unknown . . . unheard of . . . he having vanished . . . thin air . . . no sooner buttoned up his breeches . . . she similarly . . . eight months later . . . almost to the tick . . . so no love . . . spared that . . . no love such as normally vented on the . . . speechless infant . . . in the home . . . no . . . nor indeed for that matter any of any kind . . . no love of any kind . . . at any subsequent stage . . . so typical affair . . . nothing of any note till coming up to sixty when- . . . what? . . seventy?. . good God! . . coming up to seventy . . . wandering in a field . . . looking aimlessly for cowslips . . . to make a ball . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . all went out . . . all that early April morning light . . . and she found herself in the--- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 1.] . . . found herself in the dark . . . and if not exactly . . . insentient . . . insentient . . . for she could still hear the buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . and a ray of light came and went . . . came and went . . . such as the moon might cast . . . drifting . . . in and out of cloud . . . but so dulled . . . feeling . . . feeling so dulled . . . she did not know . . . what position she was in . . . imagine! . . what position she was in! . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . but the brain- . . . what?. . kneeling? . . yes . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . but the brain- . . . what? . . lying? . . yes . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . or lying . . . but the brain still . . . still . . . in a way . . . for her first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . she was being punished . . . for her sins . . . a number of which then . . . further proof if proof were needed . . . flashed through her mind . . . one after another . . . then dismissed as foolish . . . oh long after . . . this thought dismissed . . . as she suddenly realized . . . gradually realized . . . she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . not suffering! . . indeed could not remember . . . off-hand . . . when she had suffered less . . . unless of course she was . . . meant to be suffering . . . ha! . . thought to be suffering . . . just as the odd time . . . in her life . . . when clearly intended to be having pleasure . . . she was in fact . . . having none . . . not the slightest . . . in which case of course . . . that notion of punishment . . . for some sin or other . . . or for the lot . . . or no particular reason . . . for its own sake . . . thing she understood perfectly . . . that notion of punishment . . . which had first occurred to her . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first occurred to her . . . then dismissed . . . as foolish . . . was perhaps not so foolish . . . after all . . . so on . . . all that . . . vain reasonings . . . till another thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . . . very foolish really but- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . though of course actually . . . not in the ears at all . . . in the skull . . . dull roar in the skull . . . and all the time this ray or beam . . . like moonbeam . . . but probably not . . . certainly not . . . always the same spot . . . now bright . . . now shrouded . . . but always the same spot . . . as no moon could . . . no . . . no moon . . . just all part of the same wish to . . . torment . . . though actually in point of fact . . . not in the least . . . not a twinge . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . this other thought then . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . very foolish really but so like her . . . in a way . . . that she might do well to . . . groan . . . on and off . . . writhe she could not . . . as if in actual agony . . . but could not . . . could not bring herself . . . some flaw in her make-up . . . incapable of deceit . . . or the machine . . . more likely the machine . . . so disconnected . . . never got the message . . . or powerless to respond . . . like numbed . . . couldn't make the sound . . . not any sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . no screaming for help for example . . . should she feel so inclined . . . scream . . . [Screams.] . . . then listen . . . [Silence.] . . . scream again . . . [Screams again.] . . . then listen again . . . [Silence.] . . . no . . . spared that . . . all silent as the grave . . . no part-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all silent but for the buzzing . . . so-called . . . no part of her moving . . . that she could feel . . . just the eyelids . . . presumably . . . on and off . . . shut out the light . . . reflex they call it . . . no feeling of any kind . . . but the lids . . . even best of times . . . who feels them? . . opening . . . shutting . . . all that moisture . . .but the brain still . . . still sufficiently . . . oh very much so! . . at this stage . . . in control . . . under control . . . to question even this . . . for on that April morning . . . so it reasoned . . . that April morning . . . she fixing with her eye . . . a distant bell . . . as she hastened towards it . . . fixing it with her eye . . . lest it elude her . . . had not all gone out . . . all that light . . . of itself . . . without any . . . any. . . on her part . . . so on . . . so on it reasoned . . . vain questionings . . . and all dead still . . . sweet silent as the grave . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . she realiz-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all dead still but for the buzzing . . . when suddenly she realized . . . words were- . . . what? . . who?. . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 2.] . . . realized . . . words were coming . . . imagine! . . . words were coming . . . a voice she did not recognize at first so long since it had sounded . . . then finally had to admit . . . could be none other . . . than her own . . . certain vowel sounds . . . she had never heard . . . elsewhere . . . so that people would stare . . . the rare occasions . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . stare at her uncom-prehending . . . and now this stream . . . steady stream . . . she who had never . . . on the contrary . . . practically speechless . . . all her days . . . how she survived! . . even shopping . . . out shopping . . . busy shopping centre . . . supermart . . . just hand in the list . . . with the bag . . . old black shopping bag . . . then stand there waiting . . . any length of time . . . middle of the throng . . . motionless . . . staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . till it was back in her hand . . . the bag back in her hand . . . then pay and go . . . not as much as good-bye . . . how she survived! . . and now this stream . . . not catching the half of it . . . not the quarter . . . no idea . . . what she was saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she was saying! . . till she began trying to . . . delude herself . . . it was not hers at all . . . not her voice at all . . . and no doubt would have . . . vital she should . . . was on the point . . . after long efforts . . . when suddenly she felt . . . gradually she felt . . . her lips moving . . . imagine! . . her lips moving! . . as of course till then she had not . . . and not alone the lips . . . the cheeks . . . the jaws . . . the whole face . . . all those- . . what?. . the tongue? . . yes . . . the tongue in the mouth . . . all those contortions without which . . . no speech possible . . . and yet in the ordinary way . . . not felt at all . . . so intent one is . . . on what one is saying . . . the whole being . . . hanging on its words . . . so that not only she had . . . had she . . . not only had she . . . to give up . . . admit hers alone . . . her voice alone . . . but this other awful thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . even more awful if possible . . . that feeling was coming back . . . imagine! . . feeling coming back! . . starting at the top . . . then working down . . . the whole machine . . . but no . . . spared that . . . the mouth alone . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . it can't go on . . . all this . . . all that . . . steady stream . . . straining to hear . . . make some-thing of it . . . and her own thoughts . . . make something of them . . . all- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . so-called . . . all that together . . . imagine! . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . lips . . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . never- . . . what?. . tongue? . . yes . . . lips. . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . tongue . . . never still a second . . . mouth on fire . . . stream of words . . . in her ear . . . practically in her ear . . . not catching the half . . . not the quarter . . . no idea what she's saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she's saying! . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . she who but a moment before . . . but a moment! . . could not make a sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . now can't stop . . . imagine! . . can't stop the stream . . . and the whole brain begging . . . something begging in the brain . . . begging the mouth to stop . . . pause a moment . . . if only for a moment . . . and no response . . . as if it hadn’t heard . . . or couldn’t . . . couldn't pause a second . . . like maddened . . . all that together . . . straining to hear . . . piece it together . . . and the brain . . . raving away on its own . . . trying to make sense of it . . . or make it stop . . . or in the past . . . dragging up the past . . . flashes from all over . . . walks mostly . . . walking all her days . . . day after day . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . day after day . . . or that time she cried . . . the one time she could remember . . . since she was a baby . . . must have cried as a baby . . . perhaps not . . . not essential to life . . . just the birth cry to get her going . . . breathing . . . then no more till this . . . old hag already . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . where was it? . . Croker's Acres . . . one evening on the way home . . . home! . . a little mound in Croker's Acres . . . dusk . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . there in her lap . . . palm upward . . . suddenly saw it wet . . . the palm . . . tears presumably . . . hers presumably . . . no one else for miles . . . no sound . . . just the tears . . . sat and watched them dry . . . all over in a second . . . or grabbing at straw . . . the brain . . . flickering away on its own . . . quick grab and on. . . nothing there . . . on to the next . . . bad as the voice . . . worse . . . as little sense . . . all that together . . . can't- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . and the beam . . . flickering on and off . . . starting to move around . . . like moonbeam but not . . . all part of the same . . . keep an eye on that too . . . corner of the eye . . . all that together . . . can't go on . . . God is love . . . she'll be purged . . . back in the field . . . morning sun . . . April . . . sink face down in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . so on . . . grabbing at the straw . . . straining to hear . . . the odd word . . . make some sense of it . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . something she- . . . something she had to- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 3.] . . . something she had to-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . ferreting around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . perhaps something she had to . . . had to . . . tell . . . could that be it? . . something she had to . . . tell . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . how she survived! . . that time in court . . . what had she to say for herself . . . guilty or not guilty . . . stand up woman . . . speak up woman . . . stood there staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . waiting to be led away . . . glad of the hand on her arm . . . now this . . . some-thing she had to tell . . . could that be it? . . something that would tell . . . how it was . . . how she- . . . what? . . had been? . . yes . . . something that would tell how it had been . . . how she had lived . . . lived on and on . . . guilty or not . . . on and on . . . to be sixty . . . something she- . . . what? . . seventy? . . good God! . . on and on to be seventy . . . something she didn't know herself . . . wouldn't know if she heard . . . then forgiven . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up there . . . get on with it from there . . . another few- . . . what? . . not that? . . nothing to do with that? . . nothing she could tell? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . try something else . . . think of something else . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . not that either . . . all right . . . something else again . . . so on . . . hit on it in the end . . . think everything keep on long enough . . . then forgiven . . . back in the- . . . what? . . not that either? . . nothing to do with that either? . . nothing she could think? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . nothing she could think . . . nothing she- . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 4.] . . . tiny little thing . . . out before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . even to herself . . . never out loud . . . but not completely . . . sometimes sudden urge . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . the long evenings . . . hours of darkness . . . sudden urge to . . . tell . . . then rush out stop the first she saw . . . nearest lavatory . . . start pouring it out . . . steady stream . . . mad stuff . . . half the vowels wrong . . . no one could follow . . . till she saw the stare she was getting . . . then die of shame . . . crawl back in . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . long hours of darkness . . . now this . . . this . . . quicker and quicker . . . the words . . . the brain . . . flickering away like mad . . . quick grab and on . . . nothing there . . . on somewhere else . . . try somewhere else . . . all the time something begging . . . something in her begging . . . begging it all to stop . . . unanswered . . . prayer unanswered . . . or unheard . . . too faint . . . so on . . . keep on . . . trying . . . not knowing what . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . so on . . . keep- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . poking around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . all that . . . keep on . . . not knowing what . . . what she was- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . SHE! . . [Pause.] . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . no matter . . . keep on . . . [Curtain starts down.] . . . hit on it in the end . . . then back . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up-
It's actually about, as Heidegger aptly phrases it, "language is the house of being," which means that as humans we come into existence through language. Beckett reduces the body to its essence through showcasing only the mouth and tongue (language). This is a woman talking in a fragmented narrative of the memory of a trauma, but as the title indicates, "Not I," this woman cannot admit to herself and refuses to acknowledge her connection as the one that has suffered this assault.
I like to imagine that Beckett would've approved of many of the comments thus far written as people try to distance themselves from this work. Unfortunately, as you move through life, you realise that this could be any of us, or maybe all of us.
She lived up the road from me in the 90s. Lovely lady, though often off with the fairies ~ after years doing work like this, it's amazing she was functional!
Je regrette de ne pas comprendre! Ceci dit, je la félicite car cela ne doit en aucun pas être facile à faire. Performance des plus remarquables. Ça a quand même un côté assez gore, mais si impressionnant.
It’s almost as if this is the way we recall overhearing that one on the bus or that other one at the line at the bank or waiting on the platform on the subway..it’s not that this is happening in the present -this is what’s already happened and it continues to haunt us
It seems a shame to watch this so close up. It feels drastically different when it's just a tiny mouth, 8ft above the stage, inevitably far away from your seat.
It’s amazing in a new way, the physicality of the mouth, the awareness of the fixed skull behind those super mobile lips and flapping jaw. It’s so visceral. Certainly different but this is a spectacular film version.
I put off watching this for some time after seeing a brief "how it was made" video and hearing Billie talk about just how difficult it was to do. Well, I watched it, and it was difficult. I can watch gore and violence and just about anything and not have any sort of reaction to it but stuff like this. Man. What makes me uncomfortable with "Not I" and Shirley Jackson's "Pillar Of Salt", or the end of "Fire In The Sky" is that I've seen things that I was not meant to see. Parts of people that were never intended for public consumption. This was brilliant and terrifying and completely understandable and that's what made it uncomfortable.
Samuel Beckett took humdrum hoi polloi, the commonplace pseudo-civilized masses (be they poor, working, middle or rich class mass), and reveals them, as a master sculptor, bringing froth amazingly beautiful, yet shockingly stark, art from cold thoughtless stone, transforming it into an intellectually engrossing work of astounding, compelling and wondrous rapture.
i love this! genious! its so disturbing! i feel like i want to shut it up but i am scared of it, there is something about it when she says 'SHE' just makes me want to scream!
@@mrpicky1868 I like the aggressive tone, and violent expression. This mouth so open, separate from any facial gestures, looks so strong, aggressive, almost canibalistic. So original. I had read the playscript but I couldn't imagine how powerful it was to see it here. I still imagine how powerful it must be to see it live at a playhouse.
I remember watching this on good old BBC2. It was like sitting in a wind tunnel, being pummelled by someone else’s intensity of mind. A memorable moment fir a 13 year old, I’ll never forget.
The Inner Scream.....well and so simply put by Billie Whitelaw. Probably the most underated English actress of the 1960's and 1970's. RIP Xx
Beckett loved Billie Whitelaw, and who wouldn't, an amazing actress. She never claimed to understand his plays but he trusted her to do them brilliantly. That's what I love about Beckett, he doesn't expect folks to understand him but he loves those of us who find his plays thrilling even though we don't understand him. Comprehension wasn't his interest, it was the emotional response he was interested in.
Truly, ridiculously good - there is nothing like it. I always think part of the truth, the horror of this play is contained in the almost throw-away line 'for on that April morning...'
Why is that line in particular so scary?
@@screwtapee i kind of see it as a biblical- ish reference. Easter morning in April, Jesus Resurrection
They are able to convey an entire human life in about 12 minutes, with the usual humor and grace and loving-kindness typical of all of Beckett's work.
IN SPITE OF THE TENNIS
As astonishing today as it was then.
Amazing writing. Amazing performance.
Truly addictively haunting....extreme close up of madness. Superb!
I think it's wrong to call it madness though. Why is it madness, in your meaning?
@@writeordie5452 i second this question! so much so that i said it out loud almost verbatim as a reaction to the original comment, before looking down and seeing that it raised the same question for you
Beckett has said its about a woman about 70 who is deceased in the after life and something happened in a field that caused her to be able to speak she lived a life without love all her life ..and now she is dead and not suffering. and after muteness she now can't stop talking... :D
This is an _incredible_ memory feat by the actor! :o
My dad was either the focus puller or the clapper loader on this
The joy and wonder of seeing this when I was 16 years old.
One of the great plays, one of the great actresses. Absolutely exceptional.
First saw this as an eight year old with Mum and Dad. It frightened the hell out of me. I've watched it now as an adult. It's beautiful, tragic and still scary. Just an incredible performance of a supernatural piece of writiing. Thanks so much for the upload.
This is so painfully beautiful :)
the despair and desperation of a life self-judged a waste...not that any of US can identify...sigh...thank you for this Samuel.
I want more.
I know my thoughts will run like this soon. I'm really surprised at her speed of speech. And Beckett made her memorise. Her memory versus her thoughts. Her speech versus her imagination, her emotions. But she kept all in place - her memory, her speech, her emotions regarding this. And that IS amazing.
REally, Miraculous indeed.
This made me feel anxious .
same
Yup, that’s the idea.
me too, I could feel the "theater magic" :)
In the UK and Ireland at least, Lisa Dwan is the pre-eminent performer of Beckett and famously performed Not I several times in the last few years. I recently saw her give a lecture on performing Beckett and I think the one thing that will stick will me most is the story of her rehearsing Not I with her director (whose name I'm afraid I can't remember) in Hyde Park. She wore a blindfold to replicate a small sense of the sensory deprivation experienced by the performer of this piece (which she said she found very liberating in some ways). She performed her 8 minute, 30-second version of Not I for her director and took off her blindfold to find that she was surrounded by a group of homeless people who'd been completely captivated. They shared a small moment of eyecontact and understanding with her before everyone went their separate ways.
I didn't see the Dwan performance, but judging from a little Guardian clip of it, it's a totally different take on Whitelaw's. Whitelaw manages to be technically more in control (she manages to avoid the big gasps for air that Dwan seems to need) and inhabits the character better: in Dwan you can sense the intelligence and even polish of the actor behind the performance; in Whitelaw, you can't. (Just an opinion based on 90 seconds of Dwan, I concede). Anyway, amazing piece of work.
tunes: I have seen Lisa Dawn perform it in Belfast. I love both hers and Whitelaw’s performances, but I see as the difference that with Whitelaw I never forget she is acting, whereas Dawn inhabits the character so completely, she becomes the ancient mad crone. So I’m guessing that Dwan’s big gasps of air are intentional and unavoidable because she accomplished the piece in a much shorter time than the original. I think she gets closer to the speed of thought than Whitelaw does. But I do not mean to imply any criticism of Whitelaw. Her performance is equally riveting.
Louise Egan That’s a great story, Louise.
Hayranim ad infinitum femme fatale! Grazzie lass!
Samuel Beckett taught Whitelaw bit by bit, every pronunciation and pause, so it captures it a lot better, and you can really feel the scream inside it. For me the clip I have seen of Dwan, does, as one critic noted, seem like a drama school attempt when compared to this version.
An extraordinary work, delivered brilliantly by the wonderful Billie Whitelaw. She was born to interpret Beckett’s plays.
Everything perfect the writing the performance the lighting, as a meditation on being human it is perfect
It no doubt helped a lot having Beckett personally coach her every step of the way, but Billie Whitelaw's vocal delivery is perfect. In Beckett's prose, singular voice, although literally, and paradoxically, silent as text, was usually a critical element, but was less so in his theater, but this piece absolutely resonates with it.
You have literally no clue.
Beckett seems to me to bring Magritte paintings to life. He turns the mind inside out. A state of mind.
I'm a musician and I'm prepared to call this work one of my favorite pieces of music of all time.
¿Who is the author of the musical piece?
@@ingridvelasco2179 Samuel Beckett wrote this, although I don't quite know if I would consider it music. It's very good however
SAME!
Amazing, awesome piece of theatre, lacerating. What surprised me, with the fast pace of Whitelaw's delivery, was the percussive quality of her voice. I could almost hear the clicks of the language of the bush people of South Africa, or the improvised rhythms of some Indian music, both drummed on the tablas and vocalized.
It's so simple...so complicated...that's Beckett!.
It becomes like music over time...
Yes: soundcloud.com/platform/boiler-room-upfront-007
Binging Beckett 2day…watched “Krapp’s Last Tape” and just finished “Endgame” now I’m here. Thanks for uploading this!
This is what beauty and horror looks and sounds like. What a writer and what an actor.
The first time I read Beckett in a different language, it was like a slap in the eye ! Stunned me to my bone ..
Stunning performance. It must be absolutely exhausting.
"Extraordinary ..totally truly extraordinary!!!
Ms Billie Whitelaw ..
del.
Can't wait for hozier to recite this with marshmallows in his mouth 🥰
The key to understanding this, and several of Beckett's other short plays ("Play", "Come and Go"), is reading Dante's Inferno and understanding that these are more souls trapped within their own desires, unable to understand themselves objectively. IMHO.
incredible
Amazing, beautiful woman. R.I.P
Beckett always have the magic to introduce craziness and heavy breath of death to his audience
She speaks so beautifully about it all
It might be well to consider the backstory: this is a woman who never spoke until her epiphany in the field and then cannot stop speaking. Beckett likened her character to the hundreds of old broken-down Irish women seen in rural regions who never seem to speak and blend into the background like an autumn leaf two weeks free of the tree. Who speaks for them? Perhaps this mouth that will not shut speaks for them. Or perhaps it's only the babbling of an old madwoman who cannot stop because what remains of her mental wiring is as old and frayed as the thick woven wiring found in turn-of-the-last century houses. Who knows? Beckett wanted a lot of ambiguity and ambiguity does not necessarily mean lacking purpose or intent, it just means "not specified."
Michelle Rose I think that there isn't supposed to be a backstory and the point is to interpret it as you will.
+Kevin O'Connell I agree, but still, another country heard from... as they say.
Kevin O'Connell I'm not a textualist. I've read quite a lot of interviews with Beckett and he brought up the backstory himself, or at least the motivation/inspiration to write this. I've always taken the position that a piece of art should be considered in as broad a context as possible; unpacking it fully, if you will. What makes art great (IMHO) is how well it withstands scrutiny at all the micro and macro levels. "Not I" fulfills those parameters admirably.
Michelle Rose
I don't understand how a piece of art isn't considered complete without seeing an interview of the author explaining their intent, but ok.
Seems to me that the piece should stand alone without needing an explanation of what the author was trying to make you think or feel.
Ah, but I did not say that, Kevin. I said: "in as broad as a context as possible." My phrase "I've always taken the position" is functionally no different than your position, which APPEARS to be "textual" as opposed to "contextual." Please feel free to correct me if I have misinterpreted your position. Regardless of our differences of opinion, it seems likely that ignoring or even minimizing in any way the scholarly or authorial commentary of any piece of art ignores the very point of scholarship: to increase the depth of understanding of any given subject of debate or discussion. I did not say that it was necessary, only valuable. Surely the author's own words have some bearing on how the piece can be interpreted.
THANK YOU.
Brilliant. Bravo!
RIP Bille Whitelaw
+Seán Lynam :-((((((
this is so brilliant
"...fora... p'ra dentro deste mundo... este mundo..."
The absolute monologue. A XX century radical drama masterpiece and Beckett's minimalist apotheosis.
MOUTH: . . . . out . . . into this world . . . this world . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . in a godfor- . . . what? . . girl? . . yes . . . tiny little girl . . . into this . . . out into this . . . before her time . . . godforsaken hole called . . . called . . . no matter . . . parents unknown . . . unheard of . . . he having vanished . . . thin air . . . no sooner buttoned up his breeches . . . she similarly . . . eight months later . . . almost to the tick . . . so no love . . . spared that . . . no love such as normally vented on the . . . speechless infant . . . in the home . . . no . . . nor indeed for that matter any of any kind . . . no love of any kind . . . at any subsequent stage . . . so typical affair . . . nothing of any note till coming up to sixty when- . . . what? . . seventy?. . good God! . . coming up to seventy . . . wandering in a field . . . looking aimlessly for cowslips . . . to make a ball . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . all went out . . . all that early April morning light . . . and she found herself in the--- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 1.] . . . found herself in the dark . . . and if not exactly . . . insentient . . . insentient . . . for she could still hear the buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . and a ray of light came and went . . . came and went . . . such as the moon might cast . . . drifting . . . in and out of cloud . . . but so dulled . . . feeling . . . feeling so dulled . . . she did not know . . . what position she was in . . . imagine! . . what position she was in! . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . but the brain- . . . what?. . kneeling? . . yes . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . but the brain- . . . what? . . lying? . . yes . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . or lying . . . but the brain still . . . still . . . in a way . . . for her first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . she was being punished . . . for her sins . . . a number of which then . . . further proof if proof were needed . . . flashed through her mind . . . one after another . . . then dismissed as foolish . . . oh long after . . . this thought dismissed . . . as she suddenly realized . . . gradually realized . . . she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . not suffering! . . indeed could not remember . . . off-hand . . . when she had suffered less . . . unless of course she was . . . meant to be suffering . . . ha! . . thought to be suffering . . . just as the odd time . . . in her life . . . when clearly intended to be having pleasure . . . she was in fact . . . having none . . . not the slightest . . . in which case of course . . . that notion of punishment . . . for some sin or other . . . or for the lot . . . or no particular reason . . . for its own sake . . . thing she understood perfectly . . . that notion of punishment . . . which had first occurred to her . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first occurred to her . . . then dismissed . . . as foolish . . . was perhaps not so foolish . . . after all . . . so on . . . all that . . . vain reasonings . . . till another thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . . . very foolish really but- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . though of course actually . . . not in the ears at all . . . in the skull . . . dull roar in the skull . . . and all the time this ray or beam . . . like moonbeam . . . but probably not . . . certainly not . . . always the same spot . . . now bright . . . now shrouded . . . but always the same spot . . . as no moon could . . . no . . . no moon . . . just all part of the same wish to . . . torment . . . though actually in point of fact . . . not in the least . . . not a twinge . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . this other thought then . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . very foolish really but so like her . . . in a way . . . that she might do well to . . . groan . . . on and off . . . writhe she could not . . . as if in actual agony . . . but could not . . . could not bring herself . . . some flaw in her make-up . . . incapable of deceit . . . or the machine . . . more likely the machine . . . so disconnected . . . never got the message . . . or powerless to respond . . . like numbed . . . couldn't make the sound . . . not any sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . no screaming for help for example . . . should she feel so inclined . . . scream . . . [Screams.] . . . then listen . . . [Silence.] . . . scream again . . . [Screams again.] . . . then listen again . . . [Silence.] . . . no . . . spared that . . . all silent as the grave . . . no part-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all silent but for the buzzing . . . so-called . . . no part of her moving . . . that she could feel . . . just the eyelids . . . presumably . . . on and off . . . shut out the light . . . reflex they call it . . . no feeling of any kind . . . but the lids . . . even best of times . . . who feels them? . . opening . . . shutting . . . all that moisture . . .but the brain still . . . still sufficiently . . . oh very much so! . . at this stage . . . in control . . . under control . . . to question even this . . . for on that April morning . . . so it reasoned . . . that April morning . . . she fixing with her eye . . . a distant bell . . . as she hastened towards it . . . fixing it with her eye . . . lest it elude her . . . had not all gone out . . . all that light . . . of itself . . . without any . . . any. . . on her part . . . so on . . . so on it reasoned . . . vain questionings . . . and all dead still . . . sweet silent as the grave . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . she realiz-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all dead still but for the buzzing . . . when suddenly she realized . . . words were- . . . what? . . who?. . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 2.] . . . realized . . . words were coming . . . imagine! . . . words were coming . . . a voice she did not recognize at first so long since it had sounded . . . then finally had to admit . . . could be none other . . . than her own . . . certain vowel sounds . . . she had never heard . . . elsewhere . . . so that people would stare . . . the rare occasions . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . stare at her uncom-prehending . . . and now this stream . . . steady stream . . . she who had never . . . on the contrary . . . practically speechless . . . all her days . . . how she survived! . . even shopping . . . out shopping . . . busy shopping centre . . . supermart . . . just hand in the list . . . with the bag . . . old black shopping bag . . . then stand there waiting . . . any length of time . . . middle of the throng . . . motionless . . . staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . till it
was back in her hand . . . the bag back in her hand . . . then pay and go . . . not as much as good-bye . . . how she survived! . . and now this stream . . . not catching the half of it . . . not the quarter . . . no idea . . . what she was saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she was saying! . . till she began trying to . . . delude herself . . . it was not hers at all . . . not her voice at all . . . and no doubt would have . . . vital she should . . . was on the point . . . after long efforts . . . when suddenly she felt . . . gradually she felt . . . her lips moving . . . imagine! . . her lips moving! . . as of course till then she had not . . . and not alone the lips . . . the cheeks . . . the jaws . . . the whole face . . . all those- . . what?. . the tongue? . . yes . . . the tongue in the mouth . . . all those contortions without which . . . no speech possible . . . and yet in the ordinary way . . . not felt at all . . . so intent one is . . . on what one is saying . . . the whole being . . . hanging on its words . . . so that not only she had . . . had she . . . not only had she . . . to give up . . . admit hers alone . . . her voice alone . . . but this other awful thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . even more awful if possible . . . that feeling was coming back . . . imagine! . . feeling coming back! . . starting at the top . . . then working down . . . the whole machine . . . but no . . . spared that . . . the mouth alone . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . it can't go on . . . all this . . . all that . . . steady stream . . . straining to hear . . . make some-thing of it . . . and her own thoughts . . . make something of them . . . all- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . so-called . . . all that together . . . imagine! . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . lips . . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . never- . . . what?. . tongue? . . yes . . . lips. . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . tongue . . . never still a second . . . mouth on fire . . . stream of words . . . in her ear . . . practically in her ear . . . not catching the half . . . not the quarter . . . no idea what she's saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she's saying! . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . she who but a moment before . . . but a moment! . . could not make a sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . now can't stop . . . imagine! . . can't stop the stream . . . and the whole brain begging . . . something begging in the brain . . . begging the mouth to stop . . . pause a moment . . . if only for a moment . . . and no response . . . as if it hadn’t heard . . . or couldn’t . . . couldn't pause a second . . . like maddened . . . all that together . . . straining to hear . . . piece it together . . . and the brain . . . raving away on its own . . . trying to make sense of it . . . or make it stop . . . or in the past . . . dragging up the past . . . flashes from all over . . . walks mostly . . . walking all her days . . . day after day . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . day after day . . . or that time she cried . . . the one time she could remember . . . since she was a baby . . . must have cried as a baby . . . perhaps not . . . not essential to life . . . just the birth cry to get her going . . . breathing . . . then no more till this . . . old hag already . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . where was it? . . Croker's Acres . . . one evening on the way home . . . home! . . a little mound in Croker's Acres . . . dusk . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . there in her lap . . . palm upward . . . suddenly saw it wet . . . the palm . . . tears presumably . . . hers presumably . . . no one else for miles . . . no sound . . . just the tears . . . sat and watched them dry . . . all over in a second . . . or grabbing at straw . . . the brain . . . flickering away on its own . . . quick grab and on. . . nothing there . . . on to the next . . . bad as the voice . . . worse . . . as little sense . . . all that together . . . can't- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . and the beam . . . flickering on and off . . . starting to move around . . . like moonbeam but not . . . all part of the same . . . keep an eye on that too . . . corner of the eye . . . all that together . . . can't go on . . . God is love . . . she'll be purged . . . back in the field . . . morning sun . . . April . . . sink face down in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . so on . . . grabbing at the straw . . . straining to hear . . . the odd word . . . make some sense of it . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . something she- . . . something she had to- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 3.] . . . something she had to-. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . ferreting around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . perhaps something she had to . . . had to . . . tell . . . could that be it? . . something she had to . . . tell . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . how she survived! . . that time in court . . . what had she to say for herself . . . guilty or not guilty . . . stand up woman . . . speak up woman . . . stood there staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . waiting to be led away . . . glad of the hand on her arm . . . now this . . . some-thing she had to tell . . . could that be it? . . something that would tell . . . how it was . . . how she- . . . what? . . had been? . . yes . . . something that would tell how it had been . . . how she had lived . . . lived on and on . . . guilty or not . . . on and on . . . to be sixty . . . something she- . . . what? . . seventy? . . good God! . . on and on to be seventy . . . something she didn't know herself . . . wouldn't know if she heard . . . then forgiven . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up there . . . get on with it from there . . . another few- . . . what? . . not that? . . nothing to do with that? . . nothing she could tell? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . try something else . . . think of something else . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . not that either . . . all right . . . something else again . . . so on . . . hit on it in the end . . . think everything keep on long enough . . . then forgiven . . . back in the- . . . what? . . not that either? . . nothing to do with that either? . . nothing she could think? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . nothing she could think . . . nothing she- . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 4.] . . . tiny little thing . . . out before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . even to herself . . . never out loud . . . but not completely . . . sometimes sudden urge . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . the long evenings . . . hours of darkness . . . sudden urge to . . . tell . . . then rush out stop the first she saw . . . nearest lavatory . . . start pouring it out . . . steady stream . . . mad stuff . . . half the vowels wrong . . . no one could follow . . . till she saw the stare she was getting . . . then die of shame . . . crawl back in . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . long hours of darkness . . . now this . . . this . . . quicker and quicker . . . the words . . . the brain . . . flickering away like mad . . . quick grab and on . . . nothing there . . . on somewhere else . . . try somewhere else . . . all the time something begging . . . something in her begging . . . begging it all to stop . . . unanswered . . . prayer unanswered . . . or unheard . . . too faint . . . so on . . . keep on . . . trying . . . not knowing what . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . so on . . . keep- . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . poking around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . all that . . . keep on . . . not knowing what . . . what she was- . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . SHE! . . [Pause.] . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . no matter . . . keep on . . . [Curtain starts down.] . . . hit on it in the end . . . then back . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up-
+qoaa ......the full horror of it all......
Genial ! Gracias por los subtítulos
Thank you so much..
qoaa : Ok, I gotta ask, did you transcribe or copy?
qoaa : ... Whichever way you put it here, thank you!
"Painless... So far" is possibly the scariest line in all of literature
Thanks for posting :)
It's actually about, as Heidegger aptly phrases it, "language is the house of being," which means that as humans we come into existence through language. Beckett reduces the body to its essence through showcasing only the mouth and tongue (language). This is a woman talking in a fragmented narrative of the memory of a trauma, but as the title indicates, "Not I," this woman cannot admit to herself and refuses to acknowledge her connection as the one that has suffered this assault.
In the beginning there was the WORD.
@@anastasiamurawski6179Yes . The coming of human consciousness
Damn, these lips, teeth and tongue are the greatest actor I've ever seen
amazing stuff
the consistent anxiety is amazing
powerful first time I saw this. Still powerful now.
i.love.this.so.much
Unbelievable human ability.
Beautiful performance for impressive oppressive Beckett
I like to imagine that Beckett would've approved of many of the comments thus far written as people try to distance themselves from this work. Unfortunately, as you move through life, you realise that this could be any of us, or maybe all of us.
this dude was nuts lol
Sensacional! Tenso! Difícil e Arrebatador!
this has to be the most eloquent put down anyone's ever given me.
I love this.. I must admit.
love it.
I love this
Doing this play is like walking to the edge of a cliff, looking down but seeing nothing but black depth, and then jumping off anyway.
thank u for explaining Melissa :D
Life is really more interesting than Beckett wants us to think.
If anyone is familiar with Vampire: The Masquerade, this is, I think, a remarkable example of how the Malkavians must talk.
Why does the mouth in black make me think of The Voice from the CBBC show 'Trapped'?
She lived up the road from me in the 90s. Lovely lady, though often off with the fairies ~ after years doing work like this, it's amazing she was functional!
off with the fairies? actors don't go mad just because they play madness. she was also in Hot Fuzz ffs.
+dailowe No - you lived down the road from Billie Whitelaw. You're just another one of the nobodies, like me.
Je regrette de ne pas comprendre! Ceci dit, je la félicite car cela ne doit en aucun pas être facile à faire. Performance des plus remarquables. Ça a quand même un côté assez gore, mais si impressionnant.
She was from Coventry and in the Every Day is Like Sunday video. What a woman.
It's like a maddening rap
It’s almost as if this is the way we recall overhearing that one on the bus or that other one at the line at the bank or waiting on the platform on the subway..it’s not that this is happening in the present -this is what’s already happened and it continues to haunt us
Highly recommend Billie Whitelaw's memoir 'Billie Whitelaw...Who He?'
Fun fact: She was Mrs. Baylock in "The Omen!" ❤️💯
I thought I recognised that mouth...
It seems a shame to watch this so close up. It feels drastically different when it's just a tiny mouth, 8ft above the stage, inevitably far away from your seat.
Hmmm...I'm tempted to grab this as an MP3 and just listen...
It’s amazing in a new way, the physicality of the mouth, the awareness of the fixed skull behind those super mobile lips and flapping jaw. It’s so visceral. Certainly different but this is a spectacular film version.
Just hang your phone 8ft above the floor and watch it in a dark room
I feel transfixed when I watch this 😳
A women gone mad. After being separated from her voice to long; it decides to take control.
Miss Baylock..
"Miraculous..." as he said in the end...
Intense.
I just hate sharing a blackout, sharp white of grey lip sense!
THE BRAIIINNNN!
"Not loved, no, spared that...."
I put off watching this for some time after seeing a brief "how it was made" video and hearing Billie talk about just how difficult it was to do. Well, I watched it, and it was difficult.
I can watch gore and violence and just about anything and not have any sort of reaction to it but stuff like this. Man. What makes me uncomfortable with "Not I" and Shirley Jackson's "Pillar Of Salt", or the end of "Fire In The Sky" is that I've seen things that I was not meant to see. Parts of people that were never intended for public consumption.
This was brilliant and terrifying and completely understandable and that's what made it uncomfortable.
Interesting way to portray the consciousness!
Does anyone else have trouble keeping up with this?
love billie .
the best....
Samuel Beckett took humdrum hoi polloi, the commonplace
pseudo-civilized masses (be they poor, working, middle or rich class
mass), and reveals them, as a master sculptor,
bringing froth amazingly beautiful, yet shockingly stark, art from
cold thoughtless stone, transforming it into
an intellectually engrossing work of
astounding, compelling and wondrous rapture.
i love this! genious! its so disturbing! i feel like i want to shut it up but i am scared of it, there is something about it when she says 'SHE' just makes me want to scream!
You are a true artist
SHE!
Miraculous!
Estácio me trouxe aqui, pena que não tem legenda em português.
SO INSANE.
I have seen Julianne Moore do this performance (“Beckett on Film”).
i'm not going to be able to look at my room mates rolling stones flag after watching this
We watched this in my Theatre History class and I couldn't stop thinking about Rocky Horror.
yes, miraculous indeed Beckett. I dont think i have ever really seen a mouth before.
very sad......absurd life.
@FireyMuse Well said, and very true... There is an...infinity...and a concentration in this, as subtly beautiful as it is quietly terrifying...
Two unheralded geniuses.
Much better than the modern version by Julianne Moore.
well this one was partially directed by Beckett)
@@mrpicky1868 I like the aggressive tone, and violent expression. This mouth so open, separate from any facial gestures, looks so strong, aggressive, almost canibalistic. So original. I had read the playscript but I couldn't imagine how powerful it was to see it here. I still imagine how powerful it must be to see it live at a playhouse.
I have just seen the whole thing again and these frantic movements show a demented demeanour.
When Sandy Dennis did this play it took 2 hours.
can i find it somewhere?
You would first need to take a semester of Irony 101.