Paris, March, 2015

Unlike French cinema where you can follow the gist even though you miss some of the words, French theater is not a good investment for me. The subtleties will be missed, not to mention the point. So when English plays come to Paris, I'm interested. Alas, even though last night's Beckett plays were in my mother tongue, they, too, were a loss. I understood very little. The first play, Not I, is understandably non-comprehensible (see why at ). It's a race to get in all these disjointed words in 10 minutes, debatably as much of a challenge to the actress performing as to audience ears. I understand that Beckett favored rhythm sometimes over meaning. However, the second, Footfalls, about a women pacing outside her dying mother's room, and the third, Rockaby, about a woman in a rocking chair reminiscing, should have come across loud and clear since the pace was less frenetic. Perhaps my ears are plugged with old age or else the acoustics in the Theatre d'Athenée are really bad. BTW, all three plays were in total darkness.

theater in Paris

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