In his US stage debut at 71, John Hurt makes a memorable Beckett antihero in “Krapp’s Last Tape.” (Richard Termine)
Could there be an actor more perfectly suited for Samuel Beckett’s works than John Hurt? Not only does his gaunt face and wiry hair recall the playwright, but he has the ravaged look of a man haunted by memories too painful to contemplate. And that’s exactly what transpires in the mesmerizing “Krapp’s Last Tape,” the Gate Theatre of Dublin’s essential production now playing the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
Superbly staged by Michael Colgan, the production marks the US stage debut of the 71-year-old Hurt, best known for his turns in the films “Alien,” “The Elephant Man” and “Midnight Express.”
As Krapp, who marks his birthdays by masochistically listening to audio tapes of his younger self, he applies minimalist technique to maximum effect. For the first few minutes he sits behind a large wooden desk and doesn’t move a muscle, staring at the audience blankly and making us all the more uncomfortable for it.
Then, in keeping with Beckett’s love for the absurd — and vaudeville — Krapp pulls out a banana, peels it and, gorilla-like, lets it hang from his mouth. Naturally, when he drops the peel on the floor, it isn’t long before he slips on it.
When he pulls out a large reel-to-reel tape player and starts listening to his 39-year-old self — his younger voice full of strength and bravado as he describes a romantic liaison and the promise of his literary career — only then does the tragedy of his wasted life fully dawn on him.
Frequently letting out derisive snorts at his foolishness and looking at his pocket watch as if marking how much time he has left, he hears himself declare: “Perhaps my best years are gone, when there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now.”
The play toggles back and forth beautifully between comedy and tragedy. Krapp pulls out a battered dictionary to look up a word whose meaning he no longer remembers, and hilariously relishes the musicality of the word “spool.” Later, in an unbearably poignant moment, Hurt cradles the player like a small child while listening to a particularly happy moment from the past.
In just 55 minutes, the piece captures the essence of a life. That is the genius of Beckett, and it is fully realized here.