Beckett’s ‘All That Fall’ in New York

Such was the case this past stormy Friday, when I waited in line for two hours for a return ticket to see Michael Gambon and Eileen Atkins in Samuel Beckett’s 1956 work, All That Fall. Since Gambon is an actor worth crossing the Atlantic Ocean to see, I figured I could brave crossing Manhattan in a dismal downpour to line up for a ticket. (Luckily, I got to the box office early – by the time the ticket window opened, a dozen people were standing in line behind me.)

Taking my hard-earned seat in the second row (blessing the person who cancelled last-minute), I was surprised— and somewhat let down— to see a string of microphones hanging from the stage ceiling. Would this be a reading, instead of a full production? Then, when the actors entered with scripts in hand, I remembered: All That Fall is one of Beckett’s one-act radio plays.

Nevertheless, director Trevor Nunn and his stellar cast of nine deliver a simple 75-minute vignette that more than lives up to our theatrical expectations— charming us, entertaining us and then leaving us with that haunting sense of the unfathomability of life that only Beckett and Chekhov can offer.

Walking to the station

Staging a radio play isn’t as easy as you might think. But Nunn— the former artistic director of the Royal National Theatre—brings all his classical experience, versatility and ingenuity to the assignment. He ushers in his actors, who sit on either side of the stage throughout, script in hand (it’s just a convention – they refer to it but don’t read from it). As the story unfolds, the actors rise and take center stage to enact it. Nunn remains faithful to the radio play script by punctuating the action with loud, sharp sound effects that set the stage and provide the “scenery.”

The narrative of All That Fall couldn’t be simpler. The elderly Mrs. Rooney goes to the train station in her remote Irish village to meet her husband. The train is late, he finally arrives, they walk home together, it rains. That’s about it. But oh, what a full and rich sense you get of quotidian village life— and of a marriage.

The play opens with the sound effects of a rural village– a lamb, a cow, a rooster. The scene is set. Enter Mrs. Rooney (Eileen Atkins), a cantankerous, curmudgeonly old woman in a shapeless dress and straw hat.

“Poor woman, all alone in that great empty house,” she mutters to herself in bitter self-irony, as she goes along. Her shuffling footsteps on the dirt road are represented by a deafening sound effect that elicits laughter from the audience. “How can I go on? I cannot!” Mrs. Rooney grumbles, as she continues on her way.

As Mrs. Rooney grouses her way to the train station, she’s met by a variety of villagers, who offer to help her reach her destination. One, Mr. Slocum, offers her a lift in his car. The physical act of getting Mrs. Rooney in and out of the passenger seat is a vaudeville act in and of itself.

“Christ, what a planet!” Mrs. Rooney cries, railing against the numbing repetition of everyday life and the indignities of old age. Coming from the mouth of Atkins, a 79-year-old veteran of stage and screen, it’s another laugh line. The more she complains, the more this crusty, gravel-voiced performer charms us.

Gambon’s grand entrance

After 45 minutes of this entertainment, you have as clear a vision of Irish village life as if you’d seen a documentary film. And yet my eye kept turning to Michael Gambon, seated silently alongside the rest of the cast on the sidelines, waiting to make his entrance.

Now, you must understand: When Gambon makes an appearance on the scene, it’s not just an entrance, it’s an event. “Where am I?” he cries out, as he stumbles onstage. (Mr. Rooney, as it turns out, is blind.) I had forgotten what a huge presence Gambon is. This tall man, with a leonine head of disheveled white hair, overwhelms the stage— his arms waving wildly, like the blind Oedipus groping his way to Colonus. In the context of this simple little scene, his magnitude is so out of proportion that once again it evokes laughter from the audience.

Gambon is 73 and perhaps best known for his high-profile stints in the “Singing Detective” TV series and the Harry Potter films. But you have to see him on stage to appreciate his power. His deep, booming voice fills every corner of the theater, as only that of a classically trained actor can do. I’d also forgotten the huge size of his hands. Gambon’s long fingers hang helplessly, or flap in the air, or grasp Eileen Atkins’s bony arm desperately, as they make their way home from the station together. Crunch crunch go the sound effects of their dragging feet along the dirt road as his huge hulk leans on her tiny frame. It’s the arduous journey of an interminable marriage– two old, battered souls bound together for an eternity, heading in the direction we’re all inevitably going.

Hilarious heartbreak

On their way home, amidst bickerings, Mrs. Rooney recites a passage from the Sunday sermon at the village church to her husband: “The Lord upholdeth all that fall and raiseth up all those that be bowed.” There’s a moment of silence— and then the unexpected happens. Simultaneously, they both burst out into raucous laughter!

That’s Beckett at his finest – “Laughing wild amid severest woe,” as Winnie puts it in Beckett’s hilarious and heartbreaking Happy Days, another play about growing old in an endless marriage.

So it’s true— nothing much happens in Beckett, just as nothing much happens in Chekhov. Except the passage of time… and a lifetime. No small accomplishment for a writer in 75 minutes.

A post-script: Queuing up for tickets is good for the soul. It renews your appreciation for the theater. Try it. You might even be lucky enough to land a seat in the second row.