Endgame

Wednesday 01 October - By tamsin dunlop

As the audience takes their seats and Radiohead’s ‘Let Down’ comes to a close, the coughing begins. Gagging, phlegming, retching: from the very outset, EUTC’s Endgame is a play of noise and of being diseased.

The first character we meet is Clov (Noah Sarvesvaran), the sad subby servant to Robbie Morris’ blind and blisteringly rude Hamm, as he limps onto the stage and — Hamm-fistedly — slams a ladder about. Settling it under a window, he climbs and neighs out in exasperation or elation at whatever it is he sees before him. Such is indicative of the terminally unclear emotional state of any character in Samuel Beckett’s Endgame at any point — their feelings are abstract and confusing, but rest assured, they’re all bad.

Staggering back down, he removes a bloodied cloth and unveils Hamm to the audience: paralysed in his leather armchair and adorned in a fetching tartan cap and trousers, he is the immovable object to Clov’s unstoppable force of complete and utter servitude. Sarvesvaran and Morris are both exceptional in their portrayals of these complex, reprehensible characters—Sarvesvaran’s physicality is incredible, completely committed to twisting himself into the many rigid and timid poses of Clov.

Morris both gets and excels at most of the play’s more comedic moments: at any given time, Clov appears as though about to kill himself, whilst Hamm is performing on a 1970s BBC primetime comedy show, presumably giving a look to the camera beneath his mirrored sunglasses. There are many a one-liner, delivered with such fun and innovative intonations by these actors:

“Why this farce, day after day?” whines Clov, despairing.

“Routine,” replies Hamm, wafting away these existential conundrums with the flick of his wrists and the waving of his hands, the Mr Burns to Clov’s Smithers.

The brilliant direction from Bella Burgess keeps such an intentionally lofty and unfocused play tight and engaging, with the absurdist dialogue transformed into something uncomplicatedly funny by the actors’ precise movements and deliveries. It is absurd, and they know it is absurd, and they elevate the absurdity by being even more absurd: it really works!

The simplistic set of an armchair, two suspended window frames, and two bins is visually pleasing and also particularly effective during scenes featuring the full roster of characters. Nagg (Jude Rogers) and Nell (Abi Price), Hamm’s bin-dwelling parents, are wonderful and disturbing: for their few scenes, they dominate the stage with their bickering and VERY LOUD biscuit-eating.

Overall, Endgame is a tricky play to make work, but this production makes it something far more than workable. It unfolds as an equal parts moving, provoking, and unsettling production — every actor is on top form throughout, evoking both pity and revulsion. There are many a grand theme at play here (monotony, pain, family), but Endgame never delves into the overly sentimental: Hamm and Clov and Nagg and Nell are all too fucking weird for that.