Pinter, a Practical Joke?

Tonight was the premier viewing of No Man's Land by Harold Pinter at the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey. For those of you who have read or seen a play by Pinter and came out with a new view on life- I envy you. My goal of seeing plays is to see the world through another's eyes, and gain an appreciation. To leave with gladness in my heart, or mascara smudges beneath my eyes is a sign that my evening (along with the $10 ticket) was not wasted. Walking into the theatre gave me a false sense that my curiosity will be aroused, and that new ideas will flit into my mind. Beautiful scenery and lighting gave way to a most peculiar show.

No Man's Land has no plot, which apparently is a theme of Pinter's and the director, Bonnie J. Monte, explained that this displacement was the reason he won a Nobel Prize in Literature in 2005, since it had great influence on modern playwrights. Unfortunately, I enjoy the classic build of a story. There is just something about having a beginning and a middle that brings the play to life. When asked by my grandparents what it was about my answer was "four guys in a room, talking."

The text was rich, in the way modern poetry so often is. I felt stupid for not understanding why the audience was wracked with laughter, half of the words alluded me. Whether it be boredom or confusion, the play made little sense until afterwards when discussions arose. Was it a dream? Was it reality? Who was Spooner, was he an alter ego? Where were they? The questions went on and on, most of them being just as juvenile as the last few. When the director and actors came out for a q&a session after the play, Monte mentioned a story about Pinter's flippant answer to the question of what his play meant. His "the weasel under the cocktail cabinet" answer was analyzed as a true commentary about his play instead of a flippant answer (which he supposedly regretted afterwards).

This story got me thinking. Maybe he really is talented, but realizes that it doesn't matter. If he can write a string of complicated words to create a conversation, and make it strange enough with no concrete evidence of what is going on, then all theater and english majors in college will still manage to find subliminal meanings to ramblings and clarity in his confused works. Why they bother is beyond me, since in the play itself they claim that "it is not method but madness", so why bother trying?

The idea of a dream was bounced around, and if you have seen, or read this play let me know what you think. The version I saw featured many dreamlike settings, a five walled room, blackness beyond the window although all characters claimed it was daytime.

Before I wrap this up, I want to point out that the detailed scenic design was extraordinary, and really created a strange dimension of life onstage. The lighting, though unusual due to use of elipsoidles, was well done and very realistic. Each individual part of the play was beautiful. Each costume, lamp, actor, was immaculate and beautifully shown on stage, but together created a strange play that cannot be categorized.

To have my first play critique be about such a complicated script is both frustrating to me and a challenge, and I hope it does not dissuade you from attending the theatre in general. My advice on this play? See it, but only if you have the patience to mull it over afterwards until the play settles into the crevices of your mind.