Chris McCormack, 24th July 2015

What does it say of Lessness, a short prose penned in 1969 by Samuel Beckett, that its 60 lines were arranged at random, plucked one-by-one from a container?  A structure inferred by chance doesn’t suggest the rigour renowned by the writer’s stagecraft, where every detail down to a pause, footfall or breath is finely calculated.

Perhaps it’s because of its incidental make-up that an ashen Olwen Fouéré has confined herself behind a desk next to a metallic lamp, wearing headphones over her ears; she has yielded behind Beckett’s text as opposed to positioning herself alongside, speaking it aloud as if receiving a live transmission from the end of the world:  “Ruins true refuge long last towards which so many false time out of mind”.

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