As the tour of Krapp’s Last Tape, starring David Westhead and directed by Stockard Channing, stops off at Stanley Arts in South Norwood, I caught up with both of them by telephone.
This is my interview with David. The Stanley Arts performance is 5 Feb and is followed by a Q&A with David and Stockard. The show then continues on tour.
Okay, so how is the tour going so far?
David: It’s great. Honestly, it’s surprising when you think about where it started, because it was never supposed to be more than a few site-specific performances.
But it’s expanded, almost exponentially, and we’ve been doing it for nearly two years now. I think since April… or was it June? One of those. At the time it was really just a bit of a bonkers idea.
Tell me how your production came about.
David: About 25 years ago I was in Lithuania, in Vilnius. It was about minus nine or ten degrees, so you didn’t want to be outside for too long. I had a day off and thought, “what can I do?”
I went to look at some insects trapped in amber — that killed about an hour — then wandered up to the castle, froze, and thought, “right, that’s enough of that.”
I went down to the theatre where they were doing Shakespeare in tights, and on one of the posters there was a small piece of paper with Krapp’s Last Tape written in Lithuanian, with an arrow underneath it.
I followed the arrow… then another arrow… and another. After about half an hour I ended up on the twelfth floor of a Soviet apartment block, in somebody’s flat, with about ten other people who’d followed the arrows too.
We sat on his sofa and a couple of chairs, freezing cold, and he performed Krapp’s Last Tape with a tape recorder.
It was absolutely sensational. I remember thinking, “when I’m old enough, I want to do that” – not necessarily in his flat, but in that spirit.
Years later, I was talking to a close friend of mine, Stockard Channing – we’d known each other for years – and a couple of years ago I said, “Look, why don’t we do Krapp’s Last Tape? You can direct it. I’ve been in the business for 50 years.”
We rehearsed it in her kitchen. Her first comment was, “Well, who the hell’s going to watch this?” We kept going anyway. We moved into the lounge, involved a couple of bananas in rehearsal (sadly the dog kept trying to eat them)then moved back into the kitchen.
I contacted an old mate of mine, Ant Roberts at Colchester Arts Centre, and asked if we could try it in front of people. I said, “If it’s terrible, we can pretend it never happened.”
We also found a site-specific venue in London – a beaten-up function room above a pub – and did a few performances there. People sat on battered chairs, around tables, even on the floor. It felt intimate, and people really responded. That’s when I started thinking, this might have legs.
Since then, we’ve dragged the show around, doing it as cheaply as we can. Theatre outside London is tough now. Shakespeare, for example, is incredibly hard to tour because of cast sizes and costs. We keep ticket prices low, and we also donate money to charity.
What charity is that?
David: It’s called the Wembley to Soweto Foundation. A photographer friend and I went to Soweto during the 2010 World Cup. He’d taken the iconic photograph of the Free Mandela concert at Wembley in 1988.
We set up the charity to teach disadvantaged young people photography. We give them cameras, training, and education within their own communities.
What’s amazing is that some of the kids we taught are now teaching others. Fifteen years later, it’s still running. So we perform the show, donate proceeds, and keep that going.
We’ve played everywhere – wine cellars in Lisbon, former KGB buildings in Estonia – as well as small and mid-scale theatres. I’m here in Bury tonight, for example.
There have been a lot of Krapp’s Last Tape productions recently – large-scale ones too. How does yours fit into that landscape, especially in London?
David: I think what’s interesting is that none of these productions really clash, because they’re all in completely different spaces. Beckett is Beckett. You can’t really change the structure, but everyone brings themselves to it.
I always wanted to do it in small spaces, because you can see the actor’s eyes, see what he’s thinking. That intimacy is crucial.
Other productions do it brilliantly in their own way. The great thing is that people don’t say, “I’ve seen one, so I won’t see another.” They’re different experiences.
Why Stanley Arts?
David: They got in touch with us, like so many venues have. It’s strange. I always wanted to get a van and tour small-scale theatre around the country, and suddenly that’s exactly what I’m doing. Stanley Arts have this small hall, about 60 seats. That’s perfect for this piece.
There is an appetite for theatre, especially work people can afford. Stand-up comedy dominates partly because it’s one person and cheaper to tour.
I love London, but it’s important to take work elsewhere. People in places like Bury don’t have £150 to spend on a ticket.
What does the play mean to you personally now?
David: I’m 62 – I’m about seven years too young for the part, so I can do it until I drop. What it means changes all the time. You chart your own life through it: disappointments, failures, lost ambitions, lost loves, the things that were so close.
And then there’s the humour: the absurdity of memory. Krapp remembers tiny details but forgets the moments that shaped him. I do that too. The premise of recording your life every year is like writing a letter to your future self. It’s fascinating.
Did you ever think of pairing it with another play?
David: Initially, no. It was always meant to stand alone, especially because of the site-specific nature and the cold! Fifty minutes felt right.
Now, I’ve thought about pairing it with something short, maybe Breath, but for now, Krapp speaks for itself.
We often do Q&As afterwards, and nobody’s ever said it’s too short.
Have you done Beckett before?
David: Bits and pieces – Waiting for Godot, Happy Days, Endgame – but this is the first full Beckett production I’ve done. I love it. The tape recorder becomes another character. It’s 50% of the show.
My younger son operates the sound and lights. We tour together in a small car. It’s pretty special. My other son gets involved when he can too.
Do you have a favourite interpretation of the role?
David: No. You can’t compare them. It’s like comparing footballers in different positions. They all stand alone.
Interviewer: And the bananas – are they a problem?
David: I’m full of potassium! The trick is to get small bananas, especially when you do it three times a day.
Once in Vilnius we forgot them and had to buy huge cocktail-bar bananas ten minutes before the show. That was… challenging.
How do you find performing solo?
David: It’s very different, but I enjoy it. You’re alone in a way, but you also meet audiences afterwards, talk in the bar, do Q&As. You don’t get that at the RSC or the National.
I remember standing backstage before the first performance thinking, “what the hell am I doing?” But once you’re out there, this is what I trained for. Theatre is real-time — you take it moment by moment, and suddenly it’s finished.
The nerves never go away, and that’s a good thing. Nerves mean you care.
Reviewers feel that too. It’s hard writing negative reviews about people doing their best.
David: Exactly. Reviews are subjective. One critic loves something, another hates it. That’s theatre.
Is there anything else you’d like to add?
David: Just that it’s about getting back to your roots and remembering why you started. I’m lucky. I don’t need to chase anything anymore.
I can offer the play with no agenda. If people have a good night and want to chat afterwards, that’s enough.