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 Stockard. The Stanley Arts performance is on 5 Feb, followed by a Q&A with David and Stockard. The production then continues on tour.
Would you like to talk a bit about how your production of Krapp’s Last Tape came about, from your perspective?
Stockard: Of course. I’ve been friends with David for about twenty-five years. Even before I lived in London, whenever I came into town we’d always meet up. We’re both actors, so we naturally talk a lot about acting and theatre.
One evening, we were having dinner and he said he was thinking about returning to the stage. He told me about this piece he’d discovered – I think he’s probably told you the story about finding it while he was on location. Then he said, “I want you to direct it.”
I told him straight away, “I’m not a director.” But the truth is, we trust each other. We have very similar taste, and we’re very close friends. He said he respected my judgement – that if something wasn’t working, I’d tell him honestly.
So we started from the beginning, literally at my kitchen table, going through the text. I have a large living room with a desk and a couch, and we realised: that’s basically the set.
We worked on it there, and then he found this venue – a wonderful, intimate space that felt perfect for the piece. It genuinely felt like you were in the room with him.
That was about two years ago now, which feels unbelievable. Since then it’s been performed in all sorts of places.
And you’re not always involved now?
Stockard: No – I do actually have a life! But I drop in occasionally, especially for Q&As. What fascinates me most is the audience response. The conversations afterwards are often very moving.
I think the piece really taps into something – ideas of memory, of the past, and how quickly the world is changing.
We’re constantly recording everything now. Photos, videos, ourselves. But do we ever go back and look at them? Or are we losing the ability to just be present?
That’s what the piece asks, really: if you could encounter yourself at 23, what would you say?
As you know, he recorded himself in his twenties, and then every few years on his birthday. That’s the heart of it.
Had you worked on Beckett before?
Stockard: No, not really. You approach the piece simply as the piece itself. It’s less abstract than Waiting for Godot, but in some ways it’s more abstract. Beckett himself once said, when asked what the piece meant, “I don’t know.”
That’s why it feels oddly prophetic, the idea of recording yourself decades earlier. Beckett couldn’t have done that in his lifetime. He hadn’t seen a tape recorder until he was being interviewed.
So there’s a stretch of imagination there, alongside those slightly absurd elements like the banana, the desk, the tape recorder.
What really stays with me is how emotional audiences find it.
I took a friend last year to see Stephen Rea as Krapp (it was her first Beckett) and she was incredibly moved.
Stockard: Exactly. You don’t need any prior knowledge. It’s very straightforward. If it resonates with one person in the room, that’s enough.
Did you watch other productions while preparing it?
Stockard: Yes, and that was fascinating. Some versions run over an hour; ours is about forty-three minutes. People stretch moments, especially things like the banana-eating. It’s interesting how much variation there is, despite how precise Beckett’s instructions are.
Why Stanley Arts for the London run?
Stanley Arts: That came through David. A mutual friend connected us, and it was the first place we performed it properly. People were sitting on the floor, on cushions – about thirty people packed into a room. It felt exactly right.
We’ve since done it in proper theatres too, with 250 seats, and in different countries. David loves that it’s a piece you can take anywhere. Desk, chair, tape recorder, and you’re done.
Did you enjoy directing?
Stockard: Very much – though I didn’t realise that’s what I was doing at the time. We communicate very clearly. I can say, “Don’t do that,” or “Do that,” and there’s no ego involved.
With Beckett, you don’t have freedom to reinterpret wildly anyway. You follow the instructions exactly. What changes is the personality of the actor. That’s where the variation comes from.
You can’t change the text, though.
Stockard: Not at all. You have the tape recorder, desk, chair, and a light above the chair. That’s it.
Some recent productions have taken liberties.
Stockard: Yes – though I hear the banana still survives! I’ve mostly seen filmed versions: Patrick Magee, John Hurt. Magee was the first; Beckett essentially wrote it for him.
Did you approach it in an Irish way?
Stockard: No. We focused on the rhythm of the text, not nationality. The speech patterns dictate the pace.
Did you ever consider pairing it with another piece?
Stockard: It was discussed early on, but I don’t think it needs it. It’s complete on its own. It’s like an egg: satisfying, self-contained.
Can I ask you something about Rizzo in Grease? [Stockard appeared in the 1978 film]. Looking back at that younger self, what would you say to her?
Stockard: That it’s going to be okay. Keep going.
I understand why people still connect strongly to that part of my career, especially younger women. I’m proud of her now. I’m surprised it still resonates, but it’s very touching.
Do you prefer stage or screen?
Stockard: It depends entirely on who you’re working with.
Finally – what do you hope people take away from this production?
Stockard: That it stays with them. I think the real response comes a day later, when someone realises they’re still thinking about it. If a piece lingers like that, then you’ve done something right.
You don’t want people leaving the theatre saying, “That was great. What’s for dinner?” You want an echo.