Krapp (don’t snicker) is aged and lonely. He listens to the audio-diaries he made decades ago – he still makes them now – and is furious at his younger self for his comparative naïveté, romanticism, and neglected aspirations. It’s a low and touching piece of writing which, whether you’re old and sympathetic or young and blinkered, may send shivers of recognition down your spine.
His every movement is laboured of age, the world around him, his den, is in med temporal decay at every facet, light bulbs and banana skins torment him by their inconvenience. Little stresses add up and trigger his temper: he has a short fuse with sadly little magazine. The first ten minutes are nearly silent, if you thought Lost in Translation was airily beautiful then you’ll think the same of this (ditto for boring if you have a short attention span).
This play has nothing to offer beyond a portrait of the character, and so it’s a great relief that the tragic character, largely thanks to the anticipatorily autobiographical honesty which fuels the writing, seems enormously real and human. The actor lives up to his obligations and leaves no detail forgotten in bringing Krapp to life. All in all it’s an hour well-spent, just don’t expect to leave the theatre in a jolly mood.
4/5 
Bernie Greenwood
