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Beckett on Film

I have to admit to never having read or seen anything by Samuel Beckett. That is, I hadn’t seen anything until tonight. I’ve been watching Beckett on Film . I’m unsure of what to make of it.

Many of the characters seem to be traits or aspects of a person more than fully formed individuals, and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of plot or drama. Everything is fractured and ambiguous. It’s interesting in a way, I suppose. Normally, I like ambiguity in my art. Normally, I would expect that I would like this type of thing a lot. I do in a way, but it’s more because I feel like I should than because I feel like I’ve really come away with anything. I find I just don’t have the attention span for it tonight. It reminds me of Kafka. I like Kafka a bunch. I’ve read everything we still have from him — some pieces several times (except his journal. I tried, but let’s be real here). But, I’m always a little uneasy about it. It’s like looking into somebody’s working notes and finding half-formed experiments. It’s like they aren’t really meant to be seen. I find it hard to believe Beckett’s shorter plays actually get staged, but clearly they must.

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