4 Pinter shorts at the Harold Pinter Theatre. Certainly interesting, not what I expected at all. I thought P. was a modern day Oscar Wilde with razorsharp wit. But he’s more of a surgeon, dissecting the very souls with oneliners and sarcasm. Terrific and terrifying to watch.
The general theme of the 4 pieces: the loneliness and fear of being part of a society that doesn’t or can’t communicate any longer.
There’s the quiet man whose wife does all the talking in their basement apartment, who seems so sweet and amicable , until a stranger comes by and it turns out the wife is a rich man’s daughter, invited to come back home. In an explosion of violence the husband kills the danger to his marriage. And the wife talks no more.
There’s the son who finally moved out of his mother’s apartment to gain freedom, but finds himself in the net of a family/inhabitants in his apartment house that are just as controlling as his mother was.
The cab driver who doesn’t answer his call centre, and when he finally does, it raises alarms. Because he tells about a young girl, in the back of his cab, sleeping? Waiting? For the sun to rise? Drugged? Dead?
And the dinner party that is just words and sentences and attacks and pseudo friendly smiles.
The waiter who dishes the food, with obscure facts or fictions about his ancestors who ruins every dialogue.