Word: pinter
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...Long Wharf Theater and its intrepid artistic director Arvin Brown. To marshal an American cast and make it seem British to the marrow is an equal triumph for Director Barry Davis and his admirable players. They have honored a playwright who is an impressive successor to Osborne and Pinter. Only rarely does one encounter a deep, possibly a noble soul who regards the eclipse of his civilization and his folk as direr than his own death...
Coming and Going is a production in the tradition of the Living Theatre, in which communication is partially derived from community. The Adams House Drama Workshop combines Come and Go by Samuel Beckett, Landscape by Harold Pinter, and excerpts from The Brig by Kenneth Brown and from the transcript of the trial of the Chicago 8 to form a piece in which the communal aura gradually expands...
...Harold Pinter has not fallen on his face in Old Times, but he has mistaken a dead end for a new road. Even more surprisingly, he has written a play that is a bit of a bore, though the bulk of the reviews have been favorable.* It is a three-character play. Deeley (Robert Shaw) and Kate (Mary Ure) are husband and wife. They await the visit of Anna (Rosemary Harris), Kate's friend and roommate of 20 years before. She appears, and the three begin a cat-and-mouse game with memory...
Masked Anemia. It is very difficult to account for Pinter's writing such a lethargic play. Of all contemporary playwrights, he has taught us the most about the importance of imminence in the dramatic experience. Who will come, or break, through the door next? What devastating words will unexpectedly be uttered? That is what has made Pinter an edge-of-the-seat dramatist. Even when he was, as English Critic Alan Brien once said, "a Hitchcock with the last reel missing," he still provided the electric Hitchcock tension. Beginning with the one-acters, Landscape and Silence, Pinter became enamored...
...particular, is a remarkable achievement, with its Sapphic intricacies and paradoxically cool eroticism. Similarly, Peter Hall's direction is impeccable, and he has imbued the inaction of the evening with a rich golden stillness that the words themselves do not fully convey. The words, as always in Pinter, are rationed, unadorned and precise. They are also a trifle plaintive and petulant, as if Pinter were suffering a teary bout of middle-aged tristesse...