There are some performers who can do no wrong. Case in point: Bill Irwin. Who else could keep an audience richly entertained for an hour and a half with a subject as difficult and often unfathomable as the writings of Samuel Beckett? But Irwin loads the deck. Far from delivering a stuffy lecture, he allows us into the world where he and the Irish author meet through dialogue and stage directions. Irwin offers us different interpretations of several Beckett passages, and to see the machinations worked out is as intriguing as anything now on stage. “I am not a Beckett scholar,” he informs us, “mine is an actor’s relationship.” Ah, but what an actor. He uses his voice like a musical instrument, and his body, still enviably lean and supple, is capable of all kinds of movement and manipulations. His “modern lectern” bit alone is worth the price of admission. Irwin comes right out and tells us “I am a clown.” In this way, he allows us to relax and appreciate what, at times, seems like a slapstick approach to the playwright. Lots of different bowler hats, silly massive oversize jacket and shoes, and baggy pants over baggy pants help sell the absurdity of much of the language. In other hands, Beckett’s “Texts for Nothing” could be baffling and deathly dull; with Irwin in charge, the words become fascinating. When Irwin talks about playing Lucky in the 1988 Lincoln Center Waiting for Godot with Steve Martin, Robin Williams, and F. Murray Abraham, those of us who didn’t get to experience this presentation (and how we wish we had!) see it illuminated before our eyes. Lucky’s famous three-page monologue, a chunk of which is performed here, is both startling and, as Irwin reads the stage directions, heart breaking. He also explains the decision when working with Nathan Lane to pronounce the title of the play GOD-oh, rather than the standard American God-OH. As do all great actors, Irwin makes us believe that he’s confiding these details to us for the first time. He never takes the easy way out, and as he questions, we realize he’s not going to give us the answers to his quandaries, but rather, he creates a pathway so that we can contemplate his ideas ourselves. How is it that Beckett’s voice is distinctly Irish when he chose to write in French, only in his later years switching to English? Is there some shared blood relationship or some distant memory of an elder family member that makes Beckett’s word stick so easily in Irwin’s brain? What about the oft-pondered question of the connection between genius and mental illness? Bill Irwin uses many techniques to keep our interest, largely his easy relatability and self-deprecating humor. It’s simply impossible to dislike the man. His graciousness to young Finn O’Sullivan, who has the tiny part of the boy who brings the message from Godot, is truly heart-warming. In 1984, at the age of 34, Irwin was presented with what’s commonly called the MacArthur Genius Grant. It’s too bad there’s not a comparable honor in the theater. Yes, he has a Tony, but there should be a special award for an actor who has the skill and the courage to challenge and enlighten the audience, all the while delighting and entertaining us in a way that no one else can.
