Adrian Dunbar could have called his Beckett festival “Unwound”. Over four days, across theatres and outdoor sites in Liverpool, he presents short plays by the writer he reveres “like a secular saint”, whose characters unravel as death circles round.
First, the old man combing recorded chronicles of his younger years, in minor masterpiece Krapp’s Last Tape. Denis Lavant is remarkable at showing Krapp’s decline. Tendrils of hair unspool from his head, his posture is as crumpled as his storage boxes, and his stiff limbs judder across the stage like a decrepit animatronic. Creaks could be from the stage or his legs.
