The character of Winnie in Samuel Beckett’s Happy Days was described as a “summit part” akin to Hamlet by Dame Peggy Ashcroft, one of the earliest Winnies. Only a daring actor would attempt the role: essentially a 90-minute monologue of looping, repetitive prose, and a prescriptive list of stage directions encompassing pauses and facial expressions. All while buried in earth – first from the waist, then the neck. But the rewards of scaling this mighty peak are extraordinary; it’s hard to think of a more intriguing female character on stage, or a better scaffold for technical and emotional virtuosity.
Who is Winnie? Beckett stipulates that she’s “about 50”; she’s married to the taciturn Willie – who is seen sporadically on stage with her, generally crawling. She’s well-educated, judging by her literary references. Her daily routine is dictated by a bell, for reasons undisclosed. She is at all times partially buried, in a scorched mound of earth in an unbroken landscape, for reasons undisclosed. The sun is hellish, the bell is relentless, and her helpmate seems thoroughly unhelpful. Despite this, she persists. She keeps talking; she recalls her youth; she counts her blessings. Keeps herself tidy.
