by SAMUEL BECKETT
The stage is a hexagon, not much larger than a cockfighting pit. Four playgoers apiece are seated in wire-meshed chicken-coop enclosures. Visually, the audience becomes ghostly to itself, a spectral collection of selves in limbo, seemingly bodiless.
This is the physical setting of a venturesome and exciting revival of Endgame by Director André Gregory and the Manhattan Project. The same group two seasons ago made a vertiginous descent into the Freudian maelstrom of Alice in Wonderland, soon due to run again in repertory with Endgame.
Gregory is remarkable for sheer theatricality....