University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

A Critical Analysis Of The Nature Of Plot Construction And Characterization In Representative Plays Of Harold Pinter

(USC Thesis Other)

A Critical Analysis Of The Nature Of Plot Construction And Characterization In Representative Plays Of Harold Pinter

PDF

Download a page range

Download transcript

Copy asset link

Request this asset

Transcript (if available)

Content 72-11,960
S0R0KY, Rose Eileen, 1939-
A CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE NATURE OF PLOT
CONSTRUCTION AND CHARACTERIZATION IN
REPRESENTATIVE PLAYS OF HAROLD PINTER.
University of Southern California, Ph.D., 1971
Mass Communications
University Microfilms, A XEROX C om pany, Ann Arbor, M ichigan
© Copyright by
ROSE EILEEN SOROKY
1971
ac prrp.TVF.n
A CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF THE NATURE OF PLOT CONSTRUCTION
AND CHARACTERIZATION IN REPRESENTATIVE PLAYS OF
HAROLD PINTER
W
Rose Eileen Soroky
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(Communication— Drama)
September 1971
UNIVERSITY O F SO U T H E R N CALIFORNIA
TH E GRADUATE SCH O O L
U NIVERSITY PARK
LOS A N G ELES, CALI FO R N IA 9 0 0 0 7
This dissertation, written by
EQj3.e..j;ile.erL.JS£a;oiy................
under the direction of A .® £.... Dissertation Com
mittee, and approved by all its members, has
been presented to and accepted by The Gradu
ate School, in partial fulfillment of require
ments of the degree of
D O C T O R OF P H IL O S O P H Y
Dean
Dfl/ff...?.ep.tember_ W 71
DISSERTATION COMMITTEE
1 1 Chairman *
PLEASE NOTE:
Some pages have indistinct
print. Filmed as received.
UNIVERSITY MICROFILMS.
TABLE OP CONTENTS
Chapter
I. STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM AND
DESIGN OP THE STUDY . . .
Statement of the Problem
Design of the Study
Review of the Literature
II. THE EARLY PLAYS ..........
I. The Room
II. The Birthday Party
III. The Caretaker
III. THE LATER PLAYS ..........
I. The Lover
II. The Homecoming
III. Silence
IY. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS . .
BIBLIOGRAPHY
CHAPTER I
STATEMENT OP THE PROBLEM AND
DESIGN OP THE STUDY
Harold Pinter began writing plays in 1957 with the
one-act play The Room. Daring the intervening years he has
written four full-length plays and numerous short plays—
some for the theatre, some for radio, and many for televi
sion. He has provided the scenario for the film versions
of two of his own plays and for films based on novels writ
ten by other authors.
The nature of Harold Pinter's plays has provoked a
great divergence of critical opinion. Various critics have
called Pinter a practitioner of Theatre of the Absurd and
have compared him favorably to Samuel Beckett and Eugene
Ionesco. Equally eminent critics have rejected these com
parisons j they refer to Pinter as the author of an unusual
form of realism. Most of these critics agree that Pinter's
themes provide his most distinctive contributions to dra
matic literature. Some critics believe, however, that
these themes do not develop— that Pinter's plays have an
original "flavor” but no substance.
T !
Ronald Bryden, "A Stink of Pinter," New Statesman, j
LXIX (11 June 1965), 928. 1 !
2
Harold Pinter refers to his original creations as
traditional dramas. He takes issue with those critics who
believe that his plays are experimental or avant-garde.
He says: "I am a very traditional playwright— for instance
I insist on having a curtain in all my plays. I write
curtain lines for that reason! . . . For me everything has
to do with shape* structure and overall unity." Still*
some of Pinter’s statements lend support to those critics
who believe that his plays are departures from tradition.
Pinter rejects the methods of playwrights who pre
sent characters and actions which have simple and unequiv
ocal backgrounds. He says:
A character on the stage who can present no convincing
argument or information as to his past experience* his
present behavior or his aspirations* nor give a com
prehensive analysis of his motives is as legitimate
and as worthy of attention as one who* alarmingly*
can do all these things.3
Such characters would not follow all traditional patterns*
nor would their presentation result in a clarification of a
specific point of view.
This writer wondered what traditional methods were
employed by this playwright and to what effect he could
employ them. Pinter’s statements do not resolve this prob-
2Harold Pinter* "The Art of the Theatre III*" The
Paris Review, No. 39 (1966)* pp. 36-37.
^Harold Pinter* "Writing for the Theatre*" The New
British Drama* ed. by Henry Popkin (New York: Grove Press*
Inc.* 1964)* p. 576.
3
lem, and previous critical studies provide contradictory
assessments of his work. One reason it is difficult to
find unanimity of critical opinion lies in the variety of
standards critics use to assess the plays. Some critics
seem to apply traditional standards to the plays while
others appear to find merit in departures from tradition.
Neither group sets forth its criteria in concrete terms;
therefore, it is difficult to determine which critical
evaluations are valid.
Plot construction and characterization have not
been explored in any detail in critical studies of Pinter's
plays. This writer became interested in an exploration of
these dramatic elements in terms of specific criteria as
sembled from the works of the best dramatic theorists.
Statement of the Problem
The problem was to determine the nature of plot
construction and characterization in representative plays
of Harold Pinter. According to tradition, the better plot
construction will have these properties: (l) the plot should
exhibit logic and unity, (2) it should be plausible, (3) it ■
should contain action which accelerates and intensifies
until the climax, (4) it should have: a) exposition which
provides necessary information unobtrusively, b) a climax
which marks the turning point in the fortunes of the main
character(s), c) a resolution which resolves the action. .
The traditional criteria for characterization are: (l) the
characters should be consistent, (2) they should be well
motivated, (3) they should be of interest morally, (4)
chief characters should make acute choices in order to be
judged properly.
Design of the Study
In order to solve this problem the critical method
was used: "... the method, or procedures, of evaluating
phenomena of speech according to appropriate criteria or
„4
standards of judgment. The appropriate criteria were
assembled first from a study of Aristotle’s Poetics, but it
was discovered that this work includes much material which
has no application to modern drama. Many other theorists
had to be consulted in order to find standards which could
be applied to Pinter's plays.
The major contributions of the best dramatic theo
rists were found in Barrett H. Clark's European Theories
of the Drama. Some of these contributions are reprinted
in their entirety in Clark's book; applicable standards
were derived from these chapters. Other helpful contribu
tions were abridged in the bookj therefore, it was neces
sary to consult the original sources for complete explana-
^Elton S. Carter and Iline Fife, "The Critical Ap
proach, " An Introduction to Graduate Study in Speech and
Theatre (East Lansing, Mich.: Michigan State University
Press, 1961), p. 82.
5
tions of the theories of Samuel Johnson., Samuel Taylor
Coleridge, Gotthold Ephrain Lessing, William Archer,
Brander Matthews, George Pierce Baker and Eric Bentley. A
consensus of their critical standards was used to evaluate
Pinter's playsj the critic who adopted these criteria could
he called a traditional critic.
The critic who applied an assemblage of these theo
ries would expect to find that the play under consideration
had a plot. Plot gives form to actionj if there is no
action and/or no change in the original dramatic situation,
then there is no plot. When there is action, out that
action consists of a series of unrelated episodes, the
critic will not accept it as a dramatic plot in the con
ventional sense. A conventional dramatic plot exists when
action is arranged into a sequence of logically interre
lated events. Eirst Aristotle and then Samuel Johnson and
Lessing state the criterion that the incidents in a drama
must exhibit a logical sequence.
This logical sequence must be circumscribed by the
traditional length associated with a play, and it must be
of sufficient importance to merit presentation before an
audience. The type of plot which meets this standard is
5S. H. Butcher, Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and
Pine Art (New Yorks D. Appleton-Century Company, 1935)> PP.
179-IBoj Samuel Johnson, "Preface to Shakespeare," European
Theories of the Drama (New Yorks Crown Publishers, Inc.,
1965), p. lt>7j Gotthold Ephrain Lessing, "Hamburg Drama
turgy," European Theories, pp. 219-220.
6
described by Aristotle; "The proper magnitude is comprised
within such limits, that the sequence of events . . . will
admit of a change from bad fortune to good, or from good
fortune to bad." This change of fortune affects the main
character(s) and gives the play unity of action so long as
all the events presented bear directly upon it.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge believes that unity is not
merely a good standard but the "end" of all art. Unity
will be achieved when the play conforms to the Aristotelian
criteria for a beginning, middle and end.
A beginning is that which does not itself follow any
thing by causal necessity, but after which something
naturally is or comes to be. An end, on the contrary,
is that which itself naturally follows some other
thing, either by necessity, or as a rule, but has
nothing following it. A middle is that which follows
something as some other thing follows it. A well
constructed plot, therefore, must neither begin nor
end at haphazard, but conform to these principles.8
The first standard--that the plot must exhibit
logic and unity— deals with the internal structure as
fashioned by the playwright. It is necessary to go fur
ther, however, when assessing the possible effect of the
play upon an audience. Thus the best theorists ask that
the subject of the action be plausible. The playwright can
Butcher, op. cit., p. 33.
"^Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Lectures and Notes on
Shakespeare and Other English Poets (London: George Belland
Sons, 1884), p. 389".
O
Butcher, op. cit., p. 31.
7
depend upon the audience's willing suspension of disbelief:
"A sort of temporary half-faith, which the spectator en
courages in himself and supports by a voluntary contribu
tion on his own part, because he knows that it is at all
times in his power to see the thing as it really is."^
The actions of the characters cannot depart too
much from the behavior an audience knows about, or they
will begin to see the play as it really is. According to
Gustav Frey tag,
The entertained spectator surrenders himself gladly
to the invention of the plot . . . [but] he brings
with him before the stage a certain knowledge of his
torical relations, definite ethical and moral demands
upon human life, presages and a clear knowledge of the
course of events. To a certain extent, it is impos
sible for him to renounce this purport of his own life;
and sometimes he feels it very strongly when the po
etic picture contradicts it.10
Aristotle describes the plausible subjects for
drama as: . . things as they were or are, things as
they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought to
be."'*"'*' Each subject presupposes an appropriate degree of
aesthetic distance: a presentation of things as they are
presupposes a lesser distance than that required for a
^Coleridge, op. cit., p. 206.
"^Gustav Freytag, Technique of the Drama, trans. by
Elias J. MacEwan (Chicago: S. C. Griggs and Company, 1885),
p. 50. Samuel Johnson says, "Imitations produce pain or
pleasure, not because they are mistaken for realities, but
because they bring realities to mind," op. cit., p. 188.
11
Butcher, op. cit., p. 97.
8
presentation of things as they are said to be. Once the
playwright establishes a degree of distance, he cannot
violate it without arousing a sense of implausibility.
"Probability" and "improbability" in Art are not to be
measured by their correspondence (or lack of it) with
actual experience. ... It is rather a matter of con
sistency of Distance. The note of realism, set by a
work as a whole, determines intrinsically the greater
or smaller degree of fancy which it permits; and con
sequently we feel the loss of Peter Pan's shadow to
be infinitely more probable than some trifling im
probability which shocks our sense of proportion in
a naturalistic work.
The expectations of the best dramatic theorists go
beyond those of logic and plausibility. They believe that
the playwright must interest them in the separate events
and in the action as a whole. The playwright must gain at
tention and arouse curiosity about what will happen. Curi
osity is usually stimulated by the appearance of a dramatic
problem. Complications of this problem create suspense and
a rise in the intensity of the action. Freytag describes
the way that scenes may increase in intensity; they must
"not only evince progress in their import but they must
show an enlargement in form and treatment, and indeed, with
variation and shading in execution."^
Accelerating intensity in action is necessary in
order to maintain the interest of an audience. George
■^Edward Bullough, "Psychical Distance," A Modern
Book of Aesthetics (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston,
1962), p. 4o6.
^Freytag, op. cit., p. 128.
Pierce Baker asks: "What is the common aim of all drama
tists?" And he provides the answer: "Twofold: first, as
promptly as possible to win the attention of the audlencej
secondly, to hold that interest steady or, better, to in
crease it till the final curtain falls. Interest in
action prevents the distance between the drama and the
spectator from becoming too great. Psychoanalyst Ernst
Kris describes the response to art which does not involve
the spectator:
When psychic distance is maximal, the response is
philistine or intellectualistic. At best, the expe
rience is one of passive receptivity rather than
active participation. . . . Or, indeed, there may be
no effort at interpretation at all, and the work re
jected out of hand as unintelligible and worthless.^5
Action must be predominant since the corollary to
over-distancing is the problem of under-distancing which
occurs when theme overwhelms action. When theme predomi
nates, action becomes a mere demonstration of the way the
audience can achieve the playwright’s goals. "When dis
tance is minimal the reaction to works of art is pragmatic
» |
rather than aesthetic." Art becomes propaganda.
The plot must be logical, plausible and interesting
14 ,
George Pierce Baker, Dramatic Technique (New York:
Houghton Mifflin Company, 1919)> p. 16.
^Ernst Kris, Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art
(New York: International Universities Press, Inc., 1952),
p. 256.
l6Ibld.
and its separate elements must function effectively.
Though the action must begin at a point "which does not
follow anything by causal necessity," the audience will
wish to know certain facts about events preceding the
play's original situation. This expository information
will be most effective when the backgrounds of the charac
ters and events are revealed unobtrusively. Information
should be given only when needed by the audience so as to
advance rather than impede the action. The audience will
need to know just enough to understand the immediate action
and enough to feel eager to see the next event.
Most traditional dramas exhibit the conflict of
17
opposing forces. 1 When such a conflict exists in a play,
it should involve forces of equal magnitude. The most ef
fective conflict involves forces which can claim to have
right on their side. The audience will be more emotionally
Involved in the conflict when they can Identify to some
" 1 f t
extent with both sides.
17
1"The essential character of drama is social con
flict— persons against other persons, or individuals against
groups, or groups against other groups, or Individuals or
groups against social or natural forces— in which the con
scious will, exerted for the accomplishment of specific and
understandable aims, is sufficiently strong to bring the
conflict to a point of crisis." John Howard Lawson, "The
Law of Conflict," European Theories, op. cit., p. 509*
n f t
Donald Gene Wright, "A Critical Examination of the
Works of Clifford Odets According to a Psychoanalytic Cri
terion" (unpublished Doctoral dissertation, University of
Southern California, 1970), p. 29.
A confrontation between the conflicting forces is
also essential. There is no drama if each goes his sepa
rate way. The confrontation may form the climax, or the
climax may arise from another source. In any case, the
action must reach a climax, "the crisis of maximum emotion
and tension. The audience must see the climax occur on
the stage; Brander Matthews uses Erancisque Sarcey's term
scenes a faire to describe the scenes which must be in-
20
eluded in each play. The climax must be the moment of
maximum interest as the fortunes of the main character(s)
come to a turning point.
The climax will be followed by the denouement and
will tie all threads of the plot together; a most effective
denouement will include the major character's or characters
recognition of important facts. Aristotle provides this
description: "Recognition, as the name indicates, is a
change from ignorance to knowledge, producing love or hate
between the persons destined by the poet for good or bad
21
fortune." Maxwell Anderson modifies the definition of
recognition: "A hero must pass through an experience which
■ 1 ‘ %'red B. Millett and Gerald Eads Bentley, The Art of
the Drama (New York: D. Appleton-Century Company, 1935).»
P . 193.
20
Brander Matthews, The Development of the Drama
(New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1924), p. 25^
^Butcher, op. cit., p. 4l.
12
pO
opens his eyes to an error of his own." In modern drama
it is more common for the change from ignorance to knowl
edge to involve insight into the central problem of the
play.
The dramatic elements must be in proper proportion
to each other and to the play as a whole. Neither the ex
position nor the denouement can assume too large a portion
of the play; they do not have the qualities of action and
suspense which sustain interest over an extended period of
time. When there is conflict* it cannot begin too late in
the play or it will be insufficiently developed. The
climax must not appear too early in the play or subsequent
events will seem less interesting in contrast to it. The
climax must not occur too late in the play or the audience
will not have enough time to appreciate its import and
digest its meaning. When one dramatic element is out of
o o.
proportion* it disturbs the balance of the entire play.
Character is second only to plot as an essential
element of traditional drama. Dramatic theorists concur on
the first standard for characterization: characters must be
consistent. Aristotle allows for a character to be "con-
22Maxwell Anderson* "The Essence of Tragedy*"
European Theories, op. cit., p. 512. !
23"A beautiful object* whether it be a living organ- j
ism or any whole composed of parts* must . . . have an or
derly arrangement of parts. ..." Butcher* op. cit.* p. I
31.
13
t t 24
sistently inconsistent, yet such a character must still
be bound by plausibility. Words, actions and physical
characteristics constitute the tools the playwright uses in
creating characters. He may create a character in whom all
aspects conform; this is a potentially consistent character.
He may create a character in whom one or two aspects appear
contradictory; this is a character who is inconsistent yet
has the potential of being judged consistently inconsistent.
The audience can judge a character by what he says
and by what other characters say about him. The testimony
of a character is always evaluated in terms of its corre
spondence to his actions, however. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
says, "On stage we want to see who the people are, and we
can only see it from their actions."^ The character will
be considered hypocritical or unintelligent if his words
fail to harmonize with his actions.
A character must establish his potential through his
words and actions in the first few scenes. If he suddenly
reveals himself to be something different late in the play,
he will be judged inconsistent. The character who changes
substantially must change gradually during the course of
the play.
The dramatist who elects to represent a major process
of development or deterioration must take particular
ph.
Ibid., p. 55.
PR
-'Lessing, op. cit., p. 217. ,
14
pains to indicate the basic reasons for such altera
tion, present visually to the audience the major suc
cessive stages in the process, and satisfy it that
the final result is psychologically credible.2°
A character must be consistent, and he must reveal
motives which give sufficient cause for his actions. All
characters must be motivated; the reasons for their actions
must not be so obscure as to be hidden from the audience.
Motives should be "almost if not quite intelligible to an
attentive audience.^ Chracters need not, indeed cannot,
reveal everything about their thoughts and feelings; they
must be enough like actual people, whose motives are often
hidden, to preserve plausibility.
Gustav Freytag directs the playwright to understand
the secret of suggesting; of inciting the hearer
through his work to follow the poet1s process and
create after him. For the power to understand and
enjoy a character is attained only by the self-activ
ity of the receptive spectator, meeting the creative
artist helpfully and vigorously.2°
The spectator can be expected to supply many details when
a character’s motivation for an ordinary action needs to
be understood.
When the character is to perform important or extra
ordinary actions, the playwright must supply adequate and
appropriate motives for these actions. Not all characters
Millett and Bentley, op. cit., p. 219. Lessing
preceded them in stating this dictim, op. cit., p. 220.
^Millett and Bentley, op. cit., pp. 201-202.
pQ
Freytag, op. cit., p. 249.
15
are initially capable of performing these acts. A change
in the dramatic situation can provide a reason for changes
in a character’s action; it may call forth his inner re
serves. A change in the character himself may cause him to
make a significant choice. In either case the change must
be apparent to the audience,, and it must be of sufficient
import to be appropriate to an important action. According
to Lessing, "The motives for every resolve, for every
change of opinion or even thought . . . must never produce
more than they could produce in accordance with strict prob
ability."^
A character whose motives are not appropriate and/
or adequate will appear to be nothing more than a device of
the playwright. The audience can suspect that the play
wright is using his character to move the plot forward or
to illustrate some moral or social point. Once the hand of
the playwright becomes visible, the character becomes un
believable .
Characters must be well motivated, and they must be :
of interest morally. Both the complete villain and the com
plete paragon tend to be predictable in their reactions to
situations, as well as implausible in their deviation from
common behavior. Aristotle calls for a heroic character!
", . . that of a man who is not eminently good and just,
^Lessing, op. cit., p. 216.
16
yet whose misfortune Is brought about not by vice or de
pravity, but by some error or frailty.The audience is
able to identify with the character who is above average
morally but not totally good, and they can sustain interest
SI
in the action which involves him.
The best theorists disapprove of the character who
is below average morally, Lessing says, "The poet must
never think so unphilosophically as to assume that a man
OO
could desire evil for evil's sake. ..." The further
below average a character is in his moral behavior, the
less able he is to inspire identification or sustained emo
tional involvement. The representation of an immoral char
acter is likely to result in a trite moral lesson; it is
difficult for the playwright to flaunt morality by allowing
such a character to triumph. Art should satisfy "the uni
versally human desire to find in the world some justice,
some meaning, or at the very least, some recognizable
order."
Characters reveal themselves through action. A
3®Butcher, op. cit., p. 45.
Q 1
J Wright’s criterion from psychoanalysis supports
this standard; the ego will permit transference to another
if the character is above average morally but not all good,:
op. cit., p. 21.
■ap
Lessing, op. cit., p. 217.
Joseph Wood Krutch, "The Tragic Fallacy," European ;
Theories, op. cit., pp. 495-496.
character cannot be effective who initiates or performs no
action. , ; 'The greatest drama of all time . . . uses action
much less for its own sake than to reveal mental states
h34
which are to rouse sympathy or revulsion in an audience. IJ
Dramatic action involves personal and ethical choices made
by the characters as well as physical action. Characters
can be adequately judged only when choices are made.
It is particularly important for the chief charac
ter^) to make acute choices. He must be faced with deci
sions which will affect his fortunes for good or evil. The
nature of the chief character should be such that he is
capable of facing acute choices. Ferdinand Brunetiere be
lieves that the character's struggle to overcome obstacles
is so important that he makes it the law of the drama:
"What we ask of the theatre, is the spectacle of a will
striving towards a goal, and conscious of the means which
it employs.
The character who withdraws from problem situations
will reveal something of his nature, but he will not ex
press his moral and ethical dimension. The audience is not
privy to the private thoughts of a character in modern
dramas which exclude the soliloquy, the aside and the con
fident. The audience depends upon action to provide the
• 2J 1
J Baker, op. cit., p. 36.
35perdinand Brunetiere, "The Law of the Drama,"
European Theories, op. cit., p. 382.
18
vital information about a character.
The insights provided by psychoanalysis reveal that
two types of choices are of particular interest to the
audience. The character who chooses to rebel against the
taboos which his society holds in awe satisfies both the
audience*s wish to rebel against authority and their wish
to be punished for such rebellion.The character who
chooses to confront that which ordinary men would avoid and
then chooses to acknowledge his vulnerability and rejects
repentance is rewarding to an audience. They see that man
is capable of "gaining ascendancy over his misfortunes and
the mistakes or weaknesses for which he is responsible."37
Characters who make these choices will reveal themselves
fully, and they can be properly judged.
Each character in the drama may reveal himself
through choices, yet not all minor characters need to be
understood as individuals. The minor characters may be
types who exhibit all the audience needs to know of their
traits through physical appearance and language. In each
drama there should be a principal focus of attention— the
o Q
chief character or characters. Characters who are of
lesser importance may be involved in the problem situation,
-^Wright, op. cit., p. 22.
37Ibid., p. 30.
oO
Freytag, op. cit., p. 305.
19
but if they make the decisions and force choices upon the
chief character, they will eclipse the interest which
should be devoted to that chief character.
The standards for judging plot construction and
characterization were thus assembled, and they were applied
to representative plays of Harold Pinter. A representative
list was chosen in an effort to study each play in greater
detail than would have been possible had all of Pinter's
work been included. The three full-length plays now avail
able— The Birthday Party, The Caretaker and The Homecoming—
were chosen because each is different enough to merit ex
ploration.
Three one-act plays were chosen, and each is repre
sentative of several other short plays. The Room (1957) is
Pinter's first play, and it introduces characters, themes
and situations which recur in subsequent plays. The Room
represents The Dumb Waiter (1957) and parts of A Slight
Ache (1959); the three plays have been called "Comedies of
Menace." The Lover (1963) was originally written for tele
vision and later adapted for the stage. It represents
parts of A Slight Ache as well as all of the other plays
written for television— A Night Out (i960), Night School
(i960), The Collection (1961), Tea Party (1965), and The
Basement (1967). Silence (1969) is Pinter's most recent
short play, and it represents Landscape (1968), the only j
20
other Pinter play in which there is no action in the tradi
tional sense.
It was felt that the systematic application of the
series of criteria to these six plays would resolve many of
the problems raised by the diversity of critical opinion
about Pinter, that the application of traditional standards
would reveal the areas in which he utilizes traditional
methods and the areas in which he departs from them, and
thereby illuminate the nature of plot construction and
characterization. This evaluation would reveal those areas
of construction which would trouble the critic who uses
traditional standards and thereby account for some of the
unfavorable response to the plays. This evaluation would
reveal something of Pinter's method for developing and ex
hibiting his themes, and thereby reach conclusions as to
the relationship between plot construction and characteri
zation and thematic development.
The data was organized into two major sections. The;
second chapter covers the first sectionj it is an analysis
of three early plays— The Room, The Birthday Party, and
The Caretaker. A brief plot synopsis precedes the evalua
tion of each play. The criteria for plot construction and
characterization are then applied to the plays, and appro
priate critical comments from previous studies are incor
porated, compared and evaluated. The third chapter covers
the second section; it follows the same format in dealing
21
with three later plays— The Lover, The Homecoming and Si
lence. The final chapter offers a summary and conclusions.
Review of the Literature
The primary sources for this study were the pub
lished plays and interviews of Harold Pinter. Secondary
sources, including books, articles and reviews devoted to
the plays, were also considered. These were discovered
through an exploration of the Library of Congress Subject
Index Catalogue, the bibliographies in Publication of the
Modern Language Association, the listings in Reader's Guide
to Periodical Literature^ and the bibliographies in books
about Pinter. References to unpublished studies were de
rived from Dissertation Abstracts, Speech Monographs and
the Educational Theatre Journal.
Harold Pinter's themes have been explored in all
book-length studies of his plays,^ and his use of language
is the subject of one book, many articles in scholarly pe-
jin
riodicals, and chapters in other books. The first and
■^Martin Esslin's most recent book, The Peopled Wound
(Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1970), in-
cludes information about the themes discovered in Pinter's
plays by other critics.
40
An analysis of language is the major purpose of
James R. Hollis, Harold Pinter: The Poetics of Silence
(Carbondale and Edwardsville, 111.: Southern Illinois Uni-
versity Press, 1970)j John R. Brown, "Dialogue in Pinter
and Others," The Critical Quarterly, VII (Autumn, 1965),
225-243j F. J. Bernhard, "Beyond Realism: The Plays of
Harold Pinter," Modern Drama, VIII (September, 1965)* 185-
22
most influential assessments of the nature of Pinter's
plays were provided, by British critics. One of the most
significant descriptions of Pinter’s early plays came from
Irving Wardle in a review of The Birthday Party which he
wrote in 1958. He called the play a "Comedy of Menace":
Destiny handled in this way— not as an austere exer
cise in classicism, hut as an incurable disease which
one forgets about most of the time and whose lethal
reminders may take the form of a joke— is an apt dra
matic motif for an age of conditioned behavior in
which orthodox man is a willing collaborator in his
own destruction.^1
Mr. Wardle1s label is most applicable to the early plays,
but he retracted it in i960 in light of the production of
Jip
The Caretaker. Nonetheless, other critics have used the
label in articles about Pinter written subsequent to i960.
An even more persistent label for Pinter's plays
has been derived from Martin Esslin’s book The Theatre of
the Absurd written in 1961. Mr. Esslin discusses Pinter's
use of the womb-like room and the colloquial language of
people trying to avoid communication. He concludes:
If life in our time is basically absurd, then any
dramatic representation of it that comes up with neat
solutions and produces the illusion that it all "makes
sense," after all, is bound to contain an element of
191j and Chapter IV of Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit.,
pp. 207-242.
^Irving Wardle, "Comedy of Menace," The Encore
Reader (London: Methuen and Co. Ltd., 1965)/ p. 91.
i j . 9
Wardle, "There's Music in That Room," The Encore
Reader, op. cit., p. 130.
oversimplification, to suppress essential factors, and
reality expurgated and over-simplified becomes make-
believe. 43
The critical evaluations which have been written after 1961
have either been based upon Esslin's view or have set forth
objections to it.
Arnold P. Hinchliffe, in his book Harold Pinter,
offers his objections to the comparisons between Pinter and
other "absurdist" writers. Mr. Hinchliffe compiles much of
the available criticism in his book, but he rejects the al-
44
legorical interpretations given by many other scholars.
Other critics agree that such comparisons and such inter
pretations are invalid, but they believe that Pinter's
4<5
plays are more realistic than absurd.
Other significant studies are examples of the ap
plication of specific and narrow points of view. Walter
Kerr sets out to prove his contention that Pinter writes
46
existentially in the book Harold Pinter. Mr. Kerr ex-
^Martin Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd (Garden
City, N.Y.: Anchor Books, Doubleday and Company, Inc.,
1961), p. 216.
44 /
Arnold P. Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter (New York:
Twayne Publishers, 1967).
^John Bowen, "Accepting the Illusion," The Twentieth
Century. CLXIX (February, 1961), 153-165j Gerald Nelson,
"Harold Pinter Goes to the Movies," Chicago Review, IX
(1966), 33-43} Laurence Kitchen, Mid-Century Drama (London:
Paber and Paber, i960), p. 114.
46 /
Walter Kerr, Harold Pinter (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1967)•
24
presses his belief that the characters have no single es
sence and that they evolve through an important change of
state in each play. In Stratagems to Uncover Nakedness
Lois G. Gordon uses a psychological approach to explicate
47
the Freudian implications of Pinter's characterizations. 1
John Russell Taylor uses no single approach in his
study, also entitled Harold Pinter. Mr. Taylor does not
believe that Pinter can be pigeon-holed in the category of
Theatre of the Absurd, yet he explains why others may think
so. According to Taylor, Pinter's reality "is reality
turned against itself, for showing something so closely,
with such fanatical accuracy, makes it seem far less real
and familiar than the conventional simplifications of our
48
normal dilatory middle view.
In an unpublished dissertation Hugh Nelson uses a
4q
very great variety of approaches to Pinter's plays. In a
chapter from that dissertation which has been published Mr.
Nelson makes the strongest claim for the idea that Pinter
is a traditional playwright.
Pinter has frequently referred to himself as an ex
tremely traditional playwright. This warning has
47
‘Lois G. Gordon, Stratagems to Uncover Nakedness
(Columbia, Mo.: University of Missouri Press, 1969).
^John Russell Taylor, Anger and After (Baltimore,
Md.; Penguin Books Inc., 19§3)> p. 305.
^%ugh Nelson, "Language and Silence: A Study of the
Plays of Harold Pinter" (unpublished Doctoral dissertation,
|The Carnegie Institute of Technology, 1965).
25
generally been Ignored. In the fashionable rush to
see him as a playwright of the "absurd" . . . it is
seldom realized that his form may be closer to the
well-made play in its Ibsenite incarnation than to
any other structural source.50
Mr. Nelson's study goes on to show some parallels between
The Homecoming and Ibsen's Rosmersholm and Ghosts. His at
tempt to categorize Pinter is no more convincing than other
attempts, however* since his criteria are not clarified.
The most comprehensive discussion of Pinter's
themes appears in Martin Esslin's most recent book. The
5i
Peopled Wound. Mr. Esslin no longer uses the term Thea
tre of the Absurd to describe Pinter's plays; instead, he
provides a synthesis of the many themes in these plays. He
concludes that there is no contradiction among the multiple
meanings which can be garnered from the plays. Esslin con
tends that critics err only when they put forward one in
terpretation as the only proper interpretation of each play.
^Hugh Nelson, "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin," Modern I
British Drama (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc.,!
196b), p. 1^9. |
-^Esslin, The Peopled Wound, loc. cit.
CHAPTER II
THE EARLY PLAYS
I. The Room
Plot Synopsis
The action takes place in a room in a large house;
Rose and Bert Hudd live in the room. The room is of great
importance to Rose as a place of safety; she will not go
out but she will let people come in. As the curtain opens
Rose is serving food to her husband while he reads at the
table. She chatters continuously, particularly about the
basement of the house. Her concern foreshadows the arrival
1
of a strange figure from the basement, and her references
to the basement begin immediately.
The playwright provides his exposition in the open- ;
ing moments, disregarding the possibility of late-comers in;
the audience. Rose repeats her references to the basement
throughout the first scene, however. And Rose provides
other expository information, telling the audience that
Bert drives a van and is about to leave to do his job. Her!
1
Pinter has planned his plot in advance to the ex
tent that he knows that someone will come from the basement;
to see Rose, but Pinter may not know the exact outcome of
that visit.
26
27
manner tells the audience that she Is subservient to Bert;
2
she needs him.
Bert tells the audience nothing, directly, for he
never responds to anything Rose says to him. He sits and
eats and reads without ever looking up. Rose needs him for
his strength and as a sounding-board for her ideas rather
than for his personal interest in her desires. Bert's man
ner tells the audience that he is disinterested. Pinter
assumes that Bert's silence allows for Bert's development
into a violent killer since he is not limited to any fixed
personality by his conversation in his first scene.^ [This
is a violation of the critic's expectations; he expects to
know about an important character.]
The effect of the first scene is comic. Rose keeps
talking in banal language— recognizable to the audience as
a good approximation of everyday speech— while no one an-
4
swers her. This comic tone continues into the second
scene which begins with the entrance of Mr. Kidd, the land
lord. Mr. Kidd is deaf, or pretends to be, and he and Rose
talk at each other rather than together.
2
Pinter begins with situation and with one character.;
He establishes them before making the dramatic problem ex
plicit.
^Bert is still only an image in Pinter's mind; he is ;
not yet a dramatic character. Nor does Bert develop dra
matically— he suddenly reappears as a violent killer.
I l
Pinter's use of language is his most striking fea- :
ture as a playwright. The comedy gains audience interest. !
Mr. Kidd serves to reinforce and extend the im
pressions gathered from the first scene. He makes the
rest of the house seem mysterious, a place from which a
strange figure could emerge. He questions Bert and re
ceives no answer, thus establishing Bert as totally uncom
municative. Mr. Kidd also establishes himself as a charac
ter so that he can return with an important message later
in the play.^ [The lack of action in the beginning is a
flaw— according to dramatic theorists.]
Mr. Kidd leaves and Bert leaves a moment later to
drive his vanj both characters have served their expository
purpose. They are directed to depart by the playwright in
order to make way for the first complication of the situa
tion. This occurs when Rose takes a bin to the hall and
discovers a young couple, the Sands, on the landing.
Rose invites them in, and the comic tone continues
during part of this scene as the Sands bicker with each
other. The tone begins to shift toward the dramatic when
the Sands deny that Mr. Kidd is the landlord. The shift
continues as they tell about being in the basement where
they heard the voice of a man from the darkness. The voice
told them there was a room vacant in the house: room number
g
seven, Rose 1s room.
^Pinter introduces the various components of the
situation before he begins the action.
g
Pinter evokes mystery through this complication of
29
The scene with the Sands serves to change the tone
and develop complications. As a result of this scene Rose
is seen to live in a place where outsiders can appear sud
denly, where nothing is certain, particularly the things
Rose believes to be true, and where forces are at work to
dispossess her from her place of security. Any young couple
could serve the playwright1s purpose of shattering Rose's
sense of security, yet Harold Pinter particularizes their
7
personalities in order to heighten both comedy and drama.1
After the Sands leave Rose is alone, pondering
their unsettling news. She finds nothing to do, however,
o
except to sit and rock. Mr. Kidd returns but he offers
Rose no comfort; Instead, he brings a greater dramatic com
plication. He tells Rose that she must speak with a man
who has been staying in the basement waiting to see her.
The man has waited until Bert has gone out because he
wishes to see Rose alone.
Mr. Kidd's message ties various plot threads to
gether. Rose's concern about the basement, Mr. Kidd's
earlier appearance, and the Sands' report of a mysterious
the situation. He foreshadows the ending when Rose loses
her security; he must have the plot in mind.
^Pinter concentrates more on character than on ac
tion. He develops the characterizations of the Sands, but
he does not show the audience that significant choices are
being made. The Sands may be lying— this would be sig
nificant— or they may be telling the truth.
8
Though Rose is the chief character, Pinter gives
her no actions to perform.
30
man are all, at least partially, explained by Mr. Kidd.
Rose also feels the accumulation of events, and she refuses
to agree to see the man In the basement.^ Mr. Kidd coun
ters her objections with the threat that the man might come
up to her room when Bert is home. Rose is forced to see
the man because she fears Bert's reaction more than she
fears the unknown. Her choice gives some insight into the
enigmatic personality of Bert.
The imminent arrival of a man from the basement
clarifies somewhat the dramatic direction The Room will
take. Before Mr. Kidd's reappearance there was no conflict
or struggle. After his entrance Rose is forced to struggle
with her own feelings and to make a decision.'1 '^1 Her deci
sion prepares for a conflict between Bert and the man from
the basement, and it reinforces the significance of the
basement and its occupant to Rose's future.
The man who arrives to see Rose is a blind Negro.
He says his name is Riley, and Rose recognizes the name
though she is unwilling to believe it is his. Riley's
physical characteristics, as well as his strange message
to Rose— that her father wants her to come home— give the
%he audience can be sure at this point that Rose's
problem with the man in the basement is the dramatic prob
lem,
10Pinter does not introduce conflict until late in
the play, and even then it takes the form of an inner strug-i
gle (since Mr. Kidd is only a messenger).
play an aura of symbolism. Up to this point The Room ap
peared to be a unique version of realism In which the dia
logue Is as homely and disjointed as everyday speech and
In which characters are as difficult to label as real peo
ple are. After Riley's entrance it is possible to imagine
that the play is allegorical, that the room is a sanctuary
and the basement is the grave for an old woman.'1 ' 1 [Riley’s
entrance disrupts aesthetic distance.]
Rose greets Riley with verbal abuse presumably be
cause he forced her to see him and because he seems a
threat to her security. (She says that Riley bothered the
landlord and dragged her name into it.) Her manner begins
to change when Riley delivers the message from her "father.
When he mentions her home* she says* "Stop it. I can't
1 P
take it." She remains agitated when he calls her "Sal/1
a name she does not repudiate, yet she grows calm as he
continues to repeat his entreaties. He touches her, and
1R
though she resists at first, she touches him in return.
[This scene creates the puzzles which Pinter describes in
his interviews.]
1 1
Pinter acts upon instinct in making Riley a blind
Negro. Cf. post, p. 4l, quotation from Pinter.
1 P
Harold Pinter, The Birthday Party and The Room
(New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1959j* P. llB.
1R
“Tinter evokes more mystery through Rose's inconsis
tent behavior, and he foreshows the ending when Rose imi
tates the actions of a blind person. These brief instances
are not sufficient preparation for her sudden misfortune,
however.
32
Bert returns in time to see Rose touching Riley.
This complication could result in Rose being forced to
14
choose between Bert and Riley, but it does not. Instead
Bert speaks to Rose about his van while ignoring Riley's
presence completely. Rose becomes almost inarticulate (she
also says nothing about Riley), and the formerly silent
Bert tells of his brutal disregard for another car on the
road. Finally, he sits beside Riley and looks at him.
Suddenly Bert kicks Riley's chair, tumbling him to the
floor. Their struggle is made explicit. When Riley tries
to say something, Bert replies, "Lice," and kicks Riley's
15
head against the gas stove.
Their conflict ends as suddenly as it began as
Riley lies still on the floor. Rose's struggle to choose
between Riley and her life with Bert is ended by the re
moval of one of the alternatives. There Is silence. Sud
denly Rose clutches her eyesj she cannot see. Her struggle
has left its mark, and the play ends on a high point of
theatricality, designed to leave the audience stunned and
-1 /T
shattered. The play has moved from comedy to personal
14
Pinter does not follow a traditional pattern of
action in which conflicts are clear and clear choices are
made. '
15
^Pinter introduces conflict in the last few minutes,
and the conflicting forces are undeveloped characters.
This play supports his contention that he does not map out !
the action carefully before writing.
1 j
Pinter designs a "theatrical" conclusion, but the j
tragedy in the space of half an hour* and the major charac
ters have moved from security to a loss of all of the
things they depended upon.
Analysis of Plot Construction
The Room is Harold Pinter's first play, and it was
written in less than a week. The play is of interest to
critics since Pinter's characteristic themes and situations
can be found in it in their embryonic form.1^ The Room
also contains the elements of traditional drama. Applica-
l8
tion of the first criterion for plot construction reveals
several areas which would not meet traditional standards.
Some of the events, for instance, have a cause-and-effect
relation to each other while others do not. The first
scene includes no preparation for the second; Rose says
nothing about the landlord. The second scene provides no
cause for the third; in fact, Rose makes it clear that she
sees no one outside.
traditionally oriented critic will be incredulous rather
than involved.
^All book-length treatments of Pinter's work begin
with The Room and stress its seminal nature. Other critics
who trace Pinter's thought from this to his other plays are
Kay Dick, "Mr. Pinter and the Fearful Matter," Texas Quar
terly, IV (Autumn, 1961), 259; J. T. Boulton, "Harold
;Pinter: The Caretaker and Other Plays," Modern Drama (Sep
tember, 1963)> p. 132; and John Pesta, "Pinter's Usurpers,"
Drama Survey, V (Spring-Summer, 1967)* 55.
■^Cf. ante, p. 3.
In contrast to the previous scenes the third con
tains information which leads directly to the events of
fourth, and subsequent scenes are equally interrelated.
They relate to each other and back to the first scenes,
suggesting a reason for Rose's obsession with the basement
and explaining why Mr. Kidd appeared.
The Room comes closer to meeting the standard for
unity of action:the events involve Rose's change of for
tune. The play is unified around the character of Rose—
she appears in each scene— and it relates to her encounter
with the man from the basement. The play does not exclude
inconsistencies and irrelevancies, however, nor does it
exhibit the causes, results, and interrelationships which
give drama the coherence lacking in daily life. The play
incorporates the chaotic aspects of life to a greater
extent than most traditional drama does.
The playwright has attempted to give the play mag
nitude by giving Rose a personally tragic fate, and the
critics who discuss the effectiveness of the play (most
discuss only the themes in the play) are divided as to
whether Rose's fate is credible. Most critics agree that
this ending is melodramatic and that Pinter became more
PO
subtle laterj but a few others believe that it is the
^Cf. ante, p. 6. j
^Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd, op. cit., p. 201.1
Hinchliffe, op. cit., p. George Wellwarth, The Theatre j
35
21
proper conclusion to the allegory. The traditional
critic would conclude that Rose's blindness is an arbitrary
device of the playwright.
Nothing in the earlier scenes suggests that Rose
would have a physical response to a loss of security; she
shows no overt symptoms after the Sands' unsettling an
nouncements. Another reason that Rose's fate seems arbi
trary is that it occurs so abruptly. The entire denouement
takes only a few minutes. The separate sections of the
play are not in the proper proportion to one another.
Though the play is as long as most one-acts— its playing
time is about half an hour— the beginning is too long since
no acute choices are made during its presentation, and the
end is much too short since the audience has no time to
22
digest it.
The beginning of the play follows nothing by causal
necessity.23 The audience needs to know about Rose and
Bert, and the play begins by establishing their relation
of Protest and Paradox (New York: New York University
Press, 1954), p3 200. Ronald Hayman, Contemporary Play-
wrights: Harold Pinter (London: Heinemann Educational Books
Ltd., 1965), P. 1^.
O’ ]
Pesta, loc. cit. Peter C. Thornton, "Blindness and
the Confrontation with Death: Three Plays by Harold Pinter,"!
Die Neueren Sprachen, XVII (Mai, 1968), 215.
22Cf. ante, p. 12. (The separate sections must be
in proper proportion to one another.)
23Cf. ante, p. 6. (Aristotle's definition of the
beginning.)
ship, if not Bert's motives. The scene is redundant; the
playwright makes certain that late-comers and the inatten
tive know about Rose's obsession with the basement and her
preoccupation with security. Pinter appears to have Riley's
arrival in mind when he provides such extensive foreshadow
ing.
The audience needs to meet Mr. Kidd, but though he
is a new character, he gives no new information nor do com
plications result from his conversation with Rose. Im
pressions from the first scene are reinforced, but there is
as yet no action. Here again Pinter seems to have the plot
in mind since he introduces Mr. Kidd without giving the
landlord any specific function; his plot function will not
be apparent until later.
The third scene begins the middle section, but it
24
does not follow from the beginning. The Sands’ informa
tion does prepare the way for the return of Mr. Kidd, and
his message brings on Riley with his message. Each of
these scenes involves action, and they result in the con
frontation between Bert and Riley. The middle section
25
causes the end to take place. ^ The final section presents
the climax and denouement, and after these events the audi-
(Aristotle's definition of the
(Aristotle's definition of the j
24
Cf. ante, p. 6.
middle.)
25Cf. ante, p. 6.
end.)
ence does not need to see any more action. The critic who
applies traditional criteria would ask, however, to have
more information about the action; more details could be
provided during the climax and denouement.
The subject of the action has the potential of
2 6
meeting Aristotle's standard for plausibility; it pre
sents things as they are said or thought to be. The play
wright says that the things which seem illogical in his
plays are reflections of reality. He says: "I suggest
there can be no hard distinctions between what is real and
what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false.
A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be
both true and false.
According to Pinter, it is inappropriate to ask for
logical explanations. He also denies the validity of sym
bolic interpretations. He says: "I certainly don't write
from any kind of abstract idea. And I wouldn't know a sym-
28
bol if I saw one." The critics, however, are almost unan
imous in disputing Pinter's assertion, at least in relation
to this play. Most believe that Riley is a symbol for
death, though one believes that he is a father-surrogate
26
Cf. ante, p. J. (Aristotle's description of
probable subjects.)
^Harold Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," loc. cit.
^Harold Pinter, "Writing for Myself," The Twentieth
Century, CLXIX (February, 1961), 17^.
38
and that Bert symbolizes society, and another believes that
29
Riley could be a symbol for something besides death. ^ The
Room invites a symbolic interpretation because Bert and
Riley are such mysterious and unlikely characters that they
have the aura of symbols.
The play does not begin as an allegory, however,
The first scene, though it has some mystery, is predomi
nantly realistic and comic in tone, and the second scene
continues to inspire the same degree of distance. The
scenes which follow (with the Sands and then with Mr. Kidd)
are transitional, but they serve to make the tone more mys
terious j they are not a transition to a more universal
point of view. Therefore, the degree of distance ia al
tered abruptly when Riley enters, and he is so different
from the other characters. His message designates him as a
possible emissary from another world, and his physical
characteristics support this impression. The "degree of
fancy" introduced in the first scenes does not allow for
the acceptance of someone as strange as Riley; he is im
probable.-^
2^Pesta, loc. cit.j Thornton, loc. cit.; Esslin,
loc. cit.; Hinchliff, loc. cit. believe that Riley is a
symbol of death. Ruby Cohn believes that Riley is the
father-surrogate, "The World of Harold Pinter," Tulane
Drama Review, VI (March, 1962), 56. Wellwarth, loc. cit.,
believes that Riley may symbolize death, Rose’s past or
some hidden guilt.
3°Cf. ante, p. 8. (Quotation from Bullough.)
39
There are critics who do not find the play improb
able. Peter C. Thornton describes the ending: "The machin
ery of this last stage is admittedly crude, but the meaning
is clear: in face of the reality of death man is powerless
and alone,* the destruction of Riley by brute force is a
futile, uncomprehending gesture, for his 'message1 has al-
Ol
ready been delivered."0 John Pesta discovers the same
"clear" subject: "Riley, threatening the womblike security
of the room serves as a death figure. Bert's violence is
futile, for while Riley dies, his stigma is passed on to
Rose."^2 Messrs. Thornton and Pesta believe that the plot
supplements the development of the theme. Critic John Rus- -
sell Taylor disagrees. He believes that the play has ele
ments which are detrimental to an acceptance of the theme:
The trouble with the play is that it seems too evi
dently teasing, too deliberately mysterious: we find
ourselves forced to ask questions which are probably
irrelevant, to suppose that the characters have some
sort of quasi-allegorical significance we cannot quite
fathom. Why, for Instance, is the last intruder a
blind Negro? If the play were completely self-defining
we would not ask, we would instinctively accept Pinter's;
statement that he does not know himself. . . .33
The action of the play has some qualities which
gain interest. The first scene gains interest because of the
language Rose uses and because of the humor of the situa-
^1
J Thornton, loc. cit.
° Pesta, loc. cit. :
■^John Russell Taylor, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 8. I
4o
tion. It introduces several problems which could develop
into the dramatic problem: Rose worries about the basement;
she worries about Bert being hurt; Bert never talks to
Rose.0
The second scene fails to Increase interest in ac
tion, however; none of the problems is revealed to be the
focus of attention. It is strange that the landlord should
find the house as mysterious as Rose does; this fact may
serve to maintain curiosity about the play's environment.
Nothing in the scene arouses suspense about what will hap-
35
pen.
At the outset of the third scene the playwright
arouses curiosity about a tangential problem; the bickering
of the Sands. The audience may begin to assume that The
Room is a character-study in which they will gain insight
into the deterioration of marriages. They may expect to
learn how Rose and Bert reached such a low point in their
relationship.^
Eventually the third scene reveals the dramatic
problem and develops its complications. The rising action
begins at the point where Mrs. Sands describes the man in
3^Cf. ante, p. 8. (Curiosity is aroused by the
dramatic problem.)
35Cf. ante, pp. 8-9. (Intensity should Increase.)
^Gordon believes that the Sands' scene does give
the audience insight into the relationship between Rose
and Bert, op. cit., p. 15.
41
the basement. Action accelerates in intensity as Mr. Kidd
asks Rose to see the man and threatens her when she re
fuses. Genuine curiosity and suspense are engendered by
these scenes, and the mystery created in the first scenes
■37
should enhance the suspense. 1 Though Pinter begins with
situation in an apparent disregard for traditional methods
of plot construction, he uses action eventually in an effort
to involve the audience.
Just as the play gains emotional momentum the man
from the basement arrives. His arrival increases interest,
but his physical characteristics will disturb the tradi
tional critic. Even the playwright admitted later that
Riley is a strange character:
Well, it’s very peculiar. When I got to that point in
the play, the man from the basement had to be intro
duced, and he just was a blind Negro. I don’t think
there's anything radically wrong with the character in
himself, but he behaves too differently from the other
charactersj if I were writing the play now I'd make him
sit down, have a cup of tea.38
In The Room Riley does not have a cup of tea, and
he raises speculation because he is so different. Pinter
uses action again at the end of the scene between Rose and
Riley. Bert enters to see his wife touching the other man.
The audience should wonder what Bert will do, especially
since he is an unknown quantity. Bert speaks for the first ;
37Cf. ante, p. 9*
3®Q,uoted in Gordon, op. cit., p. 19.
time but says nothing about the visitor; his attack upon
Riley is sudden and extreme. The action ends abruptly
after the attack, leaving the traditional critic in doubt
■3Q
about the effectiveness of plot construction. ^ Some crit
ics believe that the theme of the play compensates for the
4o
defects of the plot. The theme is not clear, however.
The defects in action obscure rather than supplement the
thematic development since the action includes melodrama
and symbolism.
Each structural element is defective when judged by
traditional standards. Despite the time devoted to exposi
tion, the audience does not learn enough about the charac
ters. Pinter does not believe that it is possible to give
information about a character's background because it is
not possible for anyone to verify the past. He says:
Apart from other considerations, we are faced with the
immense difficulty, if not the impossibility, of ver
ifying the past. I don't mean merely years ago, but
yesterday, this morning. What took place, what hap
pened? If one can speak of the difficulty of knowing
what in fact took place yesterday, one can I think
treat the present in the same way. What's happening
now? We won't know until tomorrow or in six months
time, and we won't know then, we'll have forgotten,
3^Cf. ante, pp. 11-12. (interest should be sustained
during the denouement.)
An
Pesta, loc. cit. and Thornton, loc. cit. agree
about the theme. Cohn, loc. cit., Dick, loc. cit., Gordon,
loc. cit., and Kerr, op. cit., p. 13* disagree among them
selves and with the others. Wellwarth, loc. cit., admits
he does not know exactly what it is.
43
or our imagination will have attributed quite differ
ent characteristics to today.41
With such a philosophy Pinter is bound to leave
many unanswered questions and to supply contradictory in
formation in the answers he gives. Nonetheless, Pinter was
an actor and he understands the necessity for some exposi
tion. Information is provided at various points throughout
the play. The difficulty remains that Pinter creates sym
bols which seem to suggest an answer to the questions he
says should not be answered. The symbols of blindness pre
suppose one answer— death— rather than a myriad of possi
bilities.
The conflict is slow to develop. Rose faces a
mental conflict when Riley asks her to choose his offer,
but the relationship of this problem to the conflict be
tween Bert and Riley may not be clear to the audience. It
may not even be clear that Rose is considering Riley's
offer; her action of touching his face bears the burden of
lip
exhibiting her mental state to the audience.
Bert's entrance prevents Rose from making a choice; ;
the men must make the choice for her. They become repre
sentatives of the conflicting desires in Rose's mind while |
they remain representatives of their own positions. As far :
Jr. i
Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," loc. cit.
lip .
Cf. ante, p. 1J, (A character is revealed by acute ,
choices: but Rose does not complete her process of making a !
choice.)
as Rose is concerned each man has right on his side: Bert
has given her security while Riley offers gentleness, af-
iiQ
fection and peace. Rose is destroyed by this conflict
even though the choice is made for her. When the choice is
made, she discovers that her life with Bert provides no
44
real security after all.
The confrontation between Bert and Riley forms the
climax. The audience sees what happens, but that does not
45
mean that they know the motives behind it. Neither Bert
nor Riley articulates his position because Pinter does not
believe that they should. Pinter says, "The more acute
the experience, the less articulate its expression. The
outcome of a physical struggle between Bert and Riley is
47
predictable because Riley is so much weaker, 1 but its in
stigation was not predictable because Pinter would not
prepare the way for it.
The denouement is as sudden and surprising as the
climax. Rose's reaction is also a physical one. Were it
4q .
JCf. ante, p. 10. (Conflict should be between equal
forces.)
44
Boulton, loc. cit., says that Rose takes refuge
behind a"flimsy emotional barrier."
45Cf. ante, p. 11. (Conflict should reach a con
frontation on stage.)
^Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," loc. cit.
4?Cf. ante, p. 11. (Conflict should be between equal
forces.)
45
not for the existence of another blind character in the
play, the audience could have several options in interpret
ing the ending. Rose's blindness could be her recognition
48
of her loss of security; it could be a symptom of a
stroke or shock; it could be a symbol of her spiritual
death. The fact that this is the same malady as that of
her visitor curtails these options, however. Her blindness
strongly suggests death.
Pinter does not proceed by Inspiration alone in
developing his plot. He supplies action and conflict at
the end of The Room in an effort to give the play theatri
cal impact. He does not build the intensity of the rest of
the action in anticipation of the ending, however; thus he
does not satisfy the criteria of the traditional critic,
even though he satisfies some of his stated intensions by
raising questions about motives and facts.
Analysis of Characterization
Rose is a generally consistent character whose mo-
49
tives and purposes help to unify the play. * Security is
so important to her that its loss leaves her physically
devastated. She has given up the hope of a warm, human re
lationship to marry Bert and have his protection. She can-
48 /
Cf. ante, pp. 11-12. (The denouement should include
recognition. ~ )
49Cf. ante, p. 6. (Unity of action.)
46
not, however, abandon her need for contact with others de
spite her suspicion of people. She resolves her contradic
tory needs by trying to mother Bert, though she knows he
will not respond, and by letting outsiders come into the
place where she feels safe. When she discovers that the
place is not safe, her ability to contact others is lost;
she becomes blind.
Rose becomes inconsistent when the man she fears
confronts her. She is hostile, then distressed, then
calm, then affectionate. Her different responses suggest
that the arrival of this visitor is very significant, but
they do not direct audience attention to the nature of his
significance. The audience remains as puzzled by Riley as
they were when he first delivered his message.
Mr. Kidd and the Sands are consistent characters,
SO
though they are of minor importance to the play. At
first Mr. Kidd makes a consistent effort not to reveal him
self to Rose; he pretends to be deaf in order to avoid her
questions. He shows no signs of deafness in his second
scene, but he has not really changed; the situation is dif
ferent. Once Rose is alone Mr. Kidd wishes to communicate
with her because he perceives her to be the lesser of two
evils. He would rather lower his defenses in front of her
than continue to deal with Riley whom he finds peculiar and
5°Cf. ante, p. 18, (Minor characters can be types.)
47
disruptive. Though Mr. Kidd is different in his second
scene, his desire to protect his privacy remains constantj
he is a consistent character.
The Sands are locked in a struggle for dominance
which is consistent throughout their scene. Mrs. Sands
uses Rose as a ploy in the battlej Mrs. Sands seeks to make
herself important in Rose’s eyes. Mr. Sands reacts by hurt
ing Rose, by laughing at the thought that her husband is
driving in bad weather and by telling her that her room was
reported to be vacant. The purposes the young couple re
veal do not change.
Riley has a much more important place in the action
than do Mr. Kidd or the Sands since he is an integral part
of the conflict. Riley does not fulfil the criterion for
consistency. His actions are all calm and gentle as are
his voice and manner, yet his reported actions and the ac-
51
tions shown on stage are not those of a quiet blind man.
Rose tells Riley that his arrival is impossible: "How could
you have a message for me, Mister Riley, when I don't know
you and nobody knows I'm here and I don't know anybody any-
fZp
way?""^ Rose is pointing out the difficulty with the char- i
acterization of Riley. He does not have an obscure back
ground j he has no background at all.
^Cf. ante, p. 13. (Consistency in action.)
52
J Pinter, The Birthday Party and The Room, op. cit., !
p. 118. j
48
Bert is the most inconsistent character since he
changes without undergoing a gradual process of develop-
58
ment. During the first scene he seems quite passive;
he might be a hen-pecked husband, humbled by a domineering
wife. Several critics interpret the relationship between
54
Bert and Rose as a Mother-Son relationship,yet other
critics are willing to accept Bert as a symbol for brutal-
55
ity all along. ^ The second scene of the play gives the
audience and the critic no reason to assume that Bert is
brutal; he does not bristle with antagonism in response to
the knock on the door. The scene gives no one a reason to
assume that Bert is like a son to Rose; he is shown to be
as uncommunicative to Mr. Kidd as he is to Rose. The only
available information leads to the assumption that Bert is
passive and uncommunicative. When Bert attacks the strang
er, he is inconsistent. The traditionally oriented critic
will not accept Bert's as a fully developed characteriza
tion.
5 6
Rose's motives are clear and adequate^ chiefly
53Cf. ante, pp. 13-14. (Characters should undergo a :
gradual process of change.)
54
^ Hayman, op. cit., p. 11, believes that Rose denies j
Bert the right to live independently. Boulton, op. cit., j
p. 132, says that theirs is a Mother-Son relationship. i
Gordon, op. cit., p. 13, says Rose is "wife-mother-bitch." j
k f ; i
■^Dick, loc. cit. and Cohn, loc. cit.
56Cf. ante, pp. 14-15. (Motivation.)
49
because she initiates no action. Her motives for reaction
are supplied in part by other characters, though she makes
the choice of responding to Riley herself. In their scene
her motive for touching him is partially hidden, yet it can
be deduced from her reaction to the name Sal. She was pre
sumably called this when she was a child, and it evokes
some tender memories.
Mr. Kidd describes his own motives for his two
visits to Rose's room, and his statements are substantiated
by the arrival of Riley. Riley is strange enough and per
sistent enough to have caused Mr. Kidd's anxiety about his
(Riley's) continued presence in the house. Riley gives him
an adequate motive for action.
The Sands share appropriate and adequate motives
which result from their personal struggle. Mrs. Sands talks
about the basement because Rose expresses interest in it.
Mrs. Sands is so eager to hold Rose's attention that she
describes it as damp because Rose wishes her to do so. Mr.
Sands elaborates on the information his wife gives, and he
may be lying (Rose catches the couple in one lie). He
could easily know that number seven is Rose's room— the
number would be on the door outside. He overshadows his
wife by his announcement, and having exhausted the possibil-:
ities for using Rose, he leaves.
Riley reveals one motive: he says his purpose is to !
tell Rose to come home. His exact message is that her
50
father wants her to come home, yet her father, if living,
would have to be well over eighty years old since Rose is
in her sixties. Riley appears to know Rose, but he gives
no clue as to how this is possible, nor does Rose recognize
him. Thus he has no adequate motive for his extraordinary
57
action of seeking her out. 1 The only explanation that
occurs to many critics is that Riley is the angel of death,
58
yet the playwright rejects such interpretation.
Bert never reveals what his purposes are, but some
of his motivation can be inferred from his vivid, if inar
ticulate description of his van ride. He says:
I could see the road all right. There was no cars.
One there was. He wouldn’t move. I bumped him. I
got my road. I had all my way. There again and
back.59
His attack upon Riley, then, can be interpreted as his
method of dealing with an obstruction in the room, an effort
to have everything his own way.
A few critics assert that Bert acts out of jealousy,
though one admits that this seems out of keeping with Bert's
behavior during the first part of the play.^ (This same
570f. ante, pp. 14-15. (Description of adequate mo
tivation. )
-^Cf. ante, p. 38. (Quotation.)
5Q 1
^Harold Pinter, The Birthday Party and The Room,
op. cit., p. 120. i
Esslin, loc. cit., says Bert is jealous. Arnold P. :
Hinchliffe says that Bert's jealousy seems strange in "Mr.
Pinter's Belinda," Modern Drama, XL (September, 1968), 177. i
51
critic had put forward a motive of racial antagonism in a
^ 1
previous study.) Other critics assign to him a symbolic
motive because he performs the action of attacking Riley*
but they give no other reason for designating him as a
62
brutal force. No critic mentions the clue to his motives
that Bert gives in the description of the van ride.
The motives of the characters reflect Pinter's con
cern with the problem of verification; each character hides
his motives from the others because he distrusts them. The
presentation of the evasions practiced by Rose and Mr. Kidd
in the second scene is amusing and intriguing to the audi
ence. The Sands are adept at hiding their motives from
Rose, and their obvious lies contribute to the aura of
mystery in the play. But when Pinter enlarges the problem
by making the parties to the conflict such enigmas, he
fails to satisfy traditional criteria, and he encourages
symbolic interpretations from critics who apply their own
criteria.
Rose is the chief character, yet she is not above
average morally;^ in fact, she seldom functions on a moral
plane. Rose is not so inferior morally as to forfeit audi-
^Hinchliffe in Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 47 says
Riley's color is a cause for Bert's antagonism; Esslin
agrees in The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 65.
£.0
Dick, loc. cit. and Thornton, loc. cit.
^Cf. ante, pp. 15-16. (Characters should be above
average morally.)
ence interest during the first scenes; she is good to her
husband and decent to the Sands and Mr. Kidd. She shows
her lack of moral purpose later when she makes no effort to
help Riley. Bert does not have any moral standards; he
certainly feels no guilt or shame about bumping another car
on the road. Riley is as difficult to classify morally as
he is to understand; he is a moral mystery. The minor
characters aid in creating an unmoral atmosphere in which
moral conduct is not espoused nor immoral conduct condemned
They express the playwright’s view of human nature: Rose,
who tries to shut out the world, is as heroic as a charac
ter can be.
The characters reveal themselves morally and psy
chologically through their choices; each makes acute
choices.^ Mr. Kidd makes his choice before the play be
gins, but the results are shown and he is revealed as
selfish and preoccupied with security. The Sands1 choices
reveal the desperate nature of their battle for dominance
when they entangle Rose in its machinations.
Even Riley makes choices, the results of which ap
pear on stage. His decision to come in the first place
reveals a compelling interest in Rose. His decision to
avoid Bert by sending Mr. Kidd reveals his knowledge and
fear of Bert. Riley is shown to be timid, and some sug-
6U /
Cf. ante, p. 17. (Characters are revealed through
acute choices.)
53
gestion is given that Bert could react unpleasantly.
The fact that Rose feels forced into choosing to
see Riley reinforces this suggestion: she fears Bert.
Though neither Riley’s nor Rose’s choice serves as prepara
tion for Bert's actual reaction, their choices are in har
mony with it. When Bert makes his acute choice, it reveals
that the other characters knew more about him than- could an
audience. Bert's action of attacking Riley is the first
time that the audience sees his complete personality. He
is shown to be animal-like in his protection of territory,
a quality he could have revealed earlier when there was a
knock on the door, but did not. Bert is defined by his
choice but the definition contradicts the impression he
gave in the early scenes.
Rose, as the chief character, faces the greatest
number of choices. She has chosen to stay inside her room
(before the play begins) in order to maximize her security.
She finds no solution to her problems, however, when she
faces a threat to her security. Her first reaction to a
threat is to do nothing but rock in her chair. Her second
reaction is to accept a choice which she does not wish to
make. She seems about to make a choice when Bert returns,
and she becomes passive again. After the attack she re
treats into blindness.
A withdrawn and withdrawing character like Rose,
whose progress is determined so much by the actions of
54
others* is a difficult figure to he the focus of a play.
Traditionally the hero either sets forces in motion or acts
to counter forces set in motion by others. Rose reacts to
others, but her fate is determined by those others without
her making any active effort to prevent the disruption of
6r
her existence. v Rose’s lack of stature is a flaw in terms
of traditional standards.
One group of critics believes that Pinter’s treat
ment of motivation, structural logic and morality is his
strength. Pinter's departures from dull tradition are his
distinctive features and increase rather than decrease au
dience involvement. The fact that the play arouses ques-
66
tions makes the audience interested in those questions.
Other critics who hold to traditional criteria are not
impressed by Pinter's novelty; their questions are directed
toward the value of this and other Pinter plays. Augusta
Walker asks: "What is the value of such plays? What do we
derive from watching the course of relationships that can
only deteriorate?"^''7
Martin Esslln replies that the plays have value in
65Cf. ante, pp. 17-18. (The chief character should
take a major part in determining the outcome of the ac
tion. )
66
Hayman, op. cit., p. 13. Gordon, op. cit., p. 5.
Kerr, loc. cit.
^Augusta Walker, "Messages from Pinter," Modern
Drama, X (May, 1967) . * 8-
55
in their rich texture of images, yet he admits that The
Room has weaknesses:
It is only the use of the perhaps too overtly symbolical
and poetic figure of the blind Negro that might be felt
as a break in style; for whereas in the rest of the
play the dreamlike and poetic quality arises directly
from the realistic detail, here we are confronted with
almost a cliche metaphor, an allegorical figure from a
different, a neo-romantic or Pre-Raphaelite style.68
George Wellwarth replies that The Room has value as a mood
piece, but "Pinter has spoiled the play by succumbing to
the temptation to put in some juvenile symbolism.
Arnold P. Hlnchliffe replies that the value is in its lan
guage, but "the melodrama of the end is undeniably unfor
tunate.
No critic says that this is a traditional play, yet
traditional criteria isolate weaknesses which these same
critics have ascribed to the play. The criteria show that
the play has the elements of traditional drama, however;
it is much more conventional than recent experiments with
Happenings and Theatre of Transformations. The Room is
Pinter’s effort to manipulate the traditional form into a
form which will express his thought about the elusive na-
Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., pp. 62-63.
This is a more generous assessment of The Room than given
in the Theatre of the Absurd in which Mr. Esslin referred
to the climax as a lapse from horror "into crude symbolism,
cheap mystery and violence," op. cit., p. 201.
^Wellwarth, loc. cit.
^°Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 46.
56
ture of reality. He does not succeed in this play; he is
more successful in his subsequent plays.
II. The Birthday Party
Plot Synopsis
The action takes place in the living room of a
house in a seaside town; dining room furniture and a kitchen
hatch are in the back of the room. The first scene intro
duces Meg, the matriarch of the family, and her husband
Petey, a deck-chair attendant. While Petey reads, Meg
serves his cornflakes and discusses Stanley, presumably
71
their little boy, who is still upstairs.
Petey introduces a potential complication: he says
that two men asked about staying a few nights at their
72
house. Meg is pleased,1 and the couple return to talking
of Stanley (a few lines in this section were cut in the re
vised edition of the play in 1965). Meg leaves to awaken
Stanley, and the audience can hear offstage shouts and
laughter. She reappears, followed by Stan, who is not a
youngster but over thirty, unshaven, and wearing a rumpled
^ Pinter begins the play by introducing a situation i
which is pleasant and frivolous. The play seems to be a j
domestic comedy.
72
1 There is no reason to suppose that this is an im- j
portant complication. It arouses no suspense in the audl- j
ence. It does show, however, that Pinter himself has at
least a sketch of the plot in mind.
57
pajama top and steel-rimmed glasses.^ [The beginning does
not capture audience interest through action.]
Stan teases Meg about the breakfast, and Petey tells
her to get something else for Stan, Petey leaves, and Meg
and Stan continue to play little teasing games. Finally,
he reveals that he is a guest and not their son. Their
conversation also shows the sexual side of their relation-
74
ship, to which Stan is reluctant to respond.1 In order to
revive his interest in her, Meg tells about the two men who
spoke to Petey. Stan is more interested than she expected;
he asks questions feverishly and announces that the men
75
will not come.
Stanley asks Meg whether she ever thinks about who
he really is. He retaliates for the worry she has caused
him by threatening to leave on a long tour of piano con
certs. He tells about a previous concert in Lower Edmonton
which was a great success, but when he arrived for a sec
ond, the hall was shuttered up. He says that "they" pulled
a fast one; "they" wanted him to crawl. This is his ex
planation for his withdrawal to the seaside town, and Meg
75
~Tinter misleads the audience only to allow them to
discover their error a short time later.
^Pinter establishes the relationship between these
two characters before turning his attention to the dramatic :
problem.
^Pinter makes the dramatic problem clear to the au
dience, but he does not give any reason for Stanley's agi
tation about strangers. ;
58
' " 7 ^
is moved by the story.' She tells him to stay with her,
but she begins treating him like a child again.
He turns to her and initiates a frightening dia
logue. He says "they" are coming, coming in a van with a
wheelbarrow insidej they wheel it up the garden path; they
knock at the door; they are looking for someone. He asks
Meg if he should tell whom they are looking for. She
77
shouts, "NoJ"'' There is a knock at the door.
Meg whispers to someone outside. Meg leaves and
Lulu (the voice at the door) enters with a package. Lulu
is a cheap young girl who complains about everything. She
reveals the Information that Stan never goes out though he
denies it. (Some of the lines from this scene were omitted
in 1965.) When he asks her to go away with him, he admits
7 O
that there is no place to go. He tries to get Lulu to
give information about past visitors at Meg's boarding
house, but Lulu answers his questions with questions. When
she ascertains that he will-not go for a walk, Lulu leaves.
[This scene interrupts the forward motion of the play.]
^Pinter provides this one clue to Stan's past. It
has been the basis for various critical interpretations of
the play, yet it is not an adequate motive for Stan's extra
ordinary fear.
^By writing this prophetic dialogue Pinter outlines
the plot for the audience.
^Pinter halts the progress of the unfolding of the
dramatic problem in order to introduce a minor character
and provide more exposition. Character is a more important
element than action in the first act.
59
Two men, Goldberg and McCann* enter by the back
door* and Stan leaves by the kitchen door. McCann ex
presses his concern about whether this is the right house*
but Goldberg reassures him. McCann is worried about a "job"
they must do. Goldberg says that McCann does the job very
well* so he wonders why McCann always worries about the job
ahead of time. Goldberg is McCann's superior* but he does
not say who employs him; he describes the job in an invo
luted outpouring of jargon.^ [Pinter makes the background
of Goldberg and McCann obscure.]
Meg returns and Goldberg sends McCann into the
kitchen for a gargle. (He does not tell McCann to leave in
the revised version.) Goldberg asks if they can stay* and
Meg tries to refuse. But when she tells them that it is
her other guest's birthday and Goldberg suggests a party*
she decides that Goldberg and McCann should stay. She and
fin
Goldberg begin to plan the party as they go upstairs.
Stan enters and looks around. Meg returns and tells him
how nice the visitors are. When Stan grows despondent* she :
gives him his birthday present* but he insists that it is
"^Pinter gives Goldberg and McCann some of the charac-i
teristics of the stage Jew and stage Irishman* yet their
oblique references to a job evoke mystery. Pinter repeats
the theme of the strange intruder* but in this play he com- ,
bines comedy and mystery more consistently. ;
f t o
Pinter arouses audience interest in a confrontation .
between Stan and the strangers* but he does not present it !
until character and situation have been established. ;
6o
8l
not his birthday.
He opens the package and discovers a toy drum which
he hangs around his neck. He marches around beating it
regularly, and Meg is pleased. He comes to her chair,
banging the drum erratically, his face and the drumbeat
"savage and possessed." The curtain falls. This theatrical
moment is designed to bring the audience back after inter
mission to learn what happens to Stanley. The audience
will expect to learn why Stan is so frightened and why the
82
two visitors have come. [Pinter contrives to present
the most interesting actions just before intermission.]
McCann is on stage at the opening of Act Two,
tearing sheets of newspaper into five equal strips. Stan
enters and passes him, saying a few words, on the way to
the kitchen. Stan returns and McCann intercepts him to
tell about the party. (The offstage voices of Goldberg and
Petey can be heard at various times during this scene.)
Stan says he will not come to the party, but McCann coun
ters all his arguments. He begins to whistle "The Moun-
Qq
tains of Morne," so Stan whistles along.
Q -1
The problem of verification occurs again in this
play: characters contradict each other about "facts" and
use facts differently.
82
Pinter raises questions which he does not intend ;
to answer. j
^Pinter maintains the same combination of comedy and!
mysteryj he does not cause the tone of the play to change !
as he did when Riley arrived in The Room.
McCann becomes angry when Stan touches the strips
of newspaper. Stan becomes anxious and tries to convince
McCann that he will go home and cause no trouble. McCann
pays no attention, so Stan grabs his arm and McCann hits
him. Stan continues his protestations, saying that McCann
84 r
has come to the wrong place. LStanley thinks he knows
who McCann is, but Pinter does not allow the audience to
learn what Stan thinks.]
Goldberg and Petey enter and Goldberg continues a
reminiscence about an old girl friend and about his mother
who called him "Simey" (McCann calls him Nat).^ Petey
leaves for his weekly chess game, and McCann goes out for
drinks. Stan tells Goldberg that there are no rooms avail
able, but Goldberg ignores him,’ he gives a speech about
birthdays. When McCann returns, the strangers involve
86
Stan in a struggle for dominance over who should sit down.
Goldberg finally orders Stan to sit, and the two
strangers begin a bizarre interrogation of Stan. Goldberg
begins by asking what Stan does; why he gets in everyone's
wayj why he is driving Meg "off her conk." McCann asks
why Stan left the organization, and he takes Stan’s glasses,
84
Pinter continues to keep Stanley’s past a mystery.
^Pinter objectifies his belief that personality is
fluid by giving some of his characters different names.
(Riley called Rose, "Sal".)
86
This is a repeated theme in Pinter*s plays.
62
forcing Stan to stumble after them. The questions become
more exaggerated as they ask about Stan's wife, and McCann
announces that Stan killed her. McCann claims that Stan is
a mother defiler and a traitor to the cloth.^
Stan tries to answer the questions flippantly, but
they wear him down. He screams and crouches in the chair;
Goldberg announces that Stan is dead. Stan looks up and
suddenly kicks Goldberg in the stomach. McCann seizes a
chair, and Stan seizes another to cover his head; they
on
circle each other. A loud drumbeat is heard offstage.
They put the chairs down as Meg enters, wearing an evening
dress and playing Stan's drum.
The birthday party follows. Goldberg tells Meg to
propose a toast to Stan, and McCann shines his torch in
Stan's face. Lulu enters, and Goldberg orders the lights
out and the torch on Stan as each toasts "happy birth-
^Pinter gives a form to this scene through sound and
rhythm rather than logic:
GOLDBERG. Why did you come here?
STANLEY. My feet hurt!
GOLDBERG. Why did you stay?
STANLEY. I had a headache I
GOLDBERG. Did you take anything for it?
STANLEY. Yes.
GOLDBERG. What?
STANLEY. Fruit salts.
GOLDBERG. Enos or Andrews?
STANLEY. En— An—
GOLDBERG. Did you stir properly? Did they fizz?
The Birthday Party, op. cit., p. 51.
OO
Pinter does not create a traditional conflict; the
men are mysteries to each other and to the audience.
63
day. They all drink and talk happily except Stan* who
sits at a table quietly watching. Lulu sits on Goldberg1s
lap; McCann sings an Irish song; Meg suggests they play a
game. Goldberg organizes blind man's buff to include Stan.
Meg is blindfolded, and she touches McCann, who in
turn touches Stan. McCann takes Stan's glasses and blind
folds him. Goldberg and Lulu kiss. Stanley stands while
McCann breaks his glasses and places the drum on the floor
in his path. Stan begins to move, walks into the drum,
falls, rises, and moves toward Meg, dragging the drum on
his foot. He begins to strangle her, but Goldberg and
McCann throw him off her. All the lights go out, and the
guests call to each other in the darkness.^ McCann gets
his torch, but it is knocked from his hand. There is si
lence as everyone looks for the torch.
Suddenly there is a rat-a-tat from the drum. Lulu
screams and faints. McCann finds his torch; he shines it
on the table and discovers Stanley bending over Lulu's
spread-eagled form. Stan begins to giggle and his giggle
rises as Goldberg and McCann converge upon him. The cur
tain falls. This is the dramatic high point and the turning
point in Stanley's fortunes. The climax has occurred too
8Q
^Pinter uses a normally happy occasion to lead to a
character's collapse. His view is negative.
9^Pinter devises a way to involve the audience in the ■
action; they are as much in the dark as the characters.
64
early however; and It has defeated an unsympathetic charac
ter. Act Three Is an anti-climax,^ [This Is the principal
weakness of the play when Judged in traditional terms.]
Act Three begins with a scene between Meg and Petey
which resembles the first scene of the play. Meg is the
same because she remembers nothing of the party. She knows
that McCann is in Stan's room because she brought up his
morning tea, but she decides that the men must be old
friends. She is worried about the big car outside— she
92
asks Petey if there is a wheelbarrow inside— but she is
relieved when Petey tells her that it is Goldberg's car/
Petey wants Meg to leave to go shopping (some of
these lines were cut from the revised edition), but Gold
berg enters. Meg asks about his car, and he praises it,
especially the boot which has "Just enough room for the
right amount." Meg leaves and Petey asks Goldberg if Stan
is any better. Goldberg admits that Stan had a nervous
breakdown and that it was a "foregong conclusion." Petey
explains how he knows about the party: he came home, put a
-^Pinter began with a situation which inspired only a
few complications before reaching a climax. The original
situation did not allow for three-act treatment.
op
Pinter reminds the audience of the resolution Stan
predicted.
■^Pinter develops a new line of action--the effort
or lack of effort exerted by the others to help Stan— be
cause the possibilities for action involving Stan have been;
exhausted. i
shilling in the slot for the lights, and discovered McCann
on the landing. McCann told him about Stan. Petey offers
ah.
to get a doctor, but Goldberg says that everything has
been taken care of.
McCann enters with suitcases, and Petey goes into
the kitchen. McCann says, "I'm not going up there again."
Petey returns and offers help again, but Goldberg says they
are taking Stan to "Monty." McCann breaks into the con
versation to ask about Lulu, (All of his questions and
Goldberg's responses were cut in the revised edition.)
Petey goes out but promises to return. Goldberg and McCann
change in mood: Goldberg is filled with fatigue. McCann
gathers new resolve and suggests they get it over, but
Goldberg does not answer. McCann calls him Simey, and
Goldberg answers murderously, telling him never to call
him that.^ [Pinter appears to be making Goldberg and
McCann more peculiar in order to fill the time during Act
Three.]
McCann offers to go upstairs, but Goldberg reminds
him of his statement about not going again. McCann denies
saying that and rushes to the door. Goldberg stops him and
^Pinter suggests that Petey might intervene to help
Stan, yet the resolution is foreordained. Character, not
action, must sustain Act Three.
-^Goldberg and McCann are mysterious even to each
other. Pinter exhibits characters who remain unfathomable
despite the time devoted to them.
launches Into his philosophy of life, but he cannot finish
it.^ He tells about his father's last words (his father
called him "Benny"), and then manages to deliver a complete
motto: work hard and play hard. He emits a high-pitched
wheeze-whine. (The whine was cut from the revised edi
tion. )
Goldberg asks McCann to test him. McCann places
the spoon he carries in Goldberg's mouth and reports per
fection. Goldberg asks McCann to blow in his mouth, and
McCann does it twice. Goldberg takes the chest expander
and pulls it until it breaks. These physical actions re
veal nuances of character but fail to advance the plot.
[This is a serious violation of the criterion for inter
est.]
Lulu comes in and McCann leaves. She is angry and
distressed because Goldberg taught her things a girl
"shouldn't know before she's been married at least three
years." She asks how he could do such thingsj he says that
she wanted him to. (This scene was revised: lines were
cut and one line added.) [Pinter recognizes his weakest
scenes. He has revised each of them, but he could cut even
more.] McCann returns and demands that she confess. Gold-
y showing these changes in the characters Pinter
arouses some hope that they might repent their treatment of
Stan, but it is false hope. Pinter has the resolution in
mind even though the characters have taken over the stage
for the moment.
67
berg reports that McCann has been "unfrocked" six m o n t h s . 9^
Lulu refuses and leaves.
Finally McCann goes out and ushers Stanley into the
room. Stan is wearing formal clothes: striped trousers,
black coat and white collar. He carries a bowler hat in
one hand and his broken glasses in the other. Goldberg and
McCann talk sweetly to him, promising new glasses, a long
convalescence, cakes, a free pass, hot tips, baby powder
q8
and many incongruous things. Stan cannot reply,* he
clenches and unclenches his eyes; he utters sounds from his
throat. He keeps trying until his head lowers and he
crouches.
Petey enters in time to see the two men taking Stan
away. Petey tries to stop them, but Goldberg asks if Petey
would like to come along. Petey does not move. [This dis
appoints audience expectations since Petey gives in so
easily.] The three men leave. Th§ play could bnd with
their exit,99 Pinter brings Meg back in order to show
97pinter does not offer any false hope about Lulu's
intervention. He creates an unmoral atmosphere in which
little hope is possible; inaction rather than action is the
focus of Act Three.
9^Pinter allows clues to accumulate— the ethnic back
grounds of the visitors, their concern with conventional
behavior and mottos, and now Stan's overly respectable
facade— which suggest that Goldberg and McCann represent
Society.
99Even the second line of action is exhausted at this
point: no one will help Stanley.
again just how callous she and the other characters are.
Meg is disappointed that the car is gone, but she recovers
quickly as she remembers being the belle of the ball at the
party.
Petey tells her that Stan is asleep, and she ac
cepts this explanation for his absence. The audience can
imagine that Meg and Petey will continue to pretend that
nothing terrible has happened and that Meg will remember
everything as a personal triumph in which she introduced
her boarder to two nice men who helped him to become a
great man. [The last scene is redundant.]
Analysis of Plot Construction
The Birthday Party is Pinter's first three-act play
It has action enough for a good one-act play; it is less
effective in its present form. When the play is judged
only from a structural standpoint, it can be said to ex
hibit a logical sequence of events. ' L0' 1 " Though some of the
events are extraordinary, the events themselves have a
cause-and-effect relationship.
In the first scene the old couple talk of Stanleyj
therefore, Stanley appears in the second scene. In the
10C>The final scene is conclusive proof that character
rather than action and plot construction is the focus of
the play and of Pinter's viewpoint. Characters go on no
matter what happens.
101Cf. ante, p. 5. (Logical sequence of events.)
first scene two strangers are also mentioned, and they will
appear later. During the second scene Stanley reveals his
fear of strangers. When the strangers arrive, they have a
mysterious job to do which involves Stanley. They do their
job and none of the other characters can or will stop them.
The structural logic of the play provides some con
trol for the emotions that the characters and the action
are designed to arouse. The play does not give the impres
sion of being logical, in a strictly traditional use of the
term; the characters reveal no logical motives for the ac
tions they initiate. Both Stanley's "crime" and the strang
ers ' exact function remain unknown; thus there is no known
reason for the interrogation or Stanley's breakdown.
The Birthday Party, then, has a discoverable cause-
and-effect structure. It does not have a discernible pri
mary cause which sets the characters in motion. In this
respect the play resembles The Room and all of Pinter's
early plays.
Structural logic should be synonymous with unity
of action, yet in The Birthday Party it is not. Though each
i
scene of the play contains the germ for the development of
the next, each also contains material which is extraneous.
The playwright himself found material to cut from many
scenes in his revised edition.
The scene between Meg and Stan is notable for the
dialogue in which the plot is revealed in advance, but here:
70
again, more about their relationship is shown than is nec
essary. Pinter says that he starts with people who come
102
into a situation, and he tends to concentrate on the
people and the situation before proceeding to develop the
plot. Since his purpose is, avowedly, to expurgate this
10 ^
image from his mind, J he devotes more dramatic space to
people and situation than to establishing a dramatic prob
lem.
The third scene serves a function which is neces
sary to the plot (Pinter does have the plot in mind, despite
his emphasis on other concerns). This scene introduces
Lulu, who will be an important guest at the birthday party,
and it reveals the fact that Stanley never goes out. Lulu
must be introduced at sometime before the party beginsj
nonetheless, Pinter gives this minor character a long scene
and causes the audience to wait a very long time for the
conflict to begin. Nor does the conflict begin in the
scene which follows; the fourth scene serves only to in
troduce Goldberg and McCann, the men who will come into conn
flict with Stan later.
The beginning, then, is not "that which does not
104
itself follow anything by causal necessity. The play (
[
102Pinter, "Writing for Myself," op. cit., p. 174.
103Ibid., p. 173.
104Cf. ante, p. 6. (Aristotle's definition of the be- !
ginning. j
could begin with the entrance of Goldberg and McCann with
out sacrificing anything except information about relation
ships among the characters. The Birthday Party is like The
Room in this respect: the audience must wait a long time
for the action to begin.
The second act of the play is the only one that
meets the criterion designed for it. It is indeed, "that
which follows something as some other thing follows it."'1 '^
The first act establishes Goldberg and McCann as men with
a job to do, and it establishes Stanley as fearful of them.
The second act exhibits meetings between Stan and Goldberg
and McCann. In the third scene of the act the two strang
ers do their job: they interrogate Stanley.
The first act has included plans for a birthday
party, and at the end of the second act the party takes
place. Stanley's fears are substantiated; the men are a
threat to him. Though the first scene of Act Two provides
little new information and is, therefore, a bit long, no
extraneous scenes intrude upon the unity of the middle.
Nor does this section of the play tell the audience every
thing it needs to know; something must follow in Act Three.
There is not, however, very much the audience needs
to know during the third act. They would like to know why
the strangers have helped to drive Stan insane. Since the
•^•^Ibid. (Aristotle's definition of the middle.)
72
playwright will not supply this information, the audience
needs to see whether Stan has changed for better or worse
and what will happen to him. These are the questions which
naturally follow from the middle of the play.
The playwright does not produce Stanley at the
beginning of Act Three. Instead, Pinter explores a second
line of action, introduced during the birthday party. He
shows the audience that no one will help Stan; the other
characters are so preoccupied with their own concerns that
they have nothing else to offer. This line of action could
have been the focus of the play if Stan had suffered his
breakdown early in Act One, yet the first and second acts
led the audience to believe that Stan was the chief charac
ter and the pivot for action. When Stan does not appear,
and the action is diverted to a new perspective, many crit-
106
ics agree that the play becomes less effective.
Once Stanley is brought on stage, the questions of
the audience are answered. They do not learn exactly where
he is to go, but it sounds ominous. Nothing should follow 1
the exit of Stan and the two men. In The Birthday Party
something does follow. It ends with a scene which re
sembles the first scene of the play. Such a scene gives
the play a superficial symmetry, but the traditional critic
would consider both the first and the last scene extraneous.
■^^Claire Sprague, "Possible or Necessary?" New Thea- |
tre Magazine, VIII (Autumn, 1968), 36-37.
73
107
The play begins and ends "at haphazard." 1
The play has magnitude in the sense that Stanley*s
1 nn
fortunes are significantly altered. He does not func
tion as chief character throughout the play, however. Gold
berg and McCann are the most Important characters in Act
Three. The traditional critic would express reservations,
as do critics Claire Sprague and Arnold P. Hinchliffe,
about the magnitude of an action which involves such an ex
pendable character.
The subject of the action is things as Pinter says
they are, and it is therefore, potentially plausible.
Once again, Pinter exhibits the elusive nature of reality
by presenting events which are open to a number of inter
pretations. Many critics who attempt to interpret the play
do not describe Pinter's intentional ambiguity, however.
They put forward a single explanation of the events and
repudiate all other, even complimentary, explanations.
Critical interpretations fall into two broad cate
gories: those which state that the action shows forces of
society crushing a victim and those which state that some
thing more intangible overtakes Stanley. Within these cat- ;
egories there is a great divergence of opinion. The first
107Cf. ante, p. 6. (Aristotle's definition of the end.)
10®Cf. ante, p. 6. (Magnitude.)
^°^Sprague, loc. cit. Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op.
cit., p. 63. I
74
group includes those who believe that Goldberg and McCann
represent society because they have obsolete attitudes and
110
speak in cliches. There are those who believe that Gold
berg and McCann represent the Western world's oldest re-
111
ligions and have been sent to force Stanley to conform.
Many of these critics become specific about Stanley's crime,
saying that he is an alienated artist whose originality was
112
a treat to society.
Even those critics who think of Goldberg and McCann
in more general terms can become rather specific when in
terpreting the play. Some suggest that the characters might
be emissaries of a secret organization, male nurses from an
11S
asylum, emissaries from another world, J or hired killers
ll4
sent by an organization of murderers. These critics
Tom Milne, "The Hidden Pace of Violence," The En
core Reader, op. cit., pp. 121-122. Thornton, op. cit'.,
p. 219. Jacqueline Hoefer, "Pinter and Whiting: Two Atti
tudes Towards the Alienated Artist," Modern Drama, IV
(Spring, 1962), 4o8.
■''^Bernard Dukore, "The Theatre of Harold Pinter, "
Tulane Drama Review, VI (March, 1962), 54. Cohn, op. cit.,
p. 67.
112
Hoefer, loc. cit. Dukore, loc. cit. Cohn, loc.
cit.
■^■^Esslin, Theatre of the Absurd, op. cit., p. 203.
Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 55, is willing to
accept these explanations though he feels the menace may be
more general. Wellwarth, op. cit., p. 204 says they may be
substitutes for God.
Ilk
Wellwarth, loc. cit. believes that they are killers
as well as substitutes for God.
75
differ from those in the first group in their willingness
to believe that Goldberg and McCann have motives which are
open to various interpretations. Others within the second
group offer a psychological explanation for the arrival of
Goldberg and McCann; they believe that these are figures
from Stanley's night thoughts who have been conjured into
115
existence by Stan himself.
Pinter says: "Because 'reality' is quite a strong,
firm word we tend to think, or hope that the state to which
it refers is equally firm, settled, unequivocal. It doesn't
seem to be, and in my opinion, it's no worse or better for
that."1^ Three critics seem able to accept Pinter's point
of view that the characters need not represent anything
specific, that they combine the real and the unreal, but
117
these critics are in the minority. 1
Pinter gives Goldberg and McCann the type of acts
to perform that he would have given Riley had he re-written
* i -1 Q
The Room. They become, therefore, better representatives
11^Gordon, op. cit., p. 21. Wardle, "Comedy of Men
ace," Encore Reader, op. cit., p. 91. Victor E. Amend,
"Harold Pinter— Some Credits and Debits," Modern Drama, X
(September, 1967)* 169.
• L1^Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," loc. cit.
• ' ■ ’ ^Taylor, Anger and After, op. cit., p. 290. Hinch
liffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 63 says they may not
represent anything. Kerr, op. cit. says the whole thing is
an accident. Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., pp. 79-
81 refers to a Pinter poem "A View of the Party" to show
that Goldberg and McCann are real and unreal.
•^®Cf. ante, p. 42. (Quotation.)
76
of Pinter's philosophy, yet they remain open to various
interpretations because he provides enough information to
prompt a search for motives and explanations. Many critics
feel that there must be one reason for what happens if they
could only find it.
Statements made by the playwright can lead critics
to his explanation of the events. When approached with
Pinter's statements about the shifting nature of reality
in mind, the characters in The Birthday Party are revealed
to be fluid. Goldberg and McCann have an existence of
their own; they come from somewhere. At the same time
they are, indeed, the creatures of Stanley's nightmares.
They are real and unreal. Stanley has withdrawn from so
ciety for a reason, but he can no longer remember it in
detail, only a feeling of guilt remains. His "crime" is
real and unreal.
Martin Esslin joined these disputes in his early
studies, but in 1970 Martin Esslin in The Peopled Wound
shows the relationship between possible levels of inter
pretation. He finds three levels in The Birthday Party;
images of society driving an artist toward respectable
work, Images of growing up and images of death. He says:
"What must be stressed, however, is that there is no con
tradiction between these different aspects. As in all po
etic imagery there is a deep and organic connection between
77
the multiple planes on which the layers of ambiguity of the
imagery operate. "‘ * ' ' * ' 9 Mr. Esslin assumes that the audience
will not reach the same conclusions that the critic can
reach; instead, "what comes across is a total impression:
the author's anxiety, which he communicates through this
120
texture of images." This anxiety is plausible to an
audience though the traditional critic would ask for more
clarity of thought in the play.
The audiences which first saw The Birthday Party
did not like it, but after two revivals and a television
121
production the play found a more receptive audience.
Pinter made a few revisions, and later production stressed
122
the comedy rather than the menace. The comic elements
aided the audience by adding aesthetic distance. According
to Arnold P. Hinchliffe, "The story of Pinter's growth as a
dramatist is very much the story of the education of crit
ics and audiences about his particular style. Tlie piay
itself was the greatest force for educating an audience, at
least in Britain.
11^Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 85.
120Ibid., p. 66.
■^^John Russell Brown, "Mr. Pinter's Shakespeare," The
Critical Quarterly, V (Autumn, 1963), 258, says an audience
with new powers of perception was conjured into existence.
122Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 49.
123ibid.
78
The play arouses Interest during the first few
scenes not by stimulating curiosity about the action but by
stimulating curiosity about the characters. The language
the characters use is the first element to attract the au
dience's attention. It is the banal and often ridiculous
language people use when making conversation to fill time.
The first scene is funny because of its language (the repe
tition of the word "nice" alone is enough to cause laughter)
and because Meg is such a silly yet recognizable character.
124
The scene does not establish any dramatic problem; it is
not until the end of the lengthy scene between Meg and
Stanley that the problem around which the action will re
volve is as well established as the tertiary problems.
Meg finally tells Stanley about the two men who may
be coming and both the tone and the direction of the play
change. Stanley's extreme terror at the thought of two
visitors is made explicit for the audience, and Stanley's
prediction of what will happen tells them that this will
125
not continue as a domestic comedy. ^ The audience will
begin to be interested in what will happen.
Though a knock on the door follows Stanley's pre
diction, the audience's curiosity about the plot will not
l p4
Cf. ante, pp. 8-9. (Interest is aroused by the
dramatic problem.)
' * ' 2^Hayman, op. cit., p. 21, calls this a prophecy of
"doom" and says it builds expectation of "something pretty
nasty."
79
be increased by the next scene, Stanley's encounter with
Lulu frustrates his and the audience's desire for informa
tion. Instead of maintaining or increasing the audience's
interest in the action, Pinter allows it to recede just as
126
it was about to develop.
The first real complication is the arrival of Gold
berg and McCann. The action accelerates from this point
as Goldberg gets Meg to allow them to stay; as Goldberg
and Meg plan a birthday party; and as Stanley is driven to
frenzy by the thought that the men have come. Stanley's
fear of the men should interest the audience; they will
wish to see a confrontation in order to learn why the men
are so frightening.^^ The audience will wonder whether
Stanley will really be carried out in a wheelbarrow.
The second act presents the necessary confrontation
between Stanley and the two visitors. Events accelerate
gradually as Stan meets first McCann and then Goldberg.
The action reaches its first high point during the inter
rogation; it pauses a moment as the party begins and then
rises to the climax. This crisis occurs at the end of Act
Two, a point which is rather early since the third act can
128
easily prove anti-climatic.
Cf. ante, p. 9. (Action must maintain interest.)
■^^Hayman, op. cit., p. 22, says the mystification
builds suspense.
T oA
ante, p. 12. (The denouement.)
80
During Act Three some suspense is engendered by the
playwright’s device of keeping Stan offstage while the
other characters show either that they will not help him
(Meg and Lulu) or that they might (Petey). The audience
must grow impatient., however, as the other characters ex
hibit their own foibles. Once Stan appears and is taken
away, the dramatic problem has been solved. The final
scene does not relate to the problem, but serves again to
reveal character rather than to explore action.
All of the traditional elements of drama are in
cluded in. this play, but as in The Room, the traditional
critic will not find them to be in proportion to each
other.In this case not only is the exposition too
long, the denouement is too long, as well. Exposition is
emphasized during the first act; the audience learns more
than is absolutely essential about the present situation of
the characters.
Information the audience would like to know is miss
ing because it is of the type that Pinter will not supply. ;
The things he will tell the audience are integrated through-;
out the play: the audience learns about the events between
1^0
the party and the next morning during Act Three. ^ Thus,
exposition is extensive.
12^Cf. ante, p. 12. (Proper proportion.)
^Cf. ante, p. 10. (Exposition should give just
81
There is a conflict, and the confrontations occur
on stage. The opposing forces prove to he almost equal
during the barrage of questions. There are two men oppos
ing Stan and he weakens under their sustained and well-
rehearsed pressure. He is still able to find a way to re-
181
gain the offensive, however, by reacting violently. J
Once he survives this ordeal, there is some hope that he
can protect himself in a situation where other people (who
are his friends) are around. His friends, however, reveal
the hopelessness of his situation by devoting the interest
they formerly lavished on Stan to Goldberg and McCann. Meg
and Lulu tell their secrets and express affection to strang
ers as easily (and in Lulu’s case more easily) as they did
to Stan. Stan has the opportunity to see just how crude
his own relations with the women have been and just how
182
meaningless such relations are to the women.
Stanley’s collapse, as Goldberg says, is a foregone
conclusion. The forces are not equal; Stan has no allies
while Goldberg has McCann as an active partner and Meg and
Lulu as unknowing accomplices. Stan is afraid while Gold-
enough information to allow the audience to understand the
situation.)
181
Hayman, op. cit., p. 25^ says that tensions are
wound tighter until they must break out in violence, yet it
is surprising that it is Stan who is violent.
182
J Gordon, op. cit., p. 27j , says the party celebrates
original sin and guilt' in all men.
82
berg is supremely confident when things go well and capable
of restorative action when things do not proceed as planned.
The conflicting forces are unequal in strength and
188
unequal in claims upon the right. The claim of both
forces upon what is wrong is the thing that can be said to
make the forces morally equal. Goldberg and McCann try to
drive Stanley insane. Stanley for his part, tries to
strangle Meg and rape Lulu, desires he has presumably had
184
before the arrival of the two men. Goldberg and McCann
draw less censure for prodding a man into insanity when the
18*8
man is barely sane in the first place.
The question of morality has little relation to the
actual conflict of The Birthday Party. Pinter cannot ex
hibit any conclusions about whether what happens to Stanley
is good or evil when no reasons are given for the things
Goldberg and McCann do. Pinter demonstrates that such
things can happen; the audience must draw their own con
clusions. The audience can easily conclude that Pinter
offers only a negative view of the world. They have seen
no balance in the presentation of events; no character is
^cf. ante, p. 10. (Conflict should be between equal
forces.)
•'■■^Gordon, op. cit., p. 21, says the action builds up
on the Freudian interpretation of the Oedipus myth.
-^Sprague, loc. cit., says Stan is transformed from
"unkempt vegetable" to "kempt automation."
^^The result is fact, not an explanation or an in
terpretation." Kerr, op. cit., p. 25.
83
moral nor can the characters, as they are drawn, be expected
to change as a result of their experiences.
The climax of the play takes a form which Is the
perfect equivalent for the plot Itself. A game can be
frivolous, at least It begins In a spirit of fun. The play
137
itself began in this way. The game of blind man's buff
has someone who is "it," someone the other players can
choose to attract or avoid. During the climax various
characters are "it" just as different characters were the
focus of attention early in the play. The game also allows
for a great deal of confusion as the blinded participant
stumbles around after the others.
The other characters do not avoid Meg when she is
"it" since she is harmless. McCann makes sure he will be
chosen by Meg just as Goldberg did earlier. McCann is de
termined to find Stanley and place him in an awkward posi
tion analogous to that of the interrogation scene. Stanley;
becomes "it" (the focus of attention) and he is blind and
uncertain of what to do.'1 '^
This game is structured so that no one can win;
the rules provide only for a loser. The game can continue
•^"Homecomings and birthday parties, the signal in a
healthy civilization for joy, are in our sick culture oc
casions for dread." Francis L. Kunkel, "The Dystopia of
Harold Pinter," Renascence, XXI (Autumn, 1968), 19.
■^Thornton, op. cit., p. 217, says the blinding of
Stan signifies his spiritual death.
84
inconclusively with a new "it" chosen, or it can end with
someone losing because he finds no one to be "it." Stan
ley's life offers him no greater possibilities. When he is
"it," he can do no more than strike out blindly against
his fate and to try to cause others to lose with him.
Goldberg and McCann prevent Stan from involving others;
they cause him to be the sole loser. Yet they do not win;
during the third act they show that they are tired from
playing the game again and again.
The playwright creates a device which directly in
volves the audience in Stanley's plight. When all the
lights go out, the audience is virtually blind too. They
experience the confusion and the uncertainty for themselves.
Thus, Pinter avoids the risk that the audience will not
identify with the unsympathetic Stanley. Pinter makes the
spectator into a participant.
The climax is an effective turning point; Stanley's
189
fortunes will go from bad to worse. The opposing forces
have not been equal, however, so the results of the dramatic
crisis were not in doubt. The exposition has been instru
mental in preparing the audience for the climax. The de
nouement shows the resolution of the problem the two visi
tors have caused.
The denouement is long because it presents a reso-
^cf. ante, p. 11. (The climax is the turning
point.)
85
lution for the problems of all the characters, minor as
well as major. The point of the denouement is that all of
the characters refuse to recognize what has happened. Meg
forgets. Lulu and Petey retreat in defeat, and Petey also
tries to forget. Goldberg and McCann are debilitated by
their deeds but they will not admit it. They perform a
ritual to revive their spirits. Stanley, of course, is in
no condition to recognize anything; he has withdrawn com
pletely from reality. Pinter leaves the important ques
tions unanswered because he believes that there are no
permanent and definite answers.
Analysis of Characterization
140
Most of the characters are consistent. Meg is
consistently inconsistent: her words promise much more than
she is able to accomplish. Her desire is to fulfil all pos
sible feminine roles: wife, housekeeper, mother, sex part
ner, and manager, but she is a failure at all of them.
Rather than abandon her desire to succeed in every role,
Meg chooses to pretend that everything she does is right.
She can allow Goldberg and McCann to stay at her house
against Stan's wishes and then say that she knows Stan bet- |
ter than anyone. Throughout the play Meg manages consis
tently to remember only her words and ignore the conse-
l40Cf. ante, p. 13. (Characters must be consistent.)
86
l4i
quences of her actions.
Petey is a man who accepts the status quo. He ac
cepts Meg's faults because it would require an effort and
result in unpleasantness to do otherwise. Petey avoids
unpleasantness as long as he can pursue his own interests
unimpeded. Meg and Stanley ignore Petey's words because
they know that he will not perform unpleasant actions.
When Petey stands up to Goldberg and McCann, his words are
not inconsistent with his character.; Petey shows he cares
about Stan and wants no more unpleasant things to happen.
The fact that unpleasant things have already happened (Stan
has had a breakdown) causes Petey to finally undertake ac-
142
tions to go with his words; he stays to see how Stan is.
As soon as Goldberg threatens him, however, Petey backs
down. He chooses the course which will be least unpleasant
for him.
Stanley is also consistent; the audience sees his
gradual process of deterioration. He is revealed during
his first scene as a recluse who has withdrawn from threat-
14 S
ening situations. His manner begins to change the moment
l4l
Wellwarth, op. cit., p. 205* says Stan's friends
have amounted to nothing in society, but they do not realize
it.
14?
Hayman, op. cit., p. 27* says Petey is one of the
few sympathetic characters in Pinter's plays.
^■^Hoefer, loc. cit., says Stan has lost his function
as an artist before the play begins. Milne, op. cit., pp.
121-122, says Stan rejects society in terms of career and
in the persons of Meg and Petey......
87
he hears about the visitors. Yet he has no solution for
the problem presented to him by the eminent arrival of
strangers except further withdrawal. After the visitors
arrive Stan tries to find out about them from Meg, but her
answers leave him feeling more trapped than ever. Playing
the toy drum is an outlet for his hidden terror, yet it
causes him to lose control as he releases his fear.
The cumulative effect of Meg’s stiffling motherli
ness and the strangers' mysterious arrival causes Stan to
begin to collapse at the end of Act One; any further pres
sure is certain to bring about more extreme behavior.
Since he cannot escape or withdraw physically, he must
either fight or resort to withdrawing mentally.
Stan threatens both G-oldberg and McCann in a last
effort to save himself from a confrontation. He does not
have the confidence to issue an effective threat, so the
confrontation occurs. He expends his small store of com
bative strength in resisting their demands and in trying to
parry their questions. He makes a last physical effort to
resist them, but the effort leaves him drained. During the
party he neither speaks nor responds until forced into the
144
game. His mental withdrawal is gradually developing.
The game and the blackout gives Stan an outlet
similar to that provided by the drum. Since it comes at a
l44„ I
Pinter would seem to be suggesting that direct
involvement ... is necessary for life to be truly meaning-i
ful and truly secure." Pesta, op. cit., p. 61. j
88
time when his feelings of being trapped and tortured are at
their highest point, he reacts violently. He reacts against
those who are vulnerable, and he attempts the crimes which
Goldberg and McCann accuse him of committing. He traps
himself again just as he did by withdrawing to Meg's house
and rejecting other, active options.
Goldberg describes McCann's characteristic behavior
for the audience in their first scene. He says that McCann
functions efficiently when doing the job yet is not as ef
fective when not working. McCann follows this pattern ex
cept for a consistent inconsistency: he tears newspapers
145
into strips whether he is working or not. ^
McCann's strange hobby is monotonous, routine and
absorbing, yet it is also destructive. It reveals the
paucity of McCann's outside interests while showing that
he can be irrational and destructive in small ways. The
strips of paper mean something inexplicable to him; he re
acts violently when Stan touches them.
In other respects McCann follows Goldberg's de
scription as he follows Goldberg's orders. At first McCann
is worried about the job; he keeps asking questions. But
once the job begins McCann never varies his level of cold
hostility toward Stanley. The interrogation proceeds
l45Cf. ante, p. 13. (Characters can be consistently
inconsistentT]
89
146
smoothly as though rehearsed. When Goldberg Is threat
ened, McCann steps Into retalltate (he Is the functionary
while Goldberg Is the leader who must be respected).
McCann does not function as smoothly in the unfamil
iar atmosphere of the party, yet he does his best to comply
with Goldberg's orders. McCann is entrusted with the task
of staying with Stan during the night, and McCann's success
is evident when the "new" Stanley appears the next day
dressed for a funeral.
As the job is drawing to a close McCann begins to
suffer doubts again; he says he will not go upstairs (where
Stan is) again. Later he denies having made this state
ment. He knows that the job is still in progress and that
it would be inconsistent to the role Goldberg has defined
for him to have said such a thing. McCann has nothing
aside from his role; except memories of Ireland, so he sub
scribes to its limits.
During the third act McCann is shown to have
another role: that of examining and revitalizing Goldberg.
This is also consistent to be his role of functionary and
he performs these acts without question. McCann is as con
sistent in his actions (he does what he is told) as he is
in the speeches (he extoles conventional behavior).
At first Goldberg appears invulnerable to the
- | h / T
Another "clue" which leads nowhere.
90
demands of the Job. Goldberg segregates his personality
into two consistent compartments: one personality is that
of efficient businessman and the other is that of the man
who relishes the past. He even has different first names
to match his different personalities. His mother and wife
called him "Simey," his father "Benny/1 and McCann calls
him "Nat."
Goldberg insists on keeping his personalities sepa
rate. Even though he pontificates continuously about his
past, he objects strongly to McCann calling him "Simey,"
Goldberg abandoned his past when he took the Job. His talk
about the past serves him as a smoke-screen to make others
believe they know about him when they actually know nothing
of his purpose or his past.
Pinter says:
There are two silences. One when no word is spoken.
The other when perhaps a torrent of language is being
employed. This speech is speaking of a language locked
beneath it. That is its continual reference. The
speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't
hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly,
anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other
in its place.1^7
Goldberg changes from his efficient personality
during Act Three. He has not undergone a gradual process
of deterioration, nor has he suggested that he changes when
148
not working as McCann does. His actions lead the audl-
*^^Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," op. cit., p. 579-
l^®Cf. ante, pp. 13-14. (In order to be consistent a
character who changes should change gradually.)
91
ence to believe that his weakness and uncertainty are cus
tomary after a job. The fact that McCann carries the spoon
and knows just what to do when asked to blow in Goldberg's
mouth show that Goldberg is prone to fits of weakness. It
is rather late to establish the consistency of Goldberg's
actions and feelings, however. More weaknesses are sug
gested than are explained by McCann's knowledge of routine.
Goldberg eventually regains his show of confidence
after he reaffirms his physical prowess. His moments of
inconsistency are brief, yet these is no preparation for
them, and they are not explored. His weakness can strike
the critic as a device to add interest to the actionless
third act, but it cannot be viewed as inevitable.
Lulu is a minor character, yet she is consistent
in her desire for affection. She seeks a response from
Stan and finding none, she turns to Goldberg. Later she
says that she is shocked at what Goldberg did, but she is
equally concerned that he does not show real affection for
her. She walks out on him and upon Stan; neither offers
what she wants and she is too self-centered to give either
a second thought. Thus, she abandons her "friend" Stan to
a man she knows to be unscrupulous.
Some of the characters are effectively motivated.
Meg is a particularly transparent character; the audience
always knows her motives even though they cannot always
predict how she will react to a new situation. Meg means
92
to do the right thing, but she continuously chooses tasks
that are beyond her meager abilities.
She means to be a good wife to Petey and a good
mother to Stan (the only person she can mother). She is
not able to do both, or either. Her motives for taking
Stan in are appropriate and adequate. She wants a little
boy to mother and a man to entice sexually, and Stan can
14 q
fill both roles because he is vulnerable. Petey fills
neither role because he is too sensible to be a little boy
and too unresponsive to be stimulating to her sexually.
Despite her affection for Stan, she betrays him.
Nonetheless, her motives are appropriate to her charac-
1S0
ter. v She is too flighty and shallow to maintain an un
accustomed stance. Her nature is to welcome visitors since
they offer new outlets for her displays of affection and
household competence. It is very difficult for her to
reject new stimuli.
Her motives for welcoming these particular visitors
are adequate to the situationj Goldberg and McCann offer
all the things she desires. They prove that her house is
well-thought of and they plan a party which will prove her
affection for Stan while allowing her to have more fun. It
"'■^Hinchliffe, "Mr. Pinter's Belinda," op. cit., pp.
177-178, says Meg's relationship to Stan is Mother-Son and
Mistress-Lover.
^cf. ante, pp. 14-15. (Characters must be appropri
ately and adequately motivated.)
is easy for her to forget Stan's warning just as she for
gets all unpleasant things. She exhibits the working of
her mind when she repeats Stan's story about his concerts
by using his words to give a pleasant impression.
Meg abandons Stan to the two men because of her de
sire to see no evil. She has the excuse of being drunk for
her forgetfulness, but she really needs no excuse; her cus
tomary method for dealing with problems is to deny their
existence. The birthday party proved to be so contrary to
her expectations that she could never bring herself to
remember what happened.
Even though Meg is weak because of her desire to be
admired by everyone and anyone, the audience will not ex
pect her to allow Goldberg and McCann to take Stan away.
The situation evolves so that Meg never has the opportunity
to stop them. She is pursuing one of her other roles (that
of housekeeper and manager) during the time when Stan really
needs her motherly protection. He is gone when she returns,'
but she busies herself playing her wifely role with
Petey.151
Petey will protect Meg from the knowledge of what
has happened to Stan, and she will surely accept whatever
he says since she has already decided that Stan, Goldberg
^ Gordon, op. cit., p. 29, says Meg is pretending she j
does not know that Stan is gone. He has been reduced to j
the level she always wanted. j
and McCann are old friends. Petey*s desire to avoid the
unpleasant has already caused him to get Meg to leave be
fore she can see Stan. His motives in relation to Meg are
clear and appropriate: he knows her weaknesses and he would
not use them to hurt her.
Petey establishes his affection for and knowledge
of Meg and Stanley in the first scene. He answers Meg's
questions no matter how silly; and he does not bother her
about the tea she has forgotten to give him. He does., how
ever, try to get Meg to give Stan some breakfast; Petey
tries to protect Stan from Meg's silly games.
Petey*s ability to express affection is limited,
yet he does succeed in protecting Meg from knowledge of un
pleasantness. His desire to preserve the status quo is an
appropriate motive for his challenge to Goldberg. The au
dience has not seen Petey show that he is adequate to the
task, yet the change in dramatic situation demands a great
er effort and calls forth Petey’s inner resources for a
while.
Petey*s motives do prove inadequate once his own
security is threatened. He has seen what Goldberg and
McCann can do— he sees Stan— even though he was not at the
party. His general fear of unpleasantness is an appropri
ate motive for his retreat.
Lulu is the last of the clearly motivated charac
ters. When she first appears, her emphasis is on the
95
physical. She would be willing to go away with Stan if he
made a real offer despite the fact that he is far from ap
pealing. She is eager to give herself to anyone who will
show her some affection. Her need for love is sufficient
motive for her liaison with Goldberg, and his lack of love
is also motive for her break with him. She has no motives
which would cause her to try to help Stan, so she leaves
him to Goldberg.
Pinter's method of creating character is paradoxi
cal. The minor characters are consistent and adequately
motivated while the major characters have complex and hid
den motives, unverified pasts and multiple personalities.
Critic Victor Amend describes Pinter's method as a demon
stration of the idea that the true nature of the individual
1^2
cannot be known. ^ Yet Pinter does show that the natures
of his minor characters can be known; it is only the im
portant character who remains a mystery.
The audience never learns why Stanley is so fear
ful. It is appropriate for a cowardly person to fear
strangers, but this fear is not adequate to his actions.
His dialogue about the wheelbarrow and his frenzied beat
ing of the drum are extraordinary actions requiring extra
ordinary motives.
Stanley's report of his two concerts does not
^^Amend, op. cit., p. 169.
96
provide a motive; instead., it provides an example of Stan's
over-reaction to a similar situation. If Stan did find the
concert hall locked before his second concert * it would
still not provide sufficient motive for his complete with
drawal from society after that concert.
Once Goldberg and McCann become known rather than
unknown quantities, Stan's fear is reinforced; they prove
themselves to be very threatening indeed. Nonetheless,
Stan defeats himself by giving vent to his darkest impulses.
The methods of intimidation practiced by the visitors do
not in themselves give Stan a good reason for losing all
his self-control. There must be something more in his
background to explain why he goes to pieces so quickly.
(Goldberg admits that some people reach their breaking
point gradually.)
The audience can accept the fact that there is
something in Stan's past which would supply a motive for
his extreme fear. Stan is such a consistent character that
his actions presuppose a motive. There are hints and
clues: Stan's talk about going home to live quietly;
McCann's references to betrayal of the organization; Stan's
153
revelation of his desire to strangle Meg and rape Lulu.
These hints can, however, prove more annoying than no
1531 1 ^e bind for man is that, if he acts upon his in
stincts, his deeds will terrify and haunt him; his only
,alternative is to attempt a constricting life out of fear ;
[of what is inside." Gordon, op. cit., p. 29.
97
motives at all since they constitute a jig-saw puzzle with
pieces missing. The critic feels that there should be one
answer which would solve the puzzle. He does not auto
matically espouse Pinter's idea that no single solution is
possible to any important puzzle.
The motives for the conduct of Goldberg and McCann
are expressed in a similar puzzle. They work for some
thing or someone who sent them to torture Stan; it is their
job. They accuse Stan of every crime and every form of
anti-social conduct they can think of. McCann thinks
mostly in terms of moral transgressions and crimes against
religion, the "organization" and Ireland. Goldberg is more
prone to stress Stan's infractions of social codes of be
havior in terms of personal appearance and contributions
to society. There are enough clues to lead the critic to
assume that the characters represent Western society's tra
ditional values, and as such, they are society's agents.
Goldberg and McCann are peculiar representatives of
society despite their ethnic backgrounds, their use of
cliches, and their preoccupations. Goldberg has cut him
self off from his past; he does not even know what his sur
viving son is doing. McCann was "unfrocked" according to
Goldberg; and he too has cut himself off from Ireland by
coming' to England. Neither man practices conventional
morality; Goldberg has his liaison with Lulu and McCann
uses his authority to try to learn the details from her.
Other questions arise: if the visitors wish to pun
ish deviant behavior, why do they not punish Meg, and why
do they participate in deviant behavior themselves? (Lulu
says that Goldberg's behavior was deviant, and she ought to
know.) The play gives no answers to these questions; Pinter
is saying that there are no answers. Goldberg and McCann
represent society in some ways and in other ways they do
154
not. ^ They are instrumental in crushing Stan, yet Stan
is also responsible for his own fall.
Stan, Goldberg and McCann are the chief characters.
By offering clues to their motives Pinter does not neces
sarily prove his contentions to the satisfaction of his au
dience. He gives them the problem of verification, and the
audience may try to solve it (they must fail) rather than
passively accepting the problem's existence. An audience
wishes to be active, and they are practically invited to
155
try to discover the missing motives.
156
None of the characters is above average morally.
Meg likes to pretend that she is moral just as she likes
to pretend that she is a good person in other respects.
Meg never acts unselfishly because she refuses to recognize
that anyone needs her to make an effort. This method of
154
v Everyone represents his society in some ways.
^cf. ante, p. 14. (Audiences wish to participate.)
^cf. ante, pp. 15-16. (Characters who are above
average morally sustain interest.)
99
self-protection must eventually be perceived as the heighth
of selfishness. Thus Meg falls below the average of moral
ity and becomes a rather distasteful character who is un
worthy of Petey's protection at the end. Her particular
form of immorality gives Stanley a sufficient reason to
want to strangle her.
Petey is the only character to approach the crite
rion for morality. He feels a selfless affection for
othersj he never complains despite provocation. His ex
pressions of affection are stiffled* however* whether by
Meg or by others in his background. During the first part
of the play he seems to be about average morally*' he cares
about the others but finds it easier to leave them alone
than to try to help, or reform them.
Stanley's plight gives Petey the responsibility and
157
opportunity for acting morally. Petey tries to rise to
a higher moral level* and he succeeds in challenging Gold
berg. Petey sacrifices his daily routine in order to stay
to protect Stan. Petey even orders Goldberg to stop when
taking Stan away. Yet Petey gives in completely in the
face of a threat against himself. He remains at an average
moral level despite his good intensions.
Lulu is not an important character; her level of
morality is not important except as it expresses the moral
^cf. ante* p. 15. (A change in the situation can
provide a reason for changes in a character.)
100
tone of the play. Lulu's morality is in keeping with that
of most of the others: it is below average. Not only is
Lulu sexually immoral but also ethically immoral. She
tells Goldberg that she knows what is happening in relation
to Stan. She tries to make her statement sound like a
threat but she and Goldberg know it is empty.
Stanley is shown to be morally bankrupt; he has
abandoned not only his obligations to other people, he has
also abandoned obligations to make the most of his own
talents. Stan's withdrawal places him in a situation which
demands even further moral equivocation since he must pre
tend affection for Meg. This affection involves the degre-
dation of being treated both as a child and as a sex object
by a woman who is not appealing sexually or maternally.
Stan has degraded himself for nothing more than a tenuous
sense of security; the bargain is less than exemplary.
Until the climax Stanley at least believed in moral
principles; he felt guilt (prompting his fear) and disgust
(prompting his reaction to Meg). At the point where he
attacks the women he losses contact with reality, including
society's standards, and retreats into an emotional world
of his own. He giggles uncontrollably as he returns to
childhood. It is hardly surprising that by the next time
he appears, Stan is no more than he was in the womb.
Goldberg and McCann use moral principles in their
dealings with Stan; McCann accuses Stan of behaving badly
101
even before the Interrogation. McCann Is the member of the
team most concerned with moralityj during the interrogation
he stresses moral transgressions. McCann makes no moral
choices; he goes along with the duties of the job. He ex
hibits anxiety, yet its cause stems more from uncertainty
than from guilt.
McCann has a strict code of conduct which is a
burden even to himself. His code of conduct is not the
same thing as conventional morality, however, since it has
no place for generosity, sympathy nor mitigating circum
stances. McCann cannot forgive; he can punish. He cannot
leave the job because he would be guilty of deviant behav
ior if he did. He is as trapped as Stanley and in the same
morally compromising position. There are no heroes or vil
lains in this play: the man who wants to preserve his free
dom and the men who want to destroy it are equally lacking
in real freedom. None is free to be moral because each
has bargained away his freedom in return for something
else.
Goldberg has achieved his "position" by leaving his
family and his conscience behind. Though he is least
bothered by morality and guilt, he still finds it difficult
to remain unconcerned at the outcome of his job. He can
entertain no thought of leaving the job, of course, since
he knows the strength of the forces who employ him better
than anyone. Goldberg's moral position resembles that of
102
1^8
the other chief characters. ^ This situation results in a
clear demonstration (clearer than the playwright's ideas
about motivation), but it does not satisfy the desire of
the traditional critic for characters who inspire empathy
in an audience.
All of the characters face acute choices, yet their
moral limitations combine with the situation to severely
curtail their options. Meg cannot help but choose to allow
the visitors to stay; her desire for a party is too great.
Petey must back down in the face of Goldberg's threat;
Petey has had no practice in moral fortitude, especially
when his own safety is at stake. Lulu chooses Goldberg
because she wants affection; she forgets Stan because he
gives her none.
Their choices reveal their characteristics clearly
within the limits of the play. Meg, Petey and Lulu are
minor characters, yet it cannot be said that their de
velopment detracts from interest in the main characters.
Pinter needs these others in order to have something to
present to the audience during Act Three.
Stanley recognizes the existence of the choices
which face him; in fact, his perception of the dramatic
problem precedes that of the audience. He does not make
1^®"In our time, Pinter implies, the family has degen
erated into a ghastly institution; men and women are beast
ly; and so we are faced with a crisis of personhood."
Kunkel, op. clt., p. 19.
103
any conscious choices, however, except the choice to
frighten Meg. Stan tries to avoid a confrontation with the
strangers; and when he cannot do so, he withdraws mentally
until he is only a vengeful child. His choice of Meg and
Lulu as victims is not really a conscious choice; it re
veals his deteriorated mental state and his desperation.
He can no longer function as chief character, and the tra
ditional critic may dismiss him.'L'^
Goldberg and McCann have made their important
choices before the play begins: they have chosen their
jobs. This choice reveals them to be the sort to enjoy
sadism and to punish others. Both share strict standards
of conduct, but their choices of accusation shows that
McCann's interest is in moral conduct while Goldberg is
concerned with social forms.
Goldberg can choose to spend the night with Lulu,
revealing himself to care not about what is done but about
whether a person is caught doing it. McCann cannot make
such a choice as is shown by his inability even to sing a
love song. The two differ in the choices they make during
the play despite the fact that their choice of job is the
same.
The choices Goldberg and McCann make during the
play are not acute (Goldberg's choice is important to Lulu |
■'"'^Sprague, loc. cit., says Stan's fate should have
happened to a minor character in another play.
104
but not to him). The choice they do not make— the choice
to give up the job--reveals more about them and about the
job. Both enjoy the actual performance of the job despite
McCann’s momentary disenchantment with the result and Gold
berg’s momentary feelings of fatigue. Never do they men
tion leaving the job; Goldberg’s speeches show that he has
nothing to go back to.
Goldberg almost becomes the chief character; he is
the most colorful and the most inventive. Were he given
acute choices to contemplate, he would have become the
focus of attention. As it is, the critic finds no particu
lar character who sustains maximum interest after Act Two.
Pinter incorporates traditional dramatic elements
into The Birthday Party as he did in The Room. Critics
-i £ . r \
believe that action is important to the play. Irving
Wardle says, "In The Birthday Party characters are drawn
together by the action and by nothing else." Without
action the characters would not be revealed, nor would the
play be as exciting theatrically. The final scenes of
Acts One and Two depend upon action for their Impact.
Though character appears to precede plot in Pinter's method
of construction, action gains audience interest for the
themes of the play.
■^^Wellwarth, op. cit., p. 203.
1^1Wardle, "Comedy of Menace," The Encore Reader,
op. cit., p. 91•
The traditional dramatic elements seem to have con
fused the audiences for the first productions of The Birth
day Party; they expected the entire play to follow tradi
tional patterns. Audiences for subsequent productions were
prepared for Pinter’s unanswered questions* yet they could
still be more interested in the action than they were in
exploring the elusive nature of reality. Critic John Rus
sell Brown says: "Perhaps the inability of his audience to
transfer its interest away from narrative towards inner-
development led Pinter to write later plays [after The
Birthday Party] with only momentary and perplexing plot-
interest.
More critics are concerned about the genre to which
the play belongs than about the relative strengths of plot
construction and characterization. Martin Esslln uses it
as an example of Theatre of the Absurd:
... a play like this simply explores a situation
that* in itself* is a valid poetic image that is im
mediately seen as relevant and true. It speaks of the
individual's pathetic search for security; of secret
dreads and anxieties; of the terrorism of our world*
so often embodied in false bonhomie and bigoted bru
tality; of the tragedy that arises from lack of under
standing between people on different levels of aware
ness.1^
■^%5rown* "Mr. Pinter's Shakespeare*" op. cit.* p. 254
'''^Esslin* Theatre of the Absurd* op. cit.* pp. 204-
205. He states that the play is a "wholly individual*
wholly original creation" in The Peopled Wound* op. cit.,
:P. 87.
106
By placing Pinter within the sphere of the Absurd, Esslin
links him with Beckett and Ionesco, a combination which is
164
rejected by other critics.
John Bowen analyzes one difference between Pinter
and Ionesco:
But compare the dialogue of The Birthday Party or any
of Mr. Pinter's revue sketches with that of The Bald
Pritna Donna or the scene with the logician in Rhinoc
eros . Mr. Pinter's buses really run; his observation
may be appalled, but it is exact. His characters do
not use language to show that language doesn't work; ^
they use it as a cover for their fear and loneliness. ^
Certainly, Pinter's plays, especially in their
dialogue, are more realistic than those of the French
avant-garde. The Birthday Party is not traditional in form
and content, however. As in The Room, motives, backgrounds
and morality are missing. A new genre was created to de
fine the nature of this play, and it seems best able to en
compass the unique qualities of the play without confound
ing the confusion caused by calling the play ruthless real
ism or absurdity. Irving Wardle calls The Birthday Party
166
a Comedy of Menace, and other critics accept this term
and apply it to the other early Pinter plays.
Calling the play a Comedy of Menace removes it from,
^^Cf. ante, p. 23. (Critics reject comparisons be
tween Pinter and Beckett.)
^^Bowen, op. cit., p. 162.
1
Wardle, "Comedy of Menace," Encore Reader, loc. cit.j
Cf. ante, p. 22.
107
the metaphysical realm embodied in Theatre of the Absurd
while divorcing it from conventional requirements of real
ism. The critics may differ on the nature of the menace:
R. P. Storch says that the menace proceeds from the very
heart of the bourgeois family"*"^ while so many others say
it comes from society. Nonetheless, the new term provides
a good basis for describing The Birthday Party:
The broad comedy of the opening darkens only slowly,
and if we did not feel much sympathy for anyone in
particular by the end of the play, we were frightened
into recognizing that what we had seen was something
more than an allegory about an artist in society,
something we might conceivably apply, if we dared, to
ourselves, whatever our class, cultural references,
or history might be. JThis feeling matures later in
The Caretaker. . . .loo
III. The Caretaker
Plot Synopsis
The curtain opens to reveal a young man in a leather
Jacket, sitting on a bed in a room piled with an extraordi
nary collection of Junk: buckets, boxes, a sink, a ladder,
a clothes horse, short planks of wood, an old toaster, a
pile of newspapers, a gas stove (unconnected) with a statue
of Buddha on top. A bucket hangs from the ceiling. The
young man, Mick, looks at the things? he hears voices off-
i67r. p. Storch, "Harold Pinter's Happy Families," The
Massachusetts Review, VIII (Autumn, 1967), 712.
'^^Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 63.
169
stage and leaves quickly.
Aston* a young man* and Davies, an old tramp* enter
the room; Davies begins discussing how he met Aston.
Davies worked at a cafe* and Aston (a customer at the time)
stepped in to save him from an attack by one of the other
employees. Davies' ranting about the Scotch "git" who
meant to attack him and his delusions of superiority give
the story humor and show how the Scotch "git" could have
170
been goaded into attacking him. 1
Davies investigates the room and asks a number of
questions about the contents and the surrounding territory*
but Aston gives brief and stumbling answers. Davies asks
for a pair of shoes; tells about a friend of his; mentions
going to a monastery; and asks about "the Blacks" next
door. Aston finds some shoes* but Davies rejects them.
Davies gives the details about his trip to the monastery:
he asked the monk at the door for some shoes* and the monk
said* "Piss off." Davies demanded his rights* so they gave
him lunch but it was not very good. He asked again for
shoes* and an Irish "hooligan" came at him* causing him to
"'■^Pinter introduces a character who will be used
again later but without prolonging the exposition (Mr. Kidd
and Lulu prolonged exposition in the earlier plays). Pin
ter uses the setting to tell about the personality of the
room's occupant. Pinter uses opportunities the stage of
fers more effectively than before.
■^^P inter begins by introducing the characters and the
situation* yet he supplies more background than he did in
previous plays.
109
"clear out."'1 '^'1 '
Aston does not question this story; he is remarkably
kind to Davies. He offers to let Davies stay until he gets
himself "fixed up," and Davies agrees to stay, tentative-
172
ly. 1 Davies asks many more questionsj Aston answers but
asks nothing about Davies in return. He gives Davies some
money. Finally Aston tells a story about himselfj he says
he got a mug of Guinness which was too thick when he went
to a pub. Aston finds nothing more to say, so he begins
poking a plug with a screwdriver. [Aston is an unfamiliar
character; the audience will not find him to be as recog
nizable as Davies.]
Abruptly, Davies begins his favorite story, his
excuse for his lack of progress. He says that his papers
are in Sidcup, and if the weather would break, he would go
there and get straightened out. He worries because he has
an insurance card under his assumed name, Bernard Jenkins,
and it only has four stamps on it. He reveals his "real"
17^
name to Aston and complains again about the weather. '
171
This story proves to be as prophetic as Stanley's
dialogue in The Birthday Party; Pinter foreshadows the con
clusion.
^^Pinter reveals a great deal about Davies but very
little about Aston; thus this long exposition still leaves
questions about motivation.
173^13 is a misleading clue to action. Davies’ pro
crastination does not affect the outcome of the play.
110
Davies seems to be feeling more at home in his new sur
roundings; he accepts Aston's suggestion that he go to bed.
174
The scene ends. '
The first complication is revealed in the next
scene: Davies makes noises at night which bother Aston.
Davies denies "jabbering" and blames the noises on the
Blacks next door. Aston prepares to go out, and Davies of
fers to go out too, believing that Aston will not want him
to be there alone. Aston tells him to stay; Aston is not
suspicious of Davies. Davies suggests that Aston might be
the one who was making noises; Aston changes the subject
to tell about a woman in a cafe who asked to look at his
body. Davies is amazed, but the story is so interesting
that he appropriates it for himself, saying that women
have asked him the same thing.
Both characters switch from one subject to another;
Aston asks Davies again what his real name is. Davies is
able to give his name but unable or unwilling to say where
he was born. He also does not remember that Aston gave
175
him money, but Aston reminds him. ' ^ Davies outlines some
amorphous plans for going to Wembley to get a job (if he
could get there). Aston leaves.
* * ■ ^"Pinter established the situation and suggested the
dramatic problem in the first scene; it will be difficult
for such dissimilar characters to get along.
175The theme of the problem of verification gains a
Ill
Once Davies is alone he prepares to betray Aston's
trust, using the key Aston gave him to lock the door and
putting on the shoes he refused to accept before. As he
rummages through the junk in the room (making disparaging
comments), a key turns in the door, and Mick slips in
side, Mick watches for a moment and then grabs Davies'
arm and wrestles him to the floor. Mick stands looking
down at Davies and then looks at the room, Davies starts
to rise, but Mick presses him down with his foot. Mick
watches Davies and finally speaks, saying, "What's the
game?" Act One ends with this startling and theatrical
scene.[Again, Pinter contrives action to occur before
intermission.]
Act Two opens upon the same scene: Davies is on the
floor and Mick is asking questions, some serious but others,
amusing. Mick devotes much of his time to long, rambling
reminiscences about peculiar people he says Davies re
sembles. Mick repeats several of his questions, asking ;
new dimension: Davies deliberately conceals and forgets
things.
^ "^Pinter prepares the audience for a confrontation
without giving the impression of creating deliberate mys
tery. Though the audience knows nothing of Mick's motives,
they have not been prevented from acquiring this knowledge
by any frustrating devices.
^"^P inter uses action to arouse interest at the point ;
where the audience must be involved or fail to return from i
intermission. He knows the importance of action.
■^^Pinter creates another character who, like Gold
berg, uses speech to keep others off guard. i
112
Davies' name and whether he slept well.1^ Davies gives
his assumed name. Mick announces that the place belongs to
him, but Davies refuses to believe it. Mick complains that
Davies is "stinking out" his beautiful place, then reverses
1 Q / - \
himself and offers to rent or sell the place to Davies.
Aston's return interrupts this scene. Aston simply
looks at the other two, then returns to fixing his plug. A
drip sounds in the bucket overhead, prompting a casual con
versation between Mick and Aston about the leaky roof (they
obviously know each other). Aston tells Davies: "I got
your bag," and he gives it to Davies. Mick rises and
snatches it, initiating a game of keep-away among the three
characters. Finally Aston takes the bag and gives it to
Mick instead of Davies (as he had done earlier in the
game), and Mick is willing to give the bag to Davies. Mick
•1 O - i
has affirmed his control of the situation; he leaves.
Davies asks Aston who the man was, and Aston re
veals that Mick is his brother and does, indeed, own the
place. Aston is decorating the house for Mick, but Aston's
■^^Pinter encourages the audience to suppose that Mick;
knows about Davies' assumed name. Pinter suggests that
offstage conversations occur.
“ J O /-v
Pinter seeks to interest the audience in the char
acter— Mick's actions are incongruous; the audience must
wonder about the game he is playing.
-1 Q T
Pinter uses the theme of dominance and subservience;
again and in a manner resembling the interrogation and j
party in The Birthday Party: the situation is like a game, ;
but it has serious undertones.
113
conversation about the project shows that he procrastinates
as much as Davies does. All Aston's plans hinge upon build
ing a shed for a workshop., but he has not been able to ac-
182
complish it. Davies is not listening; he is concerned
that the bag Aston brought is not the one left at the cafe.
Aston reports that he bought a substitute when he could not
retrieve the original. Davies is dissatisfied until he
finds a smoking-jacket in the bag; it suits his penchant
for self-agrandizement so he accepts it.
Aston chooses this happy moment to offer Davies
the job of caretaker for the place. Despite Davies' ob
vious foibles, Aston is interested in making their relation
ship permanent. They both stumble and falter in their
speech when discussing the offer until Aston mentions the
caretaker's duty of answering the doorbell. Davies offers
an unbroken stream of objections. He says that the Scotch
git or someone looking for his insurance card might come to
- I Q j i
the door. [The plot has no discernible direction at
this point.]
The lights fade on the scene between Davies and
182
These illusions (the shed and Sidcup) reveal char- ;
acter, but they do not shape the action. It never makes
any difference that both men avoid their goals.
■'"^Pinter expands further upon his previous treatment
of the problem of verification: Davies is not able to grasp!
Aston's motive for the job offer, so he neither accepts it
nor decides to leave.
184
Davies fears things which do not happen.
114
Aston., and then they come up a bit to reveal the room dark
ened and ostensibly empty. Davies enters and tries to turn
on the lights, but the switch will not work. He tries to
light a match but drops the box, and it is kicked away.
Suddenly the electrolux starts to hum; the nozzle moves
along the floor after Davies who dives away and falls. The
electrolux stops, and a figure jumps on Aston's bed and
turns on the light ; the light reveals Mick who says he was
doing his "spring cleaning."'1 '^
Davies flattens himself against the wall, knife in
hand, and though Mick ignores the "threat" Davies offers,
Mick says he is impressed with Davies' bearing. Mick be
comes friendly and confides his worries about Aston to
Davies. Mick says that Aston is "shy of work" and asks
Davies' advice, but when Davies agrees that Aston is a
"funny bloke," Mick stands up for his brother, accusing
1
Davies of being hypercritical. Mick announces that he
is thinking of running the place; he asks Davies to be
caretaker. Davies checks to see who is landlord and
18r
^Pinter creates unique physical actions for Mick in
order to sustain some audience interest in the area of ac
tion.
■'■^Pinter never explains the relationship between Mick
and Aston. Pinter makes the same information available to
the audience that is available to Davies.
1^Pinter does not provide a reason for this coinci
dence. The audience will feel inclined to search for a
reason; they will not necessarily accept Mick's choice as
logical.
0
accepts the job. He tells about his references in Sidcup
and transfers his allegiance completely by asking Mick for
a pair of shoes.
The next scene exhibits the events of the next
morning. Aston awakens Davies for the trip to Sidcup but
admits that the weather is bad. Aston starts to mention
the nightly noises, but Davies takes the offensive, com
plaining about the open window which lets the rain in on
his head. Aston will not close the windowj he suggests
that Davies turn so that his feet, rather than his head,
face the window.
Aston begins to talk about the cafe down the road
where he used to go. (The lights dim as he speaks until
only he can be seen clearly.) He tells about being taken
to a hospital where something was done to his brain with a
machinej it left him unable to think clearly. Afterwards
he thought he would die; however, he improved, and his
brother give him the job of remodeling the place. He
blames other people for what happened, and he would like to
go back to the hospital to find the man who did it to him.
He says he will build his shed first, and he will avoid
1 flft
Pinter gives his chief character a significant
choice, but it appears late in the play.
■^%To new complications result from Davies’ acceptance
of Mick's offer. Pinter continues to concentrate on situa
tion.
116
places like the cafe."^0 Aston's long (3i pages) speech
provides many reasons for his present demeanor, yet it comes
at the end of Act Two, after Aston has made acute choices
in relation to Davies. [Pinter does not end this act with
a distinctive action.]
Act Three begins two weeks after the previous
scene. Davies tells Mick (they are alone) that Aston has
done some work on the roofj still Davies complains about
the dangers of the bucket hanging overhead. Davies com
plains about everything that Aston does or does not do.
Davies admits that he cannot understand Aston— Aston has
no feelings— but he (Davies) and Mick could get the place
191
going. ^ Mick describes all the things he could do to the
place, install "teal-blue, copper and parchment linoleum
squares," a table in "afromosia teak veneer,"-**92 an^ 0£her
elaborate features. Davies asks who would live in the
place then, and Mick replies, "My brother and me."'1 ‘ 93 When
■'■^Pinter concentrates on character to the extent of
giving one a long biography. He has suggested that not all
of Aston's speech is true, but critics (and the audience)
tend to take it literally.
‘ ^ ‘ ' ‘ Pinter shows that Davies is trying to gain control
of the place, yet neither of the other characters reacts
directly to Davies' efforts. The action never becomes a
coherent whole because the characters are secretive, and
character is the most important element.
"^^Harold Pinter, The Caretaker and The Dumb Waiter
(New York: Grove Press Inc., i960), p. 63. i
■^The characters' evasions of communication include
117
Davies asks about himself, Mick looks at the things In the
room and says that Aston's junk Is no good.
Davies Ignores Mick's negative implicationsj he con
tinues his campaign to show that Aston should not be in
charge. Mick complains of Aston too, but he says that
104
Davies should talk to Aston. ^ Davies goes on with his
self-pitying descriptions, saying that he peeks through
his blanket to see Aston smiling in his direction. Davies
tells Mick to speak to Aston, but when Mick hears the door
bang offstage, he leaves. [Davies effort to gain the place
is designed to interest the audience, but it, like Petey's
effort in The Birthday Party, has no bearing on the resolu
tion. ] Aston brings shoes which Davies rejects because
they have no laces. Aston finds some brown laces, but
Davies complains that they do not match the black shoes.
He starts to talk about Sidcup again, and Aston leaves
quietly. Davies talks until he realizes that Aston is gone;
IQS
he becomes angry as the lights dim.
Aston wakes Davies in the middle of the night to
complain about his noises in the next scene. Davies turns
both sender and receiver: Davies accepts no negative com
ments from Mick.
"'■^This is an important expression of Mick's motives,
but Pinter does not stress it. This is one statement among
many.
"^This scene is redundant. It does not advance the
action, and the subtle change in Aston (his lack of inter- I
est in Davies) has already been mentioned. j
on Aston, calling him crazy and insulting him in every way.
When Aston makes a slight move, Davies draws his knife.
Aston tells him to find somewhere else; Davies replies that
Aston should go because Mick wants Davies to be caretaker.
(Aston seems surprised.) Davies tells Aston to build his
"stinking" shed. Aston stares and moves toward him; he
tells Davies: "You stink." Davies thrusts his knife toward
Aston's stomach but Aston does not move. Aston collects
the bag and Davies' things. Davies leaves, saying, "Now I
know who I can trust.The climax ends with Davies'
1Q7
change of fortune.
The next scene exhibits the confrontation between
Mick and Davies. Mick commiserates with Davies about being
told he stank. Davies reports that he told Aston about the
job offer, and Aston said that he_ lived there. Mick re
plies that Aston is right, that it is a "fine legal point."
Davies reports that he told Aston to go "back where he
come from." Mick says that Davies is out of his depth.
Mick announces that he will do up the place but Davies had
better be a good interior decorator. Davies denies ever
claiming to be a decorator; he says that Aston must have
' 1 '^Pinter, The Caretaker, op. cit., p. 73.
■'"^Pinter has given the audience no reason to suppose
that Mick will help Davies, yet Pinter must have a scene
between Mick and Davies in order to fully resolve the ac
tion. The most significant actions have been initiated by
Mick and Davies even though they are not clearly identified
as conflicting forces.
119
given Mick the wrong information because Aston is "nut-
Mick walks slowly to him, asking who is nutty.
Mick describes Davies as strange, a man who makes trouble,
tells lies, acts like a wild animal, recommends himself as
a decorator and claims references he never tries to get.
He says that he is compelled to pay Davies offj he tosses
half a dollar at Davies' feet. Davies says it is all right
if it is what Mick wants. Mick shouts that it is and hurls
Aston's Buddha against the stove. Mick broods to himself
and concludes that Aston can worry about the place.^9
Davies asks: "What about me?" There is silence.
Aston comes in; the brothers look at each other
and smile faintly; Mick leaves.Davies tells Aston that
he came back for his pipe, but Aston just pokes at his
plug. Davies takes an interest in the plug, yet he admits
that he knows nothing about it. In the absence of a re-
^ Pinter makes Davies responsible for his own fate.
Any action which Davies might initiate would result in a
loss of that which he desires.
199pinter draws Mick as a complex character whose il
lusions about the remodeling seem to have led to his offer
of the job to Davies, then to anger, and ultimately to a
rejection of his illusion. This is only one possible ex
planation, however; the critics do not interpret him this
way.
2<^Pinter invites the audience to suppose that the
brothers were supporting each other all along, yet Aston
seemed genuinely surprised when he heard of Mick's offer
to Davies. Mick's motives are complex even though he is of
lesser importance.
120
sponse Davies admits that Aston was a good friend, and he
says that he (Davies) made the noises at night. [Davies'
repentance reveals new aspects of his character.] He pro
poses that he and Aston exchange beds so that he can sleep
away from the draught, but Aston refuses. Aston says he
201
will be busy with his shed, so Davies promises to help.
Aston remains unmoved by Davies' predicament; he
turns his back. Davies asks: "What shall I do?" Davies
keeps talking; he says nice things about the shoes Aston
gave him, but it is too late for gratitude. Davies falls
back on his last resource: he offers to go to Sidcup for
his papers. There is a long silence, and the curtain
202
falls.
Analysis of Plot Construction
The Caretaker was Pinter's first big success as a
playwright; the play won the Evening Standard Drama Award
for best play in London, and the Page One Award of the
Newspaper Guild of New York.2^ The play is also most suc-
201
Pinter shows that Davies can learn from experience;
Davies gains sympathy.
202
Pinter does not bother to conclude the action by
directing Davies to leave.
20S
■^Two critics believe the play's success was a re
sult of the timing of its appearance. Reid Douglas, "The
Failure of English Realism, Tulane Drama Review, VII
;(Winter, 1962), l8l, says it was best of the plays of the
realistic movement, then current. Hayman, op. cit., p. 36,
says Pinter1s name was very much in fashion. Most other
critics believe that the play succeeded on its own merits.
121
cessful In meeting the criteria for characterization.
po4
When judged by the first criterion, the play re
veals none of the problems of logic exhibited by the ear
lier plays. There is no dichotomy between structural and
causal logic in The Caretaker. The motives of the charac
ters determine the structure of the plot as each pursues
his own purposes by encountering the others.
The structure has none of the obvious plotting
which occurred in the previous plays; no character announces
that someone is coming before he arrives. In The Caretaker
the audience does not know who will appear or when. None
theless, when a character appears, he has a reason for his
action. These reasons are not always readily available,
the characters conceal their thoughts from each other, but
the motives of Davies and Aston become decipherable to the
audi enc e. 2<“ ^
Ostensibly the plot exhibits one action: Davies ar
rives and Davies leaves.2^ Within this framework other
actions develop which cannot be described as simply. Aston
Initiates one action: he tries to be kind to Davies in
every way but finds he must put Davies out because Davies
denigrates his (Aston's) principal goal: building a shed.
2 0 V ante, p. 5. (Logical structure.)
205Cf. post, pp. 134-135. (Exposition.)
20^Cf. ante, p. 6. (Unity of action.)
122
Mick Initiates another action: he tries to dominate
and control Davies in an effort to control Aston unobtru
sively; he., too, rejects Davies because Davies fails to ad
vance his (Mick's) two goals: fixing the place and helping
Aston to recover. As a result of his dealings with Davies,
Mick chooses one goal (Aston's recovery) and forgets the
other (fixing the place).
Davies is involved at first only with reacting to
the actions of the other two characters. Mick's and Aston's
motives are not clear to him; he evaluates them in terms of
his own experience and misinterprets his situation, believ
ing he can trust Mick but not Aston. It is not until half
way through the play that Davies initiates his action of
trying to gain control of the room. Neither of the other
characters reacts to Davies' goal; Mick says he rejects him
for being unqualified to fix the place; Aston says he rejects
him for making noises at night. Neither rejects Davies for
207
trying to gain control. 1 Nonetheless, action is unified
around the character of Davies; his presence motivates the
others and his faults cause his own expulsion.
The action of The Caretaker has more scope than
207^13 lack of understanding is the subject of the
action. "There has been a meeting, a bumping, an abrasion.
The meeting has been suspenseful because anything at all
could happen," Kerr, op. clt., p. 27. "Man is a mystery
. . . living in his own separate world which impinges only ;
by accident on others equally separate," Boulton, op. cit.,
p. 132. |
123
the action of the previous plays, especially The Birth
day Party. Davies fortunes change several times: he begins
In a lowly position, yet he has gained a friend who gives
him both a room and some money. His fortunes improve as
Aston offers everything he should want: a job, shoes and
personal privacy. His fortunes fall again as he accepts
the wrong offer, yet Aston still offers all the same com
forts .
Davies' fortunes do not change for the worse until
he attacks his friend; only then he is expelled from the
place. At this point he recognizes some of his mistakes
and tries to return; he is forced to leave again. Because
he had a chance (in contrast to Rose and Stanley) and be
cause he learned something, his fall is greater than it
might have been.2^
The play has a beginning; Mick is in the room be
cause he owns the place and he is interested in his broth
er's welfare. These facts are not established until Act
Two, yet they need not be established earlier. The begin
ning serves to show that Mick has some connection with the
place; since he is the least important character, the
2°8Cf. ante, p. 6. (Magnitude.)
2^Esslin says the end almost assumes the "cosmic
proportions of Adam's expulsion from Paradise." Theatre of
the Absurd, op. cit., p. 211. Taylor agrees in Anger and
After, op. cit., p. 301. Hayman, op. cit., p. 42, says:
"The parting between Aston and Davies at the end of the
play has an odd kind of poignancy."
details can be explained later.
The beginning of the action between Aston and
Davies follows from the fight in the cafe". The fight is
described in detail, so it need not be shown. The begin
nings , then, follow nothing by causal necessity] their
causes may be explained later. The invitation Aston offers
in the beginning leads directly to the middle section which
exhibits the complications in this relationship. It is
followed by the end which exhibits the disintegration and
dissolution of their arrangement.
After the final scene the audience does not need to
210
see anything else. They can be sure that Davies leaves
(in at least one production he went to the door as the cur
tain fell) and finds another temporary refuge. The play
has the requisite structural sections, and they are In the
proper proportion to one another. The first act presents
the beginning without extraneous scenes. The second act is
a bit longer, and It develops the complications. The third
act has the climax at its mid-point, followed by two brief
211
scenes which resolve the dramatic problem.
In The Caretaker Pinter avoids the structural prob
lems his other plays exhibited, and he avoids most of the
difficulties in meeting the criterion for plausibility.
21<^Cf. ante, p. 6. (Aristotle's definition of the
beginning, middle and end.)
211Cf. ante, p. 12. (Proper proportion.)
125
There are no dark mysterious characters or allusions to
outside forces in The Caretaker. There is no real violence
212
since Mick never hurts Davies.
Pinter says: "I had thought originally that the
play must end with the violent death of one at the hands of
the other. But then I realized, when I got to the point,
that the characters as they had grown could never act in
this way."2^ The characters do grow and reveal motives
which make them much more plausible than Riley, Bert, Gold
berg and McCann.
Mick's violence and Davies' threats of violence are
expressions of their desires for position. When explaining
the violence in The Dumb Waiter, Pinter says: "The violence
is really only an expression of the question of dominance
and subservience, which is possibly a repeated theme in my
pi 4
plays." It is a theme in this play, but the results dif
fer from those in The Room and The Birthday Party.
In the earlier plays the characters who dominated
others succeeded in vanquishing them. In The Caretaker
Davies fails despite all his efforts, and Mick is only
P I P
Most critics believe there is no mystery nor menace.;
Taylor, Anger and After, op. cit., p. 298. Wardle, "There's
Music in That Room,'' op. cit., p. 130. Esslin, Theatre of
the Absurd, op. cit., p. 211. Kitchin, op. cit.j p5 114. I
^%arold Pinter, "Harold Pinter Replies, " New Theatre:
Magazine, II (January, 1961), 10.
21^Pinter, "The Art of the Theatre," op. cit., p. 30.
126
partially successful. Aston proves the strongest by not
trying to dominate others, yet he is little better off at
the end than he was at the beginning. The play incorpor-
215
ates this theme without demonstrating a point of view. ^
Some of the critics give the action an allegorical
interpretation, but as is often the case, they disagree;
each perceives a different allegory. Florence Jeanne Good
man believes that Davies is gross humanity and Aston is
Christ: "There is no doubt about the Christ image as the
gentle host, tortured beyond endurance by his savage
216
guest." Other critics show that there is grave doubt
about Aston's image; in fact, they believe that it is
Davies who is tortured. William A. Armstrong says the play
is "an allegorical revelation of man's inability to find
his place and purpose in the scheme of things. Ruby
Cohn is more specific: "Instead of allowing an old man to
die beaten, the System insists on tantalizing him with faint
hope, thereby immeasurably increasing his final desperate
21^Dick, op. cit., p. 261, disagrees. She believes
that violence, personified by Mick, collapses, and passive
resistance, embodied in Aston, triumphs. Mick, however, is
not really violent, nor is Aston triumphant.
2l6
Florence Jeanne Goodman, "Pinter's The Caretaker:
The Lower Depths Descended," Midwest Quarterly, V (Winter,
1964), 123.
‘ ^William A. Armstrong, "Tradition and Innovation in
the London Theatre, 1960-61," Modern Drama, IV (September, j
1961), 190. Boulton offers a variation of this theme: lifei
is an uncertain journey, op. cit., pp. 137-138.
127
218
anguish. Martin Esslin believes that the characters are
both meticulously observed individuals and archetypes of
219
the conflict between sons and fathers. ^
Arnold P. Hinchliffe sympathizes with the critics
who find an allegorical meaning, even though he rejects
their ideas. He says:
The urge to allegorize is of course reasonable. In a
sense, any meaning wrested from the play depends upon
attaching labels to the characters and situations in
order, ultimately, to make the play into an equation. .
. . Sometimes a critic sees the play as part of a de
veloping line of ideas and is encouraged to do so by
Pinter's almost compulsive, yet modified, re-use of
material.220
Other critics agree that the play does not require an al-
221
legorical interpretation.
The action of The Caretaker takes as its subject
Pinter's belief in the shifting nature of reality. Davies
cannot verify his past, and Mick will not say where he
lives or works. Mick and Aston begin as characters who are
combinations of the real and unreal: they appear to be the
222
disjointed halves of one personality. One half accepts
^^Cohn, "The World of Harold Pinter," op. cit., p. 67.
21^Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 110.
220Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 103.
ppi .
Bamber Gascoigne, Twentieth Century Drama (London:
;Hutchinson University Library, 1963)> p. 207. 3’ ohn Arden,
"Book Reviews. The Caretaker," New Theatre Magazine, I
(July, I960), 30.
222Gordon, op. cit., p. 4l; and Esslin, The Peopled
Wound, op. cit., p. 109.
Davies without reservations while the other attacks and
toys with him. Both develop, however, into distinct char
acters.
The subject of the play is not the idea that people
outside the dramatic situation (the audience) cannot verify
the facts but that the characters, themselves, never under
stand anything about the others. Pinter says "We don't
carry labels on our chests, and even though they are con-
COO
tinually fixed to us by others, they convince nobody."
In this play the characters try to label the others, but
the labels prove wrong. Each is left with no idea about
the motives of the others because he had been convinced by
the labels he had devised for them.
Pinter has expanded upon his theme of the shifting
nature of reality to show plainly that no one can categor
ize it. In The Room Rose accepted Riley and his message
and feared Bert even though the audience did not understand
Riley or suspect Bert. In The Birthday Party Stanley
feared Goldberg and McCann but the audience could not de
cipher their backgrounds. In The Caretaker the audience
knows more than the characters do, though even the audience
does .not learn everything about their motives.
The treatment of the subject is more effective in
this play since the characters are better embodiments of it.
22^Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," op. cit., p.
129
Questions of plausibility are raised by some of the critics:
224 225
Mick is too mysterious and Davies too unpleasant for
these characters to be wholly acceptable to everyone.
Other critics who like the play err by trying to limit its
subject to a single level of meaning. Some believe that
the theme recalls Eugene O'Neill's treatment of illusion
226 227
in The Iceman Cometh; human destructiveness; 1 the
228
necessity of playing society's games; and the strength
22Q
of family ties against an intruder. Each of these in
terpretations explains something of the theme of the play,
but each is only a partial explanation of the play's power.
Martin Esslin takes note of the differing critical
interpretations in The Peopled Wound:
There is an element of truth in all these interpreta
tions, provided we keep in mind that they are all
equally relevant and that they are not intentional on
the part of the author. The starting point is not the
possible interpretation but the concrete image— two
young men and one old one, a room. The more concretely,
individually, and realistically this situation is en
acted and thereby explored in depth, the greater its
complexity and richness of human associations will be-
224 n
Hayman, op. cit., p. 38.
22^Douglas, loc. cit.
PPfi
Alan S. Downer, "Experience of Heroes; Notes on the
New York Theatre, 1961-1962," The Quarterly Journal of
Speech, XLVIII (October, 1962), 266.
22^Wardle, loc. cit.
228
Gordon, op. cit., p. 50.
22^Arden, loc. cit.
130
come., the wider the general implications that radiate
outward from this central image.230
Mr. Esslin believes that the person who directs a theatri
cal production of the play should not impose a single in
terpretation upon it.
The play is successful in the theatre, and it con
tinues to he produced in colleges and little theatres. Per
haps the observations of Albert McCleery, owner of the
McLoren Playhouse in Los Angeles, explain the type of audi
ence the play attracts. He reports that the audiences for
his production of The Caretaker consisted of young people.
He was somewhat surprised because another contemporary play
231
his theatre produced attracted a much older audience.
It is not surprising, however, that college-age people
should be drawn to the play. They are most likely to have
studied Pinter and to be aware of his original contribu
tions to drama.
The traditional critic would be concerned about the
lack of action in the play. The plot does not gain and
maintain i n t e r e s t ;232 as in previous plays the audience’s
interest is first aroused by the language and humor. The
dramatic problem between Davies and Aston is established
23°Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 113. |
23^Albert McCleery, interview with Hal Marienthal,
Theatre Beat," KCET Los Angeles, Calif., October 5* 1970.
232Cf. ante, p. 9. (Action must maintain interest.)
131
during the second scene, but it arouses little curiosity
since the problem of the noises appears to be a minor com
plication.
The third scene creates mystery and suspense, but
it does not seem to be directly connected to the original
situation. Mick's attack appears at first to be extraneous;
it does not increase the tensions suggested in the first
two scenes. After the surprise of the attack the first
scene of Act Two offers less action of interest; Mick is
0 -3-3
revealed not to be a serious threat after all.
The game of keep-away which follows Aston's entrance
shows the way that Mick will fit into the relationship be
tween Aston and Davies. The game exhibits the dramatic
problem in all its complexity and causes renewed curiosity.
The action of the next scene between Davies and Aston does
not increase this curiosity, however, since it serves first
to explain Mick's position and then to curtail Davies' op
tions. Once Davies refuses Aston's offer the action seems
to have no new direction in which to develop.
The next scene with Mick revives interest both by
Mick's pursuit of Davies with the electrolux and by Mick's
i
offer and Davies' acceptance. This is the first really
significant change in the original situation, and it arouses;
suspense about what Mick may be planning and about the re- ;
2^%ayman, op. cit., p. 38, says Mick is only effec
tive when silent. I
132
actions of the others. The traditional critic would expect
to see the results of the change in dramatic situation es
tablished in this scene.
The scene which follows reveals no such results.
Though Davies complains even more, he says nothing about
Mick's Job offer. The only action in the scene is Aston's
choice to discuss his
audience's previously
impact. As action it
tensity; it gives the
character rather than
The action of
one scene only to let
act builds in intensity, yet even this act has a scene, its
second, which fails to advance the action. The first scene
of the act reveals Davies' plan to gain the room for him
self, and though the audience sees that the plan cannot suc-
235
ceed, they will be interested in knowing more about it.
^ Arden, op. cit., p. 29, believes that it is "imper
tinent" to question the necessity for this speech. Gordon,
op. cit., p. 48, feels it is one of Pinter's most haunting
speeches. Hayman, op. cit., p. 37* believes that the au
dience is supposed to swallow it whole. Pinter, "Art of
the Theatre," op. cit., p. 30, says that it is not neces
sarily true. Wardle's comments are pertinent in a discus
sion of audience interest and involvement. He says: "My ■
objection to the speech is that it gives a character a j
biography instead of style of speaking." "There's Music in!
That Room," op. cit., p. 131.
235"The end is predictable and inevitable," Hayman,
op. cit., p. 4l.
past, yet his speech depends on the
established interest in him for its
is another detour from building in
audience biographical detail about a
234
allowing them to discover it.
the first two acts gains interest in
it subside in the next. The third
133
The second scene only repeats Davies' complaintsj
Aston leaves. The third scene forms the climax, yet the
action can hardly be said to have risen steadily toward
this point. The confrontation between Davies and Aston is
the high-point of the action; the greatest emotion is re
vealed, and the chief character's fortunes turn for the
worst.
The resolution maintains a high level of interest
because a second confrontation is desired by the audience.
Davies confronts Mick who is driven to anger by Davies' ac
cusations against Aston while Davies is driven to despera
tion by his predicament. This scene is a companion to the
climax and resolves the second line of action: the rela
tionship between Mick and Davies.
The final scene clarifies the precise position of
Davies' fortunes since it exhibits the things Davies has
and has not learned from his experience. The audience sees
that there is no hope for Davies in the future, that he has:
lost his last chance to find a refuge. There is no sus
pense engendered by this scene, yet it maintains interest
through Davies' new action of presenting a solution for
his problem with Aston.
A combination of action and interest in the charac-;
ter sustains the final scene as it must sustain all the
scenes. Action alone cannot maintain interest since its
level of intensity is too often allowed to subside.
134
The traditional structural elements exist In The
Caretaker, hut they function no more conventionally than in
Pinter's previous plays. The exposition does not pro
vide as much extraneous information as it did in the other
early plays. There are no minor characters, like Mr. Kidd,
Lulu and Meg and Petey, who impede the progress of the ac
tion while their characteristics are explored. Pinter uses
the resources of the stage more effectively: the cluttered
room tells a great deal ahout Aston.
Expository information continues throughout the
play; it is not presented in a few scenes in the beginning.
It is not normally provided when the traditional critic
2^7
feels it is needed to explain the action, however. Ex
cept for the first scene in which Davies describes the
fight and the monastery, information is provided after the
point where the audience needs it: Aston's long speech
comes at the end of Act Two; his relationship to Mick is
revealed in the second scene of Act Two; Mick's interest in
the room is revealed in detail in the first scene of Act
Three.
The first scene of the play is the only one which
gives exposition prospectlvely. Davies' story about the
monastery has remarkable parallels to what will happen in
236Cf. ante, p. 3. (Criterion for structural ele
ments, )
2^Cf. ante, p. 10. (Exposition.)
135
the play and what happened in the cafe'. Mick will greet
Davies with hostility more extensive than that expressed
by the monk. Mick will allow Davies to stay and will of
fer Davies a job as caretaker, just as the monk offered a
lunch. Yet Davies will complain of ill treatment at the
hands of Aston, as he complained of the lunch, whereupon
Aston and Mick will force Davies to go, as the big Irish
monk did.
The audience hears other information from Davies
which has no application to the action. He fears that
someone will come after him and find his insurance card,
but no one comes and no one is concerned with his card. He
is obvious in his avoidance of his promised trip to Sidcup,
but it never makes any difference that he does not go.
Davies' concerns add dimension to his characterization,
but they lead nowhere.
In this play there remain questions which are never
answered: it is difficult to know what the relationship be
tween Mick and Aston actually is. Both admit to being
brothers, but no one can be certain whether Mick allows
Aston to decorate the place because of a sense of duty,
because of brotherly love, or because of a mutual neurotic
dependence. Nonetheless, explanations such as these can
occur to the audience; there is enough exposition to
stimulate the imagination.
136
The nature of the conflict is not easy to iso-
288
late. J The separate threads of the action are emhodied
in separate conflicts which never mesh exactly. Davies be
lieves that he and Aston are the opposing forces. In
Davies' mind he and Aston both desire the room, and since
it proves increasingly difficult for them to share it, he
must be Aston's foe. Davies chooses to obtain the prize by
getting Mick to see how much better it would be if he,
rather than Aston, took care of the room. Since Mick owns
the place, he is an integral part of Davies' version of
the conflict. Davies sees the struggle as one for Mick's
esteem as well as for the room itself. Therefore, his
strategy is to talk to Mick about plans for the place and
about Aston's weaknesses.
The other two characters see the situation differ
ently. Aston shows no signs of feeling threatened by
Davies in any way. He invited Davies to the room, and he
knows he can tell him to go; in fact, he does tell Davies
to go. Aston does so because he becomes aware of the fact
that they "don't hit it off.”28^ As far as he is concerned
there are no opposing forces; he was always good to Davies,
but when Davies hurts him, Davies must go.
238Cf. ante, p. 10. (Conflict should be between equal
forces.)
289pinter, The Caretaker, op. cit., p. 71*
137
Mick believes at first that he and Davies are op
posing forces because Davies upsets the status quo. When
Mick discovers that Davies does not pose much of a threat,
he decides to use Davies to stimulate Aston to work.
Mick’s strategy fails Just as Davies' strategy fails.
Mick regains sole possession of his brother's affection,
but he must abandon his hopes for the remodeling.
These opposing forces cannot be said to be equal
in claims on the right or in strength. Yet the conflicts,
themselves, reveal the actual strengths of the characters.
Davies' malevolent gile never avails him of the room be
cause he has misjudged the situation. Mick's~.forcefulness
never molds events to his will because he controls neither
Davies (except when they are together) nor Aston. Aston
proves the strongest because he has the room (it is a "fine
legal point") and accepts no interference with his domina
tion of it.
The confrontation between Aston and Davies forms
piin
the climax. It is shown on stage, yet all of their
differences are not brought to light. The two characters
show no more understanding of each other than they had
241
when they first met. Both are deeply insulted; this
2^Cf. ante, p. 11. (Climax.)
oh i
"Pinter maintains his mystery, even when his menac
ing forces are perfectly visible and in head-on confronta- ,
tion, by carefully denying them psychological access to ;
one another." Kerr, op. cit., p. 26. Boulton agrees that j
138
arouses their emotions. Davies draws his knife, but Aston
Is not frightened. The climax meets neither the charac
ters' nor the audience's expectations since neither brings
all the conflicts into the confrontation.
A second confrontation is necessary to bring to
gether Mick and Davies since Mick was not part of the cli
max. Mick tells Davies what he thinks of him just as
Davies had told Aston. Here again, however, pieces are
missing since Davies discusses only Aston, he never says
what he thinks of Mick. He no longer knows what to think.
One climax which included all three characters would have
been more satisfying to the traditional critic, yet Pinter's
design is to show the psychological isolation of his char
acters. He preserves their isolation in this way.
The second confrontation begins the denouement,
and the final scene reinforces Davies' isolation. Davies
recognizes that he should be grateful and adaptable. He
does not recognize that he should apologize. These scenes
resolve both threads of the action: Davies loses the room
he wanted for himself, and Mick loses hope for the room,
but without bringing all the conflicts into focus. The
denouement results in a knowledge of Davies' complexities,
242
but it remains incomplete.
conflict is an accident but believes that the audience
:gains insight into the human condition from seeing it.
Op. cit., p. 132.
^^Cf. ante, pp. 11-12. (Denouement.)
139
Action is determined by the motives of the charac
ters, and interest is dependent upon their qualities. The
Caretaker is more a character-study than either of the
243
earlier plays.
Analysis of Characterization
All of the characters are consistent in their con-
244
text. Aston undergoes a limited process of development
as he tries to relate to another person and then finds he
has the strength to preserve his possession in the face of
a threat.
In the beginning Aston is unable to converse freely
or to perform any meaningful work. He is able to befriend
another person, but the man he chooses is a derelict who
245
will invite no competition from other potential friends. ^
Davies is no more difficult to collect than the other
castoffs Aston has gathered into his room, and Aston dis
plays no more emotion toward him than he does toward the
junk.
Aston does everything he can to make his friend
242
Brown, "Mr. Pinterfs Shakespeare," op. cit., p.
254. Douglas believes that there is no plot or develop
ment, loc. cit. The criteria for plot construction reveal ■
that there is a plot, but it is not sufficiently effective j
to sustain interest. !
244Cf. ante, p. 13. (Characters should be consistent.):
24^His situation and his choice of friend hardly des- ;
ignate Aston as a Christ-figure. i
l4 o
happy, yet he is not able to tell Davies when he (Aston) is
displeased. Having Davies around helps Aston to regain his
ability to relate to other people again. He reviews his
past aloud in order to vanquish it. Though his long speech
is his own version of what happened— it is filled with
blame against others— it helps Aston deal with his situa-
, . 246
tion.
After Aston’s long speech, Davies reports that As-
247
ton is less talkative but has worked on the roof. 1 Aston
also shows that he needs Davies less by leaving when Davies
talks again about Sidcup. Aston has improved; he no longer
needs a friend no one else wants, and he makes some progress,
on the place. He proves how much he has changed when he
tells Davies to go; in previous scenes Aston had accepted
all of Davies’ ingratitude. Aston stifled all his adverse
reactions; he left the place rather than speak of them.
Aston's improvement has not been total, however.
He is still working on. the same plug and making the same
hopeful plans for the shed. He seems a bit closer to ac
tually building the shed, perhaps Davies' challenge has
helped, yet the shed is more a diversion than an aid to
2^Gordon, op. cit., p. 47* believes that Aston’s de
scription of his mother and friends gains complete sympathy. :
But Aston has not been "forsaken," his brother has provided;
for him.
2^Esslin, Theatre of the Absurd, op. cit., p. 213*
says that Aston’s work is a "seeking to get a foothold on
reality" in a world "increasingly deprived of meaning."
141
the work. Aston could expend the same effort on actually-
remodeling rather than building a workshop; one of the
other rooms could surely serve that purpose. Thus Aston
remains consistent; his improvement is both slight and
gradual.
Mick is consistently inconsistent; though his ac-
248
tions change, his purposes remain the same. He is a com
plex character even in his minor role; he wants both his
brother's esteem and progress on the place. When con
fronted by the presence of Davies, Mick is outwardly in
consistent; he alternates between violence and friendliness.
Mick keeps Davies off-balance by this strategy while amus
ing himself at Davies' expense. His inconsistency is a
strategy, a physical and verbal game in which only he knows
the rules and only he can enjoy himself.
Mick keeps up his games even after Davies has been
subdued; Mick needs to be certain that he controls Davies.
Mick's demonstration of insecurity suggests that Davies is
the first to disrupt the stable relationship he enjoyed
with his brother. Because Davies has come, Mick must adapt
to a new situation, and it takes him awhile to do so. The
audience sees the gradual process in which Mick relates to
Davies, yet the process is so involved with his games that
2^Cf. ante, p. 13. (A character can be consistently !
inconsistent 7}
142
It Is surprising that Mick offers Davies the job.2^
It becomes clear, however, that this Is a temporary
measure since Mick has no future plans which Include Davies.
Mick has not actually altered his purposes, he has tried to
use Davies to further them temporarily. When Aston expells
Davies, Mick realizes the futility of his own efforts.
Mick is free to reveal his dislike for Davies, the dislike
which prompted the games, but he can no longer hope for
change. Mick must choose his brother rather than the re
modeling.
Davies is almost too consistent; there is nothing
attractive about him until the final scene. His is amusing
in his foibles, both physical and verbal. His far-fetched
stories and elaborate fantasies amuse Aston and the audi
ence. Davies' debits outweigh his credits, however, since
he never tries to be pleasant; his humor is accidental
(Aston smiles only when he thinks Davies is asleep).2-^
Davies cannot understand his new situation in
which he cannot dominate Aston, yet Aston never tries to
dominate him. Davies is uncomfortable in a static situa
tion; he wants to change things, but Aston will change
%he audience must assume, as do some critics, that j
Mick's offer is part of a strategy to gain his own ends.
The audience will not know, however, what ends he hopes to i
gain. i
2-^Douglas believes that Pinter's only purpose was to j
evoke ridicule, loc. cit.
143
nothing. Davies is consistent in being unwilling to com
mit himself to staying there as Aston's caretaker. It is
both an expression of his ingratitude and an expression of
his disorientation in a relationship in which his customary
labels do not fit.
Davies feels comfortable with Mick because Mick is
dominant; Davies can label him. Once the label is in
place, Davies is consistent in reacting to nothing else.
He decides after Aston's long speech that he can label
Aston too; he decides Aston is subservient. He devises a
strategy with these "facts" in mind, but the strategy fails
because the labels are wrong and because Davies' self-as
sessment is also wrong.
The situation, his expulsion from the room, finally
brings forth Davies' best qualities, but he remains consis
tent. His best qualities are not good enough to reverse
the situation. Though he is able to be grateful, he per
sists in suggesting changes to a man who wants his comforts.;
Davies is unable to accept the collapse of his plans; he ,
returns to his fantasy about the all-purpose solution: the
papers in Sidcup. He is so consistent that a small change |
for the better in his personality changes the audience's
251
feelings about him.
In The Caretaker as in the earlier plays important
^■^Cf. ante, p. 123. (Footnote 209-)
144
actions precede the discovery of motives; hut Pinter does
not impose a murky background upon Aston and Davies in or
der to make them interesting to the audience as objects of
mystery.
Motives for Aston’s conduct are revealed in his
long speech. It explains why he is reticent in speech, why
it is difficult for him to carry through his plans to re
model the house, and why he has befriended and offered a
job to Davies. Aston is emulating his brother’s kindness
in rehabilitating someone who needs it badly; Aston, too,
is trying to be his brother's keeper.
A motive is necessary, of course, for the long
speech itself. Pinter's explanation is sparse, he says:
"Well, I had a purpose in the sense that Aston suddenly
opened his mouth. My purpose was to let him go on talking
per o
until he finished and then . . . bring the curtain down."
Certainly the speech gathers its own momentum, but Aston
should have his own purpose for beginning.
Just as the speech helps explain Davies presence,
Davies presence helps explain the speech. Aston’s ability
to befriend another person shows his improvement since his
illness. His discussion of the illness is another effort
to get better by reviewing his past and dismissing it.
Once he has done this he can grow even more in self-confi- ;
2^2Pinter, "Art of the Theatre," loc. cit. The ellip-;
sis is in the text. I
145
dence; he can become independent of his need for Davies
when Davies proves not to be a "brother." His new inde
pendence and self-confidence allow him to tell Davies to go.
When Davies disparages the shed, Aston becomes able to ex
press the feelings he has suppressed. He says to Davies:
"You stink. "2^3 iptiege motives, Davies' conduct and his
new resolve, combine with Mick's reassuring smile, to sus
tain Aston when Davies returns. He has adequate reasons to
reject Davies' request to stay.
Mick's motives are more obscure because Mick is so
successful in hiding them from Davies. Mick's desire is
to conceal his true nature; his long, rambling speeches
hide more than they reveal just as Goldberg's long speeches
did. Mick's physical attacks upon Davies also serve to
hide Mick's motives; the attacks are hostile yet they are
not designed to harm Davies.
Mick has an appropriate motive for his first at
tack upon Davies since Davies is rifling Aston's things.
The game of keep-away supplies motives for most of Mick's
actions since the game shows Mick to be jealous of his
brother's affections. Thus Mick attacks Davies not only to ;
protect Aston's things but to try to preserve Aston's af
fection for himself.
After Mick sees that Aston still cares most for him,!
^^Pinter, The Caretaker, op. cit., p. 72.
146
Mick must still deal with Davies. It is appropriate for
Mick to test his dominance over Davies once again, yet Mick
is more playful the second time. The results play into
Mick's hands; Mick finds himself ahle to order the events
surrounding Davies very easily. When Davies draws his
knife, Mick is able to pretend admiration and pave the way
for his Job offer. Mick says that the job offer is the
result of Aston's slow progress on the place, and to a
certain extent, this is true.
Mick needs a more adequate motive to explain the
coincidence. He may know about Aston's offer; he may real
ize that Aston wants Davies to stay. Some critics believe,
however, that Mick acts, not to help Aston, but to help
himself. They think that Mick is plotting to get Aston to
2S4 i t
expell Davies. This interpretation overlooks Mick's
own dreams and insecurity"2-^ about his brother and about
the house. Mick would like to see his brother begin work
in earnest, and he would like to have the house decorated
beautifully. He tries to use Davies not as. caretaker but
as a stimulus to Aston, either as competition, if Davies
tells about the job, or as a friend, if Davies offers help
in the building.
2-^John Russell Taylor, The Angry Theatre: New British;
Drama (New York: Hill and Wang, 1969)* p. 337. Gordon, !
op. cit., p. 46.
2-^Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 101.
Mick has hope for his place; he becomes as poetic
as he can be in describing how the room should be decorated
In the third act Mick tells Davies to have a talk with As
ton; Mick's plan is not working because Davies has done
nothing to alter the situation with Aston. When Davies
never does anything and gets expelled as well, Mick must
choose between his plans for the place and love of his
brother. He has shown all along that he loves his brother,
and though it is difficult for him to abandon his plan (he
smashes the Buddha in frustration), he chooses his brother.
It is appropriate for him to choose his brother,
and Davies' lack of skills eliminates him as an alternate
choice. Mick would never have chosen to include Davies in
his plan in the first place had Aston not taken Davies in.
Mick misinterpreted the situation, however; he could not
manipulate the lives of others while keeping his motives
hidden. He succeeds in hiding his motives, but the situa
tion eludes him.
Davies never understands the motives of the others.
He is brought to the place, and he stays because he has no
place else to go. He would like to change some of the
things to suit himself, but Aston will not agree, and
Davies knows his place well enough not to move things him-
2^6
self. ^ Davies judges everything in terms of a rigid
2^^"Davies is dynamic; and it is natural that the
mentally paralyzed Aston should welcome him to his home of
148
human hierarchy with each person in his proper place. He
lost his Job because he objected to doing a task which was
outside his assigned duties.
Aston does not fit into Davies' hierarchy, so
257
Davies cannot commit himself to stay as caretaker.
Davies feels much more secure with Mick. Mick proves to
be the owner and very domineering: he fits nicely into
Davies' hierarchy. Davies has adequate motives to accept
Mick's offer: Davies wants to stay, he can understand Mick,
and he can use Mick (he thinks) to settle disputes which
arise between Aston and himself. Davies perceives the job
as a way to assume domination over Aston and over the room.
When Aston gives his long speech, Davies believes
he has the proper ammunition to use in a take-over of the
place. Davies does not like sharing things, and after As
ton reveals weaknesses Davies thinks he can use them. He
proceeds cautiously by saying nothing to Aston while he
confirms his position with Mick. He asks Mick who will
live in the remodeled room, and when Mick's answer does not
meaningless jumble." G. Wilson Knight, "The Kitchen Sink:
On Recent Developments in Drama," Encounter, XXI (December,
1963)* 49. Davies is not, however^ dynamic enough to ac
tually do anything in the room or outside. His personality
is blustering, but not really active.
"Davies' predicament arises from the fact that ex
perience has taught him to be fearful of others and yet he
fails to realize that his present encounter, at least with
:Aston, is a challenge to his life's lessons." Gordon,
op. cit., p. 42.
149
meet his expectations, he says., "What about me?"2-^
Davies does not understand that Mick's answer about
the "junk" In the room could be an explanation of what Mick
thinks of him. Davies goes ahead with confidence in Mick's
ability to provide for him; Davies verbally rejects the
pair of shoes Aston brings to him* though he is not above
wearing them until he finds better, just as he accepts As
ton until he gets the room for himself.
Davies decides to make a stand when Aston awakens
him again to complain of the noises. Davies' own surliness,
aggravated by being awakened, is an appropriate motive for
his verbal attack on Aston, yet he reveals his other mo
tives as well. Davies uses everything he has learned to
force Aston to crumble as he is sure Aston must. He draws
his knife to assure his victory and his possession of the
room, yet Aston does not crumble.
Davies had been sure that he could gain the room
without intervention from Mick; Davies thought he need use ;
only the threat of Mick's intervention. Now Davies must
turn to Mick or lose the room. Davies has come to depend
upon the room as his refuge, and he has become equally ac
customed to his own plan. He refuses to believe that his
plan can fail; he would have to change his entire system
2-^Pinter, The Caretaker, op. cit., p. 64.
for dealing with reality if he believed his labels were
wrong.
Davies is dumbfounded by Mick's rejection, after
Mick's outburst he asks again, "What about me?"2" when
Aston returns, Davies begins to realize that he did misin
terpret the situation. In order to remain in the room he
tries to change, but he cannot change his personality in a
few minutes. He can try to accept Aston as an equal by
showing gratitude and agreeing to keep things as they are,
but he is too late.
Aston's expulsion of Davies is in contrast to his
earlier behavior when he was almost too moral to be be-
lievable. Aston's behavior toward Davies is unique and
as such arouses curiosity. After Aston's long speech it is
easier for the audience to understand his moral actions.
He is emulating his brother's kind behaviorj his is an imi
tation rather than a complete expression of morality. As
ton must suppress his own feelings in order to maintain his
facadej whenever Davies tests him by expressing ingratitude,
Aston leaves or starts to leave.
Aston is kindest to Davies and truest to his own
feelings when he tells Davies to leave. By rejecting
Davies, Aston forces him to accept the consequences of in-
259Ibid., p. 78.
2^°Cf. ante, pp. 15-16. (Characters should be above
,average morally.)
151
gratitude and intransigence. Whether Davies has the capac
ity to learn from experience can no longer be Aston's re
sponsibility. Aston must accept responsibility for himself
before he can be his brother's keeper. He must understand
and believe in morality before he can practice rather than
merely imitate it.
Mick is better able to evaluate Davies during the
first part of the play. Mick forces Davies to stop prying
into Aston's thingsj Mick teaches the moral lessons that
Aston does not.
It was Mick who taught Aston by being good to him
when he needed someone. Mick is not far above the average
of morality, however, since he hopes that Aston will fix
the place into apartments. Mick's moral actions combine
with self-interest until he gradually loses sight of moral
ity to pursue self-interest instead.
He begins to use Davies to further the plans for
the house without giving any thought to hurting his brother
or raising Davies' hopes until he too will be hurt. When
Mick discovers that the plan has failed and that Davies
expects his hopes to be rewarded, Mick finds that he cannot
pursue both a moral and a selfish course. At this point
Mick not only rejects Davies but the dream itself.
Critics have felt that they should be interested in
Mick and Astonj they are the more moral characters, and
261
their world is upset by Davies' bad behavior. Aston's
behavior is not really moral, however; it is an imitation
of morality which aids his process of readaptation. Mick's
moral behavior is erratic; he is shown interacting with the
character who stimulates his selfish motives while he is
not shown, except for brief moments, with the character to
whom he acts morally. At the end neither brother is hurt
by Davies; they gain sympathy for awhile, but the audience
262
sympathizes with Davies in the end.
Davies is not moral, but he has a code for correct
conduct which is interesting and a fate which arouses sym
pathy. Lois G. Gordon describes the "morality" of certain
men:
[for them] only two moralities are possible, that of
the slave and the ruler. As the servant enjoys his
bondage and fights against gaining freedom, Davies
enjoys his role as society's exile. ... On the other
hand, once he dupes the brothers ... he conveniently
forgets the need of the downcast and acts as possessive
and tyrannical as the society that has initially vic
timized him.263
Davies' conception of correct conduct for the dominant and
P6l
Goodman, loc. cit., is interested in Mick and Aston
Alan S. Downer, loc. cit., says, "Only the old man is in
triguing and invokes sympathy, yet the action suggests that
our sympathy is supposed to go to the two brothers." Gor-
don, op. cit., p. 47, feels Aston gains most sympathy.
P6P
The shifting sympathies of the audience are at
once the virtue and vice of the play; the virtue, because
they mirror the complexity of life; the vice, because they
lead back to subjective taste," Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter,
op. cit., p. 104.
2^Gordon, op. cit., p. 43.
153
subservient person may not correspond to the moral stand
ards of most people* but it serves him in lieu of morality.
Thus Davies is not prone to moral action even
though he has never found any success (as witnessed by his
story about the cafe and the monastery) by demanding his
rights or trying to dominate others. He becomes the victim
of the domination of others* yet he has learned from expe
rience to try to use dominant people to help him gain his
own ends.
Davies' belief in a strict hierarchy* his evasions
of moral responsibility* his pretenses and foibles* and his
efforts to use other people make him the most dynamic and
recognizable character. When he tries to learn more moral
conduct from his experience* when he shows signs of unself
ishness* even though he is still trying to gain his own
ends* he arouses sympathy. He has certainly realized that
he has lost something important* and he does not evade his
responsibility. He improves only to be rejected anyway.
Each character reveals himself through acute
choices. Aston chooses to bring Davies to his house and
ask him to stay as caretaker* thus revealing his effort to
be moral. Aston chooses to tell about his past revealing
his mental and emotional difficulties to the audience. But
Aston speaks to himself not Davies. He reveals his need to
review and vanquish his past. Eventually* he chooses to
;eject Daviesj thereby revealing his ability to better deal
154
with his own feelings and to evaluate the situation.
Mick reveals the sadistic side of his nature by
choosing to bedevil Davies, yet Mick is not a brutal
264
force. Mick shows that he means Davies no harm when he
offers no physical response to Davies' threats with the
knife. Mick's job offer shows both his desire to see the
room remodeled and his reticence about facing Aston direct
ly. Mick does not want to hurt Aston or interrupt his prog
ress toward recovery by complaining about the room. Motives
can be found for this action, yet it is difficult for the
audience to know what it reveals when it takes place. In
this play the audience does not fully understand Mick and
Aston because Pinter designs the characterizations this way.
Davies is much more transparent even though he does
not make an acute choice until half way through Act Two.
He reveals himself through language before that point, and
his cowardice and intransigence are revealed fully by his
rejection of Aston's offer. His desire to secure a place
in his human hierarchy is revealed by his reversal when
Mick makes the same offer. Davies' excuses to Aston
should still apply in response to Mick, but Davies does
not believe that the situation is the same. He reveals his |
need for protection and his desire to work for someone
264
When this play was produced in London, Irving
Wardle retracted his term "comedy of menace" as it related
to Pinter. Cf. ante, p. 22. ;
with whom he will not have to share the room. He does not
want a friend; he wants a position from which he can look
down at others.
Davies does not choose to tell Aston about Mick’s
offer* thus revealing his deviousness. He would continue
to pursue his plan in secret if Aston had not made him
angry by waking him. Once Davies begins to express anger
to Aston he cannot stop; he chooses the moment to use his
accumulated knowledge to gain the upper hand. His choice
reveals his confidence in his strength and his passion for
the room. His next choices are the result of Aston's re
jection; they are the result of the actions of others just
as his actions at the beginning resulted from Aston’s in
vitation. Davies shows that he is at the mercy of others*
that he cannot deal effectively with them* and that he must
fail again. His choice of the room shows he has nothing
else he can turn to; at the end he will accept it even with
Aston there.
The audience learns everything they need to know
pg K
about the characters and the play ends. It has been a
study with critically acclaimed roles for actors.The
2^Brown* loc. cit., says the narrative interest is
"unconcluded" but the curtain is "final" because the audi
ence understands the characters.
2^Douglas* loc. cit. and Downer* loc. cit. agree that
the play is an excellent vehicle for actors* though Douglas
dislikes the play and Downer has reservations about it.
156
audience must become Interested in the characters for the
play to be successful. The characters seldom make the type
of choices which are of most interest to the traditional
267
critic, however. 1 Both Aston and Mick tend to avoid a
confrontation with that which ordinary men could confront.
Mick does not approach his brother with either complaints
or support; he is unable to help Aston or to express his
frustration with Aston’s lack of progress.
Aston's psychological limitations severely curtail
his ability to meet all traditional criteria. He is prac
tically incapable of expressing emotion, and he cannot
evaluate his situation. His lack of self-knowledge is con
sistent with the philosophy expressed in the play, yet As
ton is unable to grow in any significant way.
The characterization of Davies approaches a posi
tion of significance in traditional terms. He is of some
interest as a rebel against society's taboos; he talks as
though he could be a rebel. He is of some interest as a
hero who can acknowledge his vulnerability; he tries to ac- ;
cept Mick's rejection and he tries to rectify his errors
with Aston. Yet Davies falls short of total effectiveness ;
because he fails to completely confront his problem and
because he cannot accept his fate bravely. The audience i
neither enjoys Davies' punishment, because he repents, i
26?Cf. ante, p. 18, . (Choices which are of interest :
;to the audience.) i
157
nor finds hope in his repentance, because he persists in
his illusions. Davies arouses interest— many spectators
and critics find his play effective— but he does not pro
vide the psychological rewards the traditional critic hopes
to receive from a dramatic hero.
The Caretaker has been called realistic on one
hand and an example of Theatre of the Absurd on the other.
268
Two critics even refer to the play as naturalistic, pre
sumably because the characters are lower-class and seem
ingly without free-will. The play is said to resemble
Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot "about three men who are
waiting for something that will never come";^^ and all
plays of Theatre of the Absurd: "What happens to things and
to people is inexplicable, and nothing we human beings do
seems to matter, ultimately."2^®
It is not surprising that The Caretaker should be
called realistic (or naturalistic) since the play was pro
duced in London at the same time that the "Kitchen Sink
School" was popular.2^1 Nor is it surprising that the play
2^Gascoigne, op. cit., p. 207j and Kitchen, op. cit.,
p. 114.
2^Wellwarth, op. cit., p. 205.» admits that several
interpretations are possible.
2^®Goodman, op. cit., p. 122. P. J. Bernhard agrees
that the play is Theatre of the Absurd in "English Theatre
1963: In the Wake of the New Wave," Books Abroad, XXXVIII
(Spring, 1964), 143.
2^1Douglas, loc. cit.
158
should be thought of as an example of Theatre of the Absurd:
Martin Esslin's book was published and widely discussed
just prior to the published studies of the critics who call
the play "absurd." It is more confusing when critics call
the play both realistic and absurd in the same study.
Kent G -. Gallagher says "The Caretaker presents
Pinter's amoral world. . . . Hyper-reality added to realism
creates an absurd microcosmos."2^2 Martin Esslin himself
is partially responsible for the juxtaposition of these
terms. He says:
It is the intriguing paradox of Pinter's position that
he considers himself a more uncompromising, ruthless
realist than the champions of "social realism" could
ever be. Eor it is they who water down the reality of
their picture of the world by presupposing that they
have solutions for problems that have not yet been
solved— and that may be insoluble— or by implying that
it is possible to know the complete motivation of a
character, or, above all, by presenting a slice of
reality that is less essential, and hence less real,
less true to life, than a theatre that has selected a
more fundamental aspect of e x i s t e n c e . 273
Yet Mr. Esslin assumes in other chapters of the book that
Theatre of the Absurd is more than a realistic picture of
the extreme conditions of modern life which defy logical or
simple solutions.
Mr. Esslin makes no comparisons between The Care
taker and the plays of Theatre of the Absurd in his latest
2^2Kent G. Gallagher, "Harold Pinter's Dramaturgy,"
Quarterly Journal of Speech, LII (October, 1966), 248. !
1
2^Esslin, The Theatre of the Absurd, op. cit., p. 2l6.|
159
book. Esslin uses the archetypal criteria of critic North
rop Frye. Esslin says: "The Caretaker is the first of
Pinter's plays to have achieved this complete synthesis
between utter realism in the external action and the poetic
metaphor, the dream image of eternal archetypes, on the
deeper— or higher— levels of impact."2^
Esslin describes the multiple levels of meaning in
Pinter's plays more fully when he does not try to compare
them to any other type of play. It is appropriate to say
that The Caretaker represents Pinter's unique experiment
with the traditional form of drama, and neither traditional
nor any particular modern term describes it fully. Pinter
rejects labels himself; he says: "The Caretaker wouldn't
have been put on, and certainly wouldn't have run, before
1957. The old categories of comedy and tragedy and farce
are irrelevant, and the fact that managers seem to have
realized this is one favorable change."^75
2^Esslin, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 113.
2"^Pinter, "Writing for Myself," op. cit., p. 175-
CHAPTER III
THE LATER PLAYS
I. The Lover
Plot Synopsis
The setting consists of a living room area with a
small hall and a bedroom area with a balcony. In contrast
to the early plays this setting is middle-class and taste
fully furnished. The married couple who live there, Sarah
and Richard, are conservatively dressed. As he leaves for
work he asks her amiably if her lover is coming that day.
When she replies affirmatively, he agrees to come home
about six."1 " [The first scene gains interest.]
Six chimes from the clock introduce the second
scene; Richard enters and Sarah pours him a drink. He asks
about her afternoon with her lover and then shifts the sub
ject to mention the crooked Venetian blinds. They talk of
the weather, and he asks for another drink. He is urbane
and casual but reveals hidden tensions by bringing the sub-
p
ject back again to her lover. He says that Sarah and her
^Pinter begins by establishing the situation, but
he does it briefly in this play.
O
Pinter reveals the contradictory nature of this
character quite early in the play.
160
161
lover must have had the blinds down because the living room
■ 5
gets so hot when the sun shines on it.
Sarah asks how Richard spent the afternoon* and he
replies that he had a long* inconclusive meeting. Sarah
tells him that they will have a cold supper; he does not
mind so she goes toward the kitchen. He stops her with
what she believes to be a strange question. He asks if*
when she is being unfaithful* she thinks of him at his desk
going through balance sheets. She admits that she does*
and the thought makes it all more "piquant." Richard is
incredulous; he appears to be leading slowly to a confron-
i i
tation about the lover.
He looks at Sarah's high-heeled shoes* saying that
they are unfamiliar. She mutters that she make a mistake;
she takes them off* puts them in the cupboard* and puts on
5
low-heeled shoes. He asks again about her thinking of him*
but she counters his questions by asking about the mistress
with whom he really spends the afternoons.^ He denies hav
ing a mistress; he has a "whore." Sarah is surprised that
^Pinter has the plot in mind; he foreshadows the
ending when the lover arrives at night.
k
Pinter introduces the dramatic problem much earlier
than in other plays* but he misleads the audience as to its
exact nature.
^This is another foreshadowing of the resolution.
f i >
Complications of the situation are Introduced ear
lier than in other plays.
162
he admits this, hut he replies by saying that frankness is
essential to a happy marriage. The couple is frank, but
Richard's frankness is alarming Sarah. She asks why he
"looked elsewhere" if his affair possesses so little dig
nity. He insists that she looked first, but she does not
7
agree.1
The next scene occurs later that evening} Richard
and Sarah enter the bedroom in their nightclothes. They
continue the same discussion, and he asks if her afternoons
are really pleasurable. He shows concern about jealousy;
he asks if she is jealous or thinks that he is. She as
sures him that she is not jealous; her afternoons seem far
Q
richer than his. He goes to the window and calls her to
him. He asks what would happen if he came home early; she
asks what would happen if she followed him. He says that
the four of them could meet in the village for tea; she
says that they could all meet at home. He finds hers an
extraordinary remark but does not say why.^
Richard expresses his sympathy for the lover who
^The "problem of verification" is included in every
play.
O
Hayman, op. cit., p. 55* feels that these first
scenes are "dragged out," yet they do present the dramatic
problem and foreshadow the conclusion.
^Pinter misleads the audience into expecting a con
frontation, yet he also provides many clues to the dual
identity of the characters. The fact that these scenes
are "dragged out" allows the astute audience member to
guess that the characters are discussing their alter egos.
has never seen the night from the bedroom window. He says
that he would become bored if the constant image of his
lust were a milk jug and teapot.^ They get into bed, and
Richard asks if her lover is happily married. Sarah says
he is, and she asks if Richard is happy. She is pleased
with his answer because she thinks that things are "beauti
fully balanced.
The following morning as Richard prepares to leave,
Sarah asks him not to come home too early. He is surprised
that her lover is coming again, but he agrees to spend the
12
afternoon at the National Gallery. The next scene is
afternoon, and Sarah is wearing a low-cut black dress and
her high heels. The doorbell rings and Sarah answers it
only to discover the milkman, John. He tries to get her
IS
to take some cream, but she refuses and he leaves. ^
She takes the milk into the kitchen and returns
with the tea things. She sits on the chaise lounge, cross-
and uncrossing her legs. The doorbell rings again; she
10
Pinter has his character express a motive for ac
tion well in advance of the action.
11
Pinter establishes Sarah's devotion to the status
quo in this scene; her attitude provides another motive,
in advance, for Richard's actions. In this play Pinter al
ters his technique of showing action first and suggesting
motives later.
12
Pinter knows that he must satisfy the audience's
desire to see the lover; he increases that desire at this
point.
"^Pinter is attempting to build suspense.
164
opens the door and says: "Hello, Max." The man is Richard,
14
wearing a suede jacket and no tie. [Pinter's method of
writing Is not as unstructured as he describes it in inter
views.] The couple does not speakj they perform a ritual
with the bongo drum which "Max" brings from the cupboard.
They sit at either end of the chaisej he taps the drum as
her hand advances and retreats. She scratches between his
fingers, and they beat the drum wildly. [This action was
more effective in television close-up.] She rises, lights
a cigarette, and moves to the window. He picks up a ciga
rette, moves to her, and asks for a light. They enact
another ritual in which she is reluctant and they struggle
15
silently until she breaks away. ^
Max approaches her again, saying that he got rid
of the "other man." He describes the place as a beautiful
park and identifies himself as the parkkeeper. This time
she becomes the aggressor while he retreats. Finally he
- 1
says, "Come here, Dolores," but she refuses. He moves
toward her, saying, "It's teatime, Mary."^ She goes be-
^This is not an action which just evolved from a
vague idea about characters as Pinter says they evolve.
He has a plot in mind here.
15
^Pinter expands audience knowledge about the charac
ters as the play progresses rather than exploring character
only at the play's outset.
"^Harold Pinter, The Lover, Tea Party, The Basement
(Hew York: Grove Press, Inc., 19&7)> P* 23.
17Ibid., p. 23.
165
hind the table, but he hitches his trousers and crawls under
the table. He disappears under the cloth; she grimaces and
gradually sinks under the table. She calls out. The lights
fade.18
The lights come up, and Max asks Sarah about her
husband. She assures him that her husband does not mind,
but Max says he_ minds. Max has, he says, deceived his wife
into thinking that he has a whore when he really has a full
time mistress. Sarah tries to argue; she slams the table
and accuses him of playing a game. He replies that he has
played his last game because of the children. She tries to
whisper to him not to worry about wives and husbands. He
stands, saying that she is too bony. She says he is joking,
that she is plump, but he disagrees and leaves.1^ [Action
is an important element in this play.]
At the outset of the next scene Richard returns and
complains about a dreary conference. He asks about her day,:
but she is reluctant to talk about it. He begins to compli
ment her about the way she looks, but when she says that
they will have a cold supper, he says that she is falling
20
down on her wifely duties. Sarah tries to change the
l8Pinter exhibits his philosophy about the contradic
tory nature of personality by having his characters act
out various aspects of their natures.
■'■^Pinter reveals character through action, thereby
reaching a turning point after which the "balance" will
deteriorate further.
^Pinter misleads the audience into thinking that
subject to a discussion of his whore, but he reports that
his whore is splendid. In answer to her questions about
his whore's weight he says that he likes thin ladies. He
returns to his complaints about dinner and then announces
his decision: her lover must cease his visits from "the
twelfth inst."
There is a long silence. As Sarah begins to fight
to preserve her beautiful balance, the play builds to its
climax. She asks why he has changed so suddenly; she
presses her cheek to his. She says that he has always un
derstood her, but he is unmoved. He tells her to take her
lover into the fields or meet him at a rubbish dump. She
says Richard is mad. She asks again about his whore, but he
says that he paid her off because she was too bony. Sarah
tries to make him understand her feelings, but she does not
21
know how to deal with his inconsistencies.
He goes to the cupboard, gets the drum, and asks
what it is. She becomes very upset that he should bring
something from the afternoon part of their lives into the ;
evening. The play reaches its climax as she tries to take
22
the drum from him and he taunts her about its use. He
Richard is about to end the lover-mistress arrangement.
21
Pinter makes Sarah's motives clear to the audience ;
even though Richard seems angrier than necessary. ;
22 ■
This is the most significant turning point in the
fortunes of the characters. After this there must be a new;
balance and it will be designed by Richard rather than ;
Sarah.
167
will not desist so she retaliates, telling him that she
has other visitors who stay for tea when neither husband or
lover knows about it. Richard shows no sign of believing
her; he plays with the drum and moves toward her. He
grasps her hand and scratches it across the drum. She
jerks away. He says he is having fun and asks her for a
light. She retreats behind the table; he says that her
husband will not mind. He asks again for a light; he tells
her that she is trapped.
Suddenly she giggles. She agrees; she is trapped.
She crawls under the table and emerges, kneeling at his
feet and moving her hand up his leg. He sinks to his knees
beside her, and she tells him to take off his jacket. She
asks if she should change clothes, and he tells her to
change. He calls her "lovely whore," and the play ends as
QO
they kneel there together. J They will play their games
in the evening instead of the afternoon.
Analysis of Plot Construction
The Lover was written for television and then
adapted for the stage. It is considered Pinter's best
p i i
short play by some critics while others believe that it
p - a
^Richard reveals the new balance to Sarah and the
audience. Pinter gives no clue, however, as to whether the i
new balance is better or worse than the old.
p i i
c Wellwarth, op. cit., p. 210. Frederick Lumley, New;
Trends in 20th Century Drama (New York: Oxford University
Press,"1967)/P. 271. i
25
is rather trivial. ^ Arnold P. Hinchliffe describes the
interest engendered by the play: "The size of Pinter's
television audiences seem to indicate that he was watched
by the masses as well as by a cultured elite and that his
plays can be accepted on any level as a dramatic experi-
i i 26
ence.
Pinter reports that he finds it easier to write
with film techniques in mind; he finds the theatre to be a
27
more static medium. 1 Pinter's sense of freedom when
writing for television causes him to write a play which is
more rather than less traditional than his stage plays.
The Lover has a logical structure. The first scene in
cludes information about when the lover will come and when
Richard will return. The second scene may not be the ex
pected result— the lover does not appear— but it is a pos
sible result. Richard returns and he and Sarah discuss the
lover's visit. A forthcoming visit of the lover is an
nounced in the fourth scene, and though the arrival of the
milkman intervenes, the lover arrives. It is logical that
the lover is Richard; it was more surprising that he seemed
to accept the existence of the lover during the previous
scenes.
25
•^Hayman, op. cit., p. 55 > and Gordon, op. cit., p.
52, agree that this play is less interesting than others.
of
Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 109.
^Pinter, "The Art of the Theatre," op. cit., p. 20.
169
Richard's return (as the husband) has been an
nounced, so he arrives home in the next scene to initiate
an action which is the result of his desire to change the
balance in his marital relationship. This new balance is
exhibited in the final scene, and the play ends. Given the
original situation and the characteristic desire of Pinter's
people for dominance, the action reaches a logical result.
The play presents one action: the husband and wife
play the parts of lover and mistress during the afternoons,
but the husband wishes to change this routine, and at the
end the couple is playing the game in the evening. This is
an important action to the characters, but it is difficult
to know whether it offers a significant change in the char
acters ' fortunes. The result seems to satisfy both husband
and wife, but their new balance may be no better than the
old. In fact, it may be much worse. The characters' for
tunes have changed, but Pinter allows the audience to de-
28
cide whether the change is for better or worse.
The Lover has a beginning, middle and end in the
proper proportion to one another. The beginning requires
no previous scene(s)j it establishes the existence of the
lover and the casual attitude of Richard and Sarah toward
him. The next two scenes are part of the beginning section,:
28
Critics who evaluate the ending are divided in
their conclusions: some feel that the fortunes of the char- '
acters have improved while others believe that they have j
deteriorated.
170
and they present the hidden tensions Richard feels as well
as the fact that he sees someone in the afternoon, too.
Sarah begins to worry about whether Richard is happyj she
arranges to test him, thereby bringing on the middle sec
tion.
The middle proceeds from the first part, and another
part results from it. The middle has one brief scene which
does not advance the action, yet it connects the events of
the play to the outside world. It serves to show that the
action is meant to be a representation of reality as the
playwright sees it, and not an allegory or fantasy. If a
milkman can come to the house, then there is a world out
side, not a void.
The middle shows that both Richard as Max and
Richard as Richard is dissatisfied with the arrangement
but that Sarah wishes it to continue. The final section
is necessary in order to show Richard and Sarah in the
process of change and to show the results of the change.
Once the audience knows these things, they need see nothing;
more. They may assume that a new pattern will eventually
supersede the one they have seen, but Pinter would never
answer their questions about whether such changes are good ;
or bad. The ambiguity would remain even if other events
were shown. j
The subject of The Lover is, again, the shifting
nature of reality. The characters have no fixed personal!-;
171
ties; each is both staid and passionate, aggressive and
passive, teasing and serious. Sarah has tried to deal with
these contradictions by devising compartments to contain
them. She thinks she has succeeded, but Richard retains
his contradictory qualities in what for her are the wrong
occasions. Pinter says: "We will all interpret a common
experience quite differently, though we prefer to subscribe
to the view that there's a shared common ground, a known
ground. I think there's a shared common ground all right,
but that it's more like a quicksand.
By presenting characters who so obviously have no
fixed personality and who find that their common ground is
a quicksand, Pinter has found an excellent vehicle for his
thought. Many critics interpret the play as a presentation
of the fluidity of personalityj they are able to divorce
themselves from the tendency to structure reality. P. J.
Bernhard is not far from the truth when he says that The
Lover is a "dramatization of subconscious states of mind,
but Walter Kerr describes the play more effectively when he
points to the fact that Richard and Sarah truly possess two
separate identities, not subconsciously but consciously.
Mr. Kerr says: "They are not children playing bawdy-house.
^pinter "Writing for the Theatre," op. cit., pp.
576-577. j
3°Bernhard, op. cit., p. 144. Gordon, op. cit., p.
53, believes that Pinter shows that it is good to "act out" j
fantasies.
172
They are adults who are other adults than themselves, un-
Ol
confined by one or another social role."J
John Russell Taylor Is the most successful In de
scribing the play Itself, rather than arguing for his own
point of view. He says:
It is all a game they play to keep their marriage happy
and successfulj or, to put it another way, it is their
realistic response to the observed fact that every in
dividual is really a number of different, contradictory
individuals, and that, once this is recognized, once
the contrived accidents can no longer be sustained, the
only thing to do is to accept and come to terms with
life's contradictions.32
Critics who cannot divorce themselves from precon
ceived notions about reality miss the subject of the action
and find it difficult to understand Richard's motives.
They believe that the ending exhibits the incorporation
•5-5
of illusion into reality, instead of realizing that Max,
Dolores and Mary are as real as are Richard and Sarah. The
afternoons are as real or as much a fantasy as the even
ings; both periods of time reveal the couple's efforts to
find a pattern.
When interpreting The Lover, it is necessary to
know something of Pinter's philosophy. The action and the
• ^1Kerr, op. cit., pp. 31-32.
-^Taylor, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 20. Martin
Esslin also accepts the play as a representation of the
shifting nature of reality, The Peopled Wound, op. cit.,
p. l4l.
3%ayman, pp. cit., p. 57.* and Hinchliffe, Harold
Pinter, op. cit., p. 124.
173
conflict spring from his notion of personality more than
in any previous play. The basic story of The Room, The
Birthday Party and The Caretaker could have been told with
out Pinter’s treatment of motivation; they could have been
very conventional plays. The story of this play would not
be plausible without Pinter’s treatment of motivation; its
ending would not be possible without the contradictory and
unstable desires of the characters. Critics who attempt
interpretation should become acquainted with the philosophy
behind the action first.
The audience, on the other hand, can be entertained
without very much prior acquaintance with Pinter's tech
nique. The play establishes the fact that the action is
not a literal representation of reality in the first brief
scene. It establishes a consistent degree of aesthetic
distance in which nothing should be taken as a serious
threat to the spectator's sense of security. It Involves
him through its humor, and even when the characters become
serious, the spectator understands the incongruity of the
situation. He may question the appropriateness of the
ending if he knows nothing of Pinter; but this is much less ;
likely to mar his appreciation of the rest of the play than;
is the ending of The Room.
The action gains and maintains Interest. The first;
i
scene presents a novel and humorous situation with a mini- 1
mum of elaboration. The second scene begins to establish ;
the dramatic problem and fulfils audience expectations
about what the problem will be: the husband is not really
happy about the lover's visits. This scene is filled with
casual remarks which foreshadow the ending and can be re
membered later. Richard discusses the unpleasantness of
the afternoon sun, and Sarah has made the mistake of wear
ing her high-heeled shoes. The scene also introduces a
potential complication, Richard's whore, and the import of
his remarks will be revealed later.
The third scene increases the tension between the
couple, and it arouses suspense about a possible confron
tation. Richard's comment about coming home early and
Sarah's response about following him cause the audience to
expect some meeting of the four; this meeting occurs but
not as the characters describe it. The scene ends by es
tablishing Sarah's unwillingness to abandon the arrange
ment and Richard's tentative willingness to continue. When
Sarah announces the lover's next visit, the play reaches a
high-point of suspense which would not have been possible
had Pinter shown the lover before the couple's tensions had
been established.
The audience shares Sarah's impatience when the
next character to appear is the milkman instead of the
lover. At last the lover arrives. Richard in suede jacket
and with another name provides a good comic moment. The
comedy increases as they play their games and reaches a
175
hilarious high-point as they disappear under the tea table.
The comedy turns to irony as Max begins to discuss Sarah's
husband; he complains about his ill-treatment of himself.
The irony forms a bridge to the more serious sections of
the play; it aids the audience in redirecting their inter
est .
Max's refusal to continue his meetings with Sarah
is a further complication which arouses suspense and curi
osity about her reaction. As Sarah protests., the action
intensifies in irony. The audience knows that it is ridic
ulous for Max to break with Sarah because he does not like
her boniness (she is plump, and she is the wife he is leav
ing her for), but he is so intent upon his decision and
she is so disoriented by it that the action takes on a new
importance.
The intensity of the action decreases somewhat as
the next scene begins because Richard is casual and de
tached. Sarah, however, is still uncertain; she does not
want to volunteer any information which could be used
against her. She provides continuity for the audience un
til Richard resumes the offensive and tells her (again)
that the afternoon meetings are over. The action intensi
fies again at this point and gains momentum until it reaches;
what for the characters, at least, is a very serious climax.!
I
Its seriousness is mitigated somewhat for the audience be- j .
cause of their knowledge of the situation, yet they realize ,
176
that this is a very Important problem to the characters.
The action builds for many minutes as Richard con
fronts Sarah with her debauchery. She tries to avoid a
direct response to his accusations, thus prolonging the
rising action and increasing suspense about the climax.
The action reaches its climax when Richard faces her with
the drum; she turns on him to hurt him, and she severs her .
ties with the past. The audience can see that the old pat
tern cannot continue, yet interest is maintained by a subtle
transition to the denouement.
The same drum which caused the climatic confronta
tion serves as an object for transition to a new method of
structuring reality. Interest in the denouement will be as
great as that elicited by the beginning because it brings
about a situation as fraught with potential problems as
that presented earlier. The ambiguity of the denouement is
such that it should maintain interest even after the play
is over, stimulating thought and discussion among the spec
tators.
The structural elements of The Lover function ef
fectively. Exposition provides just enough Information
about the characters and their situation to allow the audi
ence to understand them. Though this play, like those
which preceded it, includes misleading clues, it has enough ;
real clues to prepare the audience for what happens. The
audience can understand everything about the present situa- |
177
tion of the characters, and in contrast to the early plays,
something about their backgrounds as well.
The audience cannot be sure whether some of the
things the characters say are true; the couple can verify
their pasts no better than other Pinter characters. Rich
ard says that Sarah began the lover-mistress pattern, but
she does not agree. Richard, in his Max persona, mentions
children, but Sarah does not acknowledge their existence.
Neither can remember exactly when the pattern began, yet
both agree that they have been married ten years and that
the pattern began soon after their marriage (perhaps right
after the honeymoon). The audience can imagine why the
pattern was initiated; Sarah's devotion to it and Richard's
desire to have it as part of the evening hours show the
characters' needs.
There is a conflict in the play. Sarah wants to
keep her contradictory desires in nice safe compartments,
so she clings to the "beautiful balance." Richard, on the
other hand, does not or cannot continue to accept the old
pattern. Sarah is bewildered by this conflict; she is sure
that she has right on her side. If her husband wants to
default upon their agreement, she is sure he does not love
her anymore. Richard makes an equal claim upon the right:
he says that his wife lives a "life of depravity.
■ a i l
J Pinter, The Lover, op. cit., p. 33.
178
She does not understand how he could pretend to
have such an opinion. Though she Is most committed to the
idea of two compartments* she seems better able to remember
that Richard is* indeed* the lover he is talking about.
She is unable to remind him of this fact* however* because
she would be breaking the agreement to do so. Thus* she
must accept the conflict and try to deal with it within the
persona of mistress and the persona of wife* but never both
at the same time.
The audience may side with Richard at first because
he appears to be making a claim for normalcy* divorced from
games. Richard is not doing so* however. Were he actually
on the side of normalcy* he would expose the game instead
of playing it even more convincingly. Sarah is more on
the side of normalcy since she is determined to rid her
evening life of all inconsistencies and relegate them to a
few afternoons a week. Neither character's attitude is
shown as "normal" in the end; the very idea of normalcy is
challenged. The audience can assess neither character as
having claims upon the right except in the context in which
the characters interact.
The confrontation of the conflicting forces must oc-i
cur twice because both Max and Richard must tell Sarah that
the affair is over. The first confrontation is a high-
point of the action but not the climax; Sarah does not ex- i
press her emotions fully. She greets Max's effort to end
179
their relationship with disbelief, and her bewilderment
prevents her from taking a full part in the confrontation
until he shows how serious he is.
When Richard gets the drum, Sarah knows that the
arrangement is broken, and she discloses her anger. She
retaliates by hissing her confession of many secret affairs.
This is the emotional high-point of the play, and the for
tunes of the two characters change as a result. They can
not return to their old pattern, again. The possibility
exists that Sarah will become very unhappy and discontented
in her marriage, yet the denouement has resolved the dra
matic problem; no new action could clarify the relationship
between the characters any further. ^
The action of The Lover is better able to sustain
interest than that of The Caretaker, even though its prin
cipal function is to reveal the characters. The subject of
personality is the focus of the play; thus, characteriza
tion is the more important element of the play.
Analysis of Characterization
The significance of the characters is that they are
consistently inconsistent. Richard and Sarah illustrate
the philosophy that there are no fixed personalities; each
person is a fluid combination of supposedly contradictory
35i!The ambiguity is a delicate and suitable one, and
this play wouldn't have taken us any further anyway." Hay-;
man, loc. cit.
180
traits. He tries to deal with the unreasonableness of his
instincts through reason because he desires form and order,
but his existence remains fluid and uncertain despite his
efforts to make it orderly.
Sarah is the character who is committed to the con
cept of order. Though her actions are inconsistent when
judged by the concept of order held by the traditional
critic, she tries to maintain order until the final mom
ents. It is difficult for her to do soj she has to keep
track of all the accouterments belonging to her two princi
pal roles. (She has particular trouble remembering which
shoes she has on.) She must also try to control another
fluid personality, Richard, who does not share her commit
ment .
Though the audience cannot be absolutely certain
that Sarah initiated the lover-mistress pattern, her panic
at its disruption suggests that she was its author. She
has an intuitive understanding of the fact that personality ;
is fluid, and she does not want to allow complete freedom
to her own contradictory personalities— Sarah as wife, mis
tress, Mary and Dolores. She gives Mary and Dolores their
liberty only on specified afternoons, and even then she
structures her responses into games which give her the
•^This Is one of the basic concepts of the philosophy,
of Henri Bergson (1859-19^1)• His best known works are j
Matter and Memory and Creative Evolution. ;
feeling that she controls the situation.
When Richard threatens the pattern, Sarah undergoes
a process of either development or deterioration, depend
ing upon the point of view of the spectator. She becomes
uncertain and defensive because she cannot maintain order.
Finally, she contributes to the disorder by revealing
another personality, one Richard does not know, so as to
confuse and torment him as he has her.
After Sarah realizes that she can be Max's mistress
in the evening she acts quickly to bring order to the new
relationship. She supplies a reason for her husband's
absence and arranges for the appropriate clothing. None
theless, she is accepting a situation which is Inherently
less orderly than the original one, and it is a pattern
she will not control. During the play she has changed
gradually from a character who is always conservative in
the evening into a character who will express her contra
dictory desires in the evening. She retains her desire
for order, however, and her contradictions existed all
along. In the context of the play she is consistent.
Richard is both more consistent and more inconsis
tent than Sarah. While Sarah worries about the entire
situation, Richard and Max play their parts as though they
were not the other man involved. Richard, when he is play
ing Richard, evolves into the complete outraged husband.
Richard, when he is playing Max (except at the end), be
comes the complete guilty lover. Richard may have had a
consistent purpose in mind throughout the play. He may
have intended to substitute the evening pattern for the one
in the afternoon all along. If he did, then all his refer
ences to lust at teatime and the afternoon sun can be seen
as clues to his plan to have the lover visit at night. His
contradictory statements about his whore and his questions
about whether Sarah thinks of him in the afternoon can be
seen as methods for disrupting Sarah's confidence in the
old pattern so that she would accept the new.
Richard does not articulate any such purpose, how
ever. The idea of playing Max in the evening may not have
occurred to him until after he brought the drum from the
cupboard and heard Sarah's reaction to it. If this is the
case, then his other actions, when he seemed to be planning
to eliminate Max entirely, form a pattern of consistent
inconsistency. Pinter allows for two different interpreta
tions of Richard's actions, yet Richard is consistent ac
cording to both explanations.
Richard has a number of adequate motives for his
actions. He is concerned, as are the characters in the
early plays, with the question of dominance and subservi
ence. The games during the afternoon are designed with one
player as the aggressor and the other as victim. The
couple takes turns as aggressor, yet Max plays the part
twice to Sarah's once, and it is he who succeeds. Richard
183
rebels against the old pattern partially because he believes
that Sarah began it, and he wants to be dominant.
Because his personality is contradictory, another
of his motives for ending the old pattern is the motive he
delivers as the irate husband and as the guilty lover. Part
of his personality is disgusted with marital infidelity and
wishes it to end. He finds an opportunity to give vent to
these feelings even though he cannot subdue the other part
of his personality which requires that the games continue.
He does not end the games, yet he allows himself to ex
press his hostility to them.
Richard also finds it dreary to continue the old
pattern. He describes his afternoons as an inconclusive
meeting and a dreary conference. His complaints about the
sun and the teapot show that he is growing tired of meeting
in the afternoon. He wants something more stimulating.
He finds a more stimulating situation when he begins to be
Max in the evening.
He initiates a new pattern because he is Max as well
37
as Richard when he comes home in the evening. 1 He wants
the freedom to be Max as well as Richard. He will not de
cline all order* he will play the games, wear the right
clothes, and presumably, assume the correct name. But he j
•^Because Richard makes his motives for ending the
game more perceptible to the audience, it may be difficult j
;for them to understand this one. The audience may find no j
adequate motive for his decision to be the lover at night. |
184
finds a new compromise between order and instinct in which
he can be dominant and more stimulated. He can even pre
tend, as Richard., that he does not know about the new ar
rangement, thus lessening his disgust with the role of
cuckhold.
Sarah initiates one action during the play. She
has her lover come the afternoon after Richard asked his
strange questions. She has adequate motives; she wishes to
reassert the status quo and to test Richard's reactions.
She hopes that everything is all right, but Richard's un
usual questions have made her uncertain. The only way she
can be sure of her position is to see Richard's reaction
the following evening.
Sarah's other important decision occurs as a reac
tion to Richard's initiation of the game in the evening.
She encourages him because she has no other good alterna-
oQ
tive. It would not be appropriate for her to deny any of
her personalities by giving up the lover-mistress relation
ship or the marriage itself. Since she cannot abandon the
games nor maintain the old pattern (she must have Richard's
cooperation to maintain it), she must reciprocate. She
participates with a sense of relief; she was helpless in
the face of Richard's previous belligerence. Her uncer-
3®George Wellwarth believes that Sarah forces Richard
to play Max in the evening, but it is Richard who begins
the afternoon routine, op. cit., p. 211.
185
tainty about Richard was the heighth of disorderliness;
she can find some order in a new pattern.
Both of the characters are moral. Their natures
include both moral and immoral impulses, yet they gratify
their immoral impulses by being lover and mistress to each
other. Richard extends his expression of contradictory
impulses by becoming sexually moral when he is playing his
immoral role. Thus Max repents and becomes moral.
It is possible to believe that the couple has prob
lems because they came from a background which was too
moral sexually. If Richard and Sarah were raised to be
lieve that sex was immoral, they could react by being un
able to enjoy sex within the moral confines of marriage.
Therefore, they would devise an immoral atmosphere in
which to express their sexual instincts; they would plan
" 5 0
afternoon, meetings because they needed an outlet. ^
Certainly Richard and Sarah believe that sexuality
as they wish to practice it and marriage as they wish to
practice it are incompatible. They separate their prac
tices into two compartments in order to make them orderly.
It is too simplistic to say, however, that this is the re
sult of too strict a concept of sexual morality. Sex is
only one of the elements segregated to the afternoon hours; j
•^"The sterility, both physical and emotional of this j
typical modern couple is so great that they can come close j
to each other only in a fantasy world." Ibid.
186
aggression and. fantasy are banished as well, leaving the
evenings for sophisticated and conventional conduct. Sex
ual morality is only one of the impulses with which the
couple must contend.
The characters are morally interesting to the audi
ence first, because they seem so unconcerned by morality
and then, because they are revealed to be moral after all.
Richard, particularly, arouses interest because he can be
come morally outraged about a situation in which the audi
ence can find no immorality. This incongruity is one of
the chief causes of the audience's amusement.
Sarah is interesting and amusing because she looks
and acts so unlike a woman with a lover. Stuffy business
men like Richard are known to sometimes have mistresses;
stuffy housewives are not thought the type to have lovers.
The audience learns within the first few minutes that Sarah
is immoral, and their interest is aroused because it does
not seem possible. When they learn that she is not immoral,;
they feel that their impression of her character was cor
rect, and they increase their interest in the dilemma which
faces her.
Sarah inspires sympathy when she finds her security :
threatened for no specific reason (as far as the audience
can see at the time). Neither character inspires empathy, j
however. Though their problem of reconciling contradictory
impulses is a common one, their particular method for deal-:
187
ing with it and the problems it causes them are so unique
as to preclude deep identification by the audience. None
theless, the characters are recognizably human in their re
sponses to their peculiar situation, and the play is a
comedy. No deep emotional identification with the charac
ters is necessary for an appreciation of the play.
The characters reveal themselves through their
acute choices. The audience can easily see that Richard and
Sarah have at least two contradictory personalities and that
their two modes of life do not remain nicely separated. The
characters gain interest because of their unique method for
dealing with contradictory desires, and their choices main
tain interest since their unique method seems to be in the
process of deterioration.
The traditional critic sees the characters, partic
ularly at the beginning, as rebels against society's taboos.
Richard and Sarah satisfy the desire to rebel, and the
characters gain interest thereby. The traditional critic
also believes that the audience desires to see rebels pun-
t
ishedj therefore, he may interpret the ending as an unhappy
one in which order and reason are vanquished, leaving the
characters caught in a fantasy world. The critic, however, •
has an equally strong desire to see order and reason as
triumphant. He may decide that the characters, who are
after all not very rebellious, have made the right choice in;
allowing sexual expression to be part of their much too con-!
188
ventional, evening life. The traditional critic will not
be able to categorize the ending; its meaning remains as
open as Pinter intends it to be.
The hover is the most successful of Pinter's plays,
which have been investigated thus far, in meeting the eight
traditional criteria. The action and the characters are
more structured and more interesting on a moral level than
are these elements in previous plays. Pinter uses tradi
tional methods to supplement the development of non-tradi-
tional themes. Interesting action and consistent charac
ters are used to show that reality cannot be structured and
that personality is fluid.
The critics agree that this is not a Comedy of
Menace. Ronald Hayman indicates that this is the first
Pinter play in which there is no violence: "All we get are
conflicts of will."^ Pinter's rejection of a violent
ending for The Caretaker has led him to investigate other
expressions of the question of dominance and subservience.
John Russell Taylor finds neither violence nor a
clear-cut explanation of "anything" in the play: "Any men
ace to the status quo comes entirely from within; if the
arrangement looks like it is breaking down, it is only be
cause the desire to have things clear and unequivocal is
part of basic human nature and almost impossible to van-
40
Hayman, op. cit., p. 57*
189
„4i
quish. George Wellwarth believes that the arrangement
is breaking down. He says: "The Lover is Pinter's bitter
est, most cogent and most expertly written statement of his
belief that the tragedy of people today is their 'deliber-
ho
ate evasion of communication.'"
Mr. Wellwarth's is a peculiar interpretation.
Eventually, the characters may find it more difficult to
maintain a balance or to find a new one, but they do com
municate (even though Richard took a devious path toward
communicating his new pattern), and they are shown communi
cating at the end of the play. The play is hardly tragic,
43
nor is it expressionistic. J Though no new label is used
to define The Lover, the indiscriminate use of old labels
still confuses the descriptions of the play in some cases.
Two critics, Lois G. Gordon and Mr. Hayman, do not
like the play because it is not as complex as other Pinter
44
plays. Traditional critics, on the other hand, will like
the play principally because it is not so complex as to
cause bafflement. They will be able to maintain their in
terest in the events on stage instead of speculating about
hidden motives and implications.
41
Taylor, Anger and After, op. cit., p. 312.
42
Wellwarth, loc. cit.
4q
“\Hinchliffe quotes Bamber Gascoine as calling the
play expressionistic in Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 124.
44Cf. ante, p. 168. (Footnote 25.)
190
Arnold P. Hinchliffe recognizes The Lover as a new
kind of drama (as are all of Pinter's plays to a certain
extent), and he laments the fact that Pinter has not de-
lie
veloped it further. J Other critics believe that this
kind of play, though one example may be interesting, is
not worthy of any further development. Walter Kerr com
pares this play to other Pinter plays and concludes: "The
Lover is even lighter, very close to extended vaudeville,
though, in its existential playfulness, it opens the door
to yet another aspect of the continuing proposition that
existence precedes essence.Ruby Cohn does not believe
that the play has an existential point of view, yet she
reaches an assessment of the play's significance which is
much the same. She says: "Appearance is reality in The
Lovers [sic]. And if such reality seems somewhat bony
after the metaphysical suggestiveness of his earlier plays,
at least the skeleton is beautifully articulated."^
II. The Homecoming
■ Plot Synopsis
The action takes place in the large living room of
46
Kerr, op. cit., pp. 30-31.
^Ruby Cohn, "Latter Day Pinter," Drama Survey, III
(February, 1964), 377. Martin Esslin says, "The Lover
deals with the theme in miniature, with elegance and dry
humour, on the level of subtle, intimate comedy, The Peo
pled Wound, op. cit., p. 143.
191
an old house In North London; the entry hall and the stairs
to the upper level can be seen through the arch at the rear
of the room. Lenny, the middle brother in the family, is
sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper when his father Max
enters and rummages through the sideboard. Max asks Lenny
about the scissors; Lenny tells him to shut up. Max makes
a threatening gesture with the stick he always carries and
48
sits down.
Max prattles on about a friend named MacGregor whom
he admired. Max mentions his own wife Jessie, yet he is
ambivalent about her. He says she was not a bad woman,
4q
but it made him sick to look at her. ^ Lenny ignores this
description of his mother. The two discuss horses (Max
says he is an expert) and Max's cooking. Once again Max
threatens Lenny with the stick, and Lenny reacts with mock
terror.
Sam, Max's brother, comes in wearing his chauffeur's
uniform. He and Lenny talk about Sam's job and exclude
Max. Sam brags about his own skills, so Max interrupts to
say that it is surprising that a man with Sam's gifts is
not married. Max suggests that Sam is "banging away" at
his lady customers, but Sam denies it. Sam disapproves of i
48
Pinter begins with character and situation. He ex-i
hlbits the tensions between these characters even though
these tensions never develop into a central conflict.
4q
^Pinter does have the plot in mind; he establishes
Max's attitude toward women.
192
"other people" who do such things.^® Max tells Sam to
bring his bride home if he gets married; she can keep the
SI
whole family happy. Sam says he could never find a
bride like Max's Jessie; she was a nice companion.
Joey, the youngest son, returns from the gym where
he has been training to be a boxer. He is hungry but Max
52
refuses to cook anything; Max tells him to find a mother.
Lenny leaves. When Joey talks about the gym, Max explains
Joey's problem as a boxer: he does not know how to defend
himself or how to attack. Joey goes upstairs. Sam says
he wants to explain what he meant about Jessie, but he
ends by insulting MacGregor.Max threatens to throw Sam
out when he stops paying his way, and Sam reminds Max that
he is part owner of the house. Max launches into a de
scription of their father; he remembers being dandled and
tossed in the air.-^ [The first scene violates the crite
rion for interest in action. No particular problem emerges
50
- ^ Pinter establishes Sam's character even though Sam
does not take an important part in the action.
-^Hayman, op. cit., p. 63* calls this "half-hearted
plotting." As in all his plays, Pinter includes a pro
phetic speech which shows he has the plot in mind.
52
v Pinter foreshadows the end and shows the charac
ters' needs.
-^Sam's function is to aid in revealing Pinter's no
tion of the cyclical nature of life.
54
^ This long scene has no dramatic action. Interest
is aroused by humor.
193
as the focus of attention; no action is initiated.]
The second scene begins later that night and ex
hibits the unexpected arrival of Teddy, the oldest son who
has been living in America, and his wife, Ruth. None of
the rest of the family is awake, so Teddy decides not to
bother them. He goes upstairs to see if his old room is
still there"^ while Ruth walks around the living room.
Teddy returns and suggests they go to bed, but Ruth is re
luctant to stay. (She says the children might miss them.)
Teddy tells Ruth to go to bed and not to be nervous. He
ignores her refusals in his excitement at being home again.
When she decides to go out for a walk, he does not know
what to do. He says he will wait up; she takes his key and
eg
leaves. [No action occurs in this scene since no one is
present to respond to the couple's arrival.]
Lenny enters, dressed in his pajamas. He greets
his brother without surprise or any evident interest. He
complains about a "tick" which keeps him awake, and Teddy
asks whether there is a clock in his room. Teddy volun
teers information about his activities and asks about his
father, but Lenny still shows no interest so Teddy goes
-'■'Each character is interested in claiming certain
territory.
Kg
•'This is another scene of character and situation.
It contains no action but exhibits humorous tensions be
tween Ruth and Teddy.
194
57
upstairs. Lenny goes out and returns with his clock.
Ruth comes in and they talk casually about the weather.
Eventually Lenny suggests that Ruth must be "connected"
with Teddy, and she says she is his wife.
Lenny describes the trouble with his clock and then
offers her some water. She drinks as they discuss the trip
she and Teddy took to Venice before coming to Londonj she
must remind Lenny that she is Teddy's wife. (Len asks if
they live together.) Lenny speculates that he might have
gone to Venice if he had been old enough for World War II.
58
He asks if he can hold her hand, and when Ruth asks why,
he tells about a woman who made him "a certain proposal."
He beat her because she was diseased; he decided she was.
He gives a second speech about an old lady who asked him
to move an iron mangle; he beat her too.
Lenny tries to retrieve the water glass from Ruth,
but she refuses.^ He says he will take the glass, and
she replies, "If you take the glass . . .I'll take you."^°
-^This exhibits an odd relationship between the
brothers, but it still involves an exploration of the situ
ation. Character is obviously more important to Pinter
than action.
-^This is the beginning of the action that culminates
in Ruth's decision to stay.
5 0
conflict seems about to develop between Lenny and
Ruth after he tries to establish his dominance— Pinter's
recurring theme.
^Harold Pinter, The Homecoming (New York: Grove
Press, Inc., 1965)* p. 34. The ellipsis is in the text.
195
She offers him a sip and. tells him to sit on her lap; she
will pour it down his throat. He asks if she is making
some kind, of proposal. She finishes her water, smiles, and.
goes upstairs. He calls after her, hut returns to the liv-
/T -
ing room. [This scene stimulates some interest but it
contains two long speeches which the traditional critic
will believe to be unnecessary to either plot or character
ization. ]
Max comes downstairs to ask why Lenny was shouting;
he thinks Lenny was talking to someone, and he is upset
when Lenny denies it. Lenny asks about the night of his
conception; he wants to know the "true facts." Max spits
6Z Q
at him and goes back upstairs. [This scene fails to ad
vance the action, and it is repetitious in its exhibition
of character.]
The next morning Joey is exercising in the living
room when Max comes in. Max asks him to go to a football
game but he refuses. Sam comes from the kitchen (Max’s
"favorite" place) and Max accuses him— amid insults— of
being resentful. Teddy and Ruth come downstairs in their
dressing gowns, and Max is astonished. He asks the others
^'*'Ruth shows that she is more adept .at dominating
their relationship. She reveals the personalities of
mother (sit on lap) and lover after previously being Ted
dy’s wife. She represents Pinter's philosophy.
62
Pinter returns to an exploration of the situation
before developing the action further.
if they knew Teddy was there. Max sees Ruth and assumes
that she is a "dirty tart" despite Teddy's protests that
she is his wife. Max is irate; he says he "never" had a
whore in the house since his wife died.
Max tells Joey to throw them out, but Joey apolo
gizes for Max. (Lenny comes in.) Max turns to Joey and
hits him in the stomach; Max begins to collapse from the
exertion. Sam moves toward him, and Max hits Sam on the
head with the stick. Joey sinks at Ruth's feet, and Max
goes to her. He reverses himself and asks sweetly about
whether Ruth has children. He is pleased that she has
64
three. He turns to Teddy to see if Ted wants a "cuddle
and kiss." When Ted agrees, Max turns to the family to an
nounce that Teddy still loves his father. The curtain
falls.65
The second act begins with the family gathered in
the living room after lunch. Max says he wishes Jessie
were alive to see the family together. She was a "wonder
ful woman," and he was a good husband and father. He in
terrupts his reminiscences to tell Sam to go to work and
then continues to describe how hard he worked for his
65This is a significant complication of the action.
But it occurs near the end of Act One which is very late
in terms of the criterion for action.
6k
Pinter goes further in establishing the cycle.
66
Pinter arouses interest in action just in time to
keep the audience interested during intermission.
197
"slutbitch" of a wife and three "bastard" sons. Max re
turns to insulting Sam until Sam leaves and Max turns his
attention to Teddy. When Max learns that the wedding (of
Ted and Ruth) took place in London, he says he would have
provided a big wedding. He is proud of Ted's Ph.D. and of
Ruth's attributes.
Ruth confesses that she was different before mar
riage, but Teddy says she was the same.^ Teddy says that
Ruth is a great help and that they live in a stimulating
environment. Lenny asks Ted a philosophical question about
"being" and "non-being," but Ted says this is not within
his province. Lenny pursues the subject, and Ruth inter
jects her philosophy of being. She says:
Look at me. I . . . move my leg. That's all it is.
But I wear . . . underwear . . . which moves with me
. . . it . . . captures your attention. Perhaps you
misinterpret. The action is simple. It's a leg . . .
moving. My lips move. Why don't you restrict . . .
your observations to that? Perhaps the fact that
they move is more significant . . . than the words
which come through them. You must bear that . . .
possibility . . . in mind.6°
Max tells Joey go to to the gym, but Joey sits
looking at Ruth until forced to leave with Max and Lenny.
^Max is a spokesman, in his strange way, for Pin
ter's philosophy.
^Pinter shows that they are both right by exhibiting
Ruth's contradictions.
Pinter, The Homecoming, op. cit., pp. 52-53. The
ellipses are in the text. Kelly Morris calls this an
"author's note" in "The Homecoming," Tulane Drama Review
;(Winter, 1968), p. 190. It Is also sexually provocative.
198
When they are alone, Teddy tells Ruth that they should go
home. He extolls the cleanliness of America; she asks if
he thinks it is dirty in England. He says he will go up
stairs to pack. He complains that there is no place to
bathe., only a place down the street which is a "filthy
urinal." He tells Ruth that she liked Venice, but she re
plies that she would have seen it before if she had been a
nurse in World War 11.^ [Tensions are building, but the
pace remains slow.]
Teddy goes upstairs, and Lenny returns. He and
Ruth discuss clothes, and she shows him her shoes (and
legs). She describes her past as a "model for the body."
Teddy returns with their suitcases and tells Ruth to put
on her coat. Lenny asks her to dance, and they kiss as
Joey and Max come in. Joey is thrilled that Ruth is a
"tart"; he leads her to the couch where they embrace and
kiss. Joey lies on top of Ruth while Lenny strokes her
hair. Max notices the suitcases and bids Ted a cheerful
farewell, advising Ted that he is "broadminded" about wo
men. Max complients Ruth as a "woman of feeling" just as
she and Joey roll off the sofa onto the floor.[The
climax does not meet the traditional criterion.]
^Ruth makes no overt choice of action, but her mimi- !
cry of Lenny is a clever complication. Pinter foreshadows
the end; he has the plot in mind. ;
"^Pinter shows the audience this turning-point in the j
fortunes of the characters; there has been no central con- j
199
Suddenly Ruth pushes Joey away and demands some-
71
thing to eat and drinkj she demands whiskey in a tumbler.
She asks Teddy if the family has read his critical works,
but he says that the family would not understand them. He
says: "it’s a question of how far you can operate on
things and not in things." He concludes: "I can see what
you do. It's the same as I do. But you’re lost In It.
You won't get me being ... I won't be lost in it."^2
The next scene occurs in the evening; Teddy and Sam
are alone in the living room. Sam talks about MacGregor
7-3
and reveals that Teddy was his mother's favorite.1 Lenny
enters and goes to find his cheese roll, but it is gone.
Teddy admits that he took it deliberately, prompting a long
distribe from Lenny about how sulky Ted became in America.
Lenny says that the family expects liberality of spirit;
„ ,.7 4
he asks if Ted has given that. Ted says, Yes.
Joey comes down the stairs, and Lenny asks how he
got on with Ruth. Joey admits "he didn't get all the way."
flict which led to the point, however. The lack of con
flict shows Pinter's greater interest in character as op
posed to action.
^The theme of dominance is explicit.
"^Pinter, The Homecoming, op. cit., pp. 61-62.
Pinter gives Teddy the opportunity to describe Ted's goal
in life as well as in writing.
"^This complication suggests that Teddy might be
Mac's son.
74
1 This scene makes It clear that Pinter is not at
tempting a rational arrangement of literal reality.
200
Lenny is incredulous; he asks Teddy if Ruth is a tease.
Teddy says that Joey might not have the right touch, but
Lenny tells about their exploits with two girls in the
Scrubs. Max returns and asks about "the whore." He com
miserates with Joey about Ruth’s treatment of him. Max and
Lenny speculate about Ruth's treatment of Teddy until Joey
gets angry. Max decides that the family should keep Ruth,
but Teddy argues quietly against it and Sam joins him.
75
Max continues his plans for her.1- ^
Joey and Max agree to pass the hat for money to
support Ruth, but Teddy refuses to contribute. Lenny of
fers a solution to the problem of money: he will take her
to one of his flats in Greek Street when she can work as
a prostitute. Joey objects to sharing her with "yobs," but
Lenny says he has a distinguished clientele. Max worries
if Ruth is "up to the mark"; Len reassures him.^ Lenny
suggests that Teddy can be their American representative.
Ruth comes downstairs, and Teddy tells her that
the family has asked her to stay. He does not mind if she
accepts, but she fears she would be too much trouble for
them. Max says she would not. Teddy explains that she
must help financially; he says she could come home with
him. Lenny tells her about the flat, and she asks about
"^Pinter is resolving the action which involves the
family and Ruth.
76
1 Lenny believes he can dominate Ruth.
201
the number of rooms. She and Lenny dicker over the ar
rangements; she demands a written Inventory signed In the
77
presence of witnesses.
Sam steps forward and announces that MacGregor had
Jessie in the back of his cab. Sam collapses and the
others speculate about whether he is dead. Joey says he is
not dead, so they leave Sam lying there. (Max says Sam had
a diseased imagination.) Ruth agrees to the arrangement,
and Teddy prepares to leave. Ruth says: "Eddie. Don't be
come a stranger."^® He leaves.^
Ruth sits with Joey kneeling at her chair and Max
above them. Max says he is not an old man, but he worries
whether Ruth knows what is required of her. He says:
"Listen, I've got a funny idea she'll do the dirty on us,
on
you want to bet?" He falls to his knees and crawls
around Sam toward Ruth. He raises his face to her saying,
"Kiss me." She continues to touch Joey's hand. Lenny
stands, watching. The curtain falls. [The conclusion does
not meet the traditional criterion, action is unresolved.]
7?Ruth will dominate Len. Pinter prepares the audi
ence (even more than he does in Act One) for a new action—
between Ruth and Lenny— which is never resolved.
"^Pinter, The Homecoming, op. cit., p. 80.
^Arnold p, Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p.
157, wonders whether Ruth's line is the "moral crux" of
the play. Pinter, however, reveals no moral point of view.
Q0
Pinter, The Homecoming, op. cit., p. 8l. Max is
very worried; Pinter does not resolve the tensions among
the characters by this conclusion.
Analysis of Plot Construction
Harold Pinter believes that The Homecoming has the
8l
best structure of any of his plays. The play begins by
establishing the characters in the family and by giving a
clue to their reaction to and plans for women. Nothing
in the first scene* however* prepares the audience directly
for the second scene; no one mentions the existence of a
third brother. The cause of the third brother's return
remains a mystery even in his own scene. He appears to
have more reasons to avoid his family— he has a history of
avoiding them— than to return to them in the middle of the
• v , + . 82
night.
The scenes which follow the first two are logically
related through the motives of the characters. The charac
ters have multiple and partially hidden motives for what
they do; they are locked in a fight for control. The im
portant scenes— when Ted greets the family* when Ruth em
braces Lenny and Joey* when Ruth determines to stay— are
the result of the strange natures of the characters. The
things they do are suitable for them* but these things are
not logical when judged by standards outside the context
of the play. The traditional critic can conclude that
human beings do not act as these characters do; therefore*
f t 1
Pinter* "The Art of the Theatre*" op. cit.* p. 26.
82
Hayman* op. cit., p. 64* says that Teddy's scene is
improbable in a "worrying way."
203
a plot structure based on their motives cannot be logical.
The critics disagree about whether the structure of
the play is logical. Ronald Hayman says: "Everyone's be
havior consists of a series of unexpected, separate actions,
each one either disconnected from the last or at a tangent
with it, and the actions are separate, not only from each
Oo
other, but from the personality of the protagonist." ^
John Russell Taylor, on the other hand, believes that the
play has an effective structure: "Technically it is the
end-product of all Pinter has learnt in his writing career:
tight, compact, stripped down to bare essentials, seeming
to conceal nothing, hold nothing back, and yet remaining as
mysterious in its nightmarish clarity as the deepest and
O
most obscure of his early plays."
Surely, Ronald Hayman cannot be correct; a reason
can be found for most of the things that happen. It is
equally certain, however, that Taylor and those who support ■
his position, do not describe the play in terms of tradi
tional technique for plot construction. The traditional
critic is more likely to agree with Arnold P. Hinchliffe
Qq
•^Hayman, op. cit., p. 67.
84
Taylor, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 21. Hugh Nel
son, "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin,1 1 op. cit., p. l49j
: and Arthur Ganz, "A Clue to the Pinter Puzzle: The Triple
Self in The Homecoming," Educational Theatre Journal, XXI
(May, 1969)> 180, agree with Taylor. Esslin, The Peopled
Wound, op. cit., p. 157> says that the events are "per-
fectly explicable."
204
who finds many of the scenes to be logical while other
events need more adequate causes than are immediately ap
parent. He wonders why Teddy is afraid to confront the
family, why Max is so angry when he first sees Ruth, whether
Ruth's speech about underwear and Teddy's about living in
things are significant, and what moral comment, if any, may
Qr
be deduced from the play.
The same problem with logic exists in this play as
exists in previous Pinter plays. The motives of the char
acters cause the events to happen,but motivations are, at
least, partially, hidden. This is true despite the fact
that the first long scene is devoted entirely to exposition.
Hugh Nelson points out that the first scenes are necessary
for the audience. The scenes are "crucial in allowing us
to see the motherless, wifeless, sexless family in opera
tion and in allowing us to see the essential sterility of
Ruth's relationship to Teddy.These scenes are crucial
in lessening the shock value of future scenes; as is usual
in the long plays, the first scene foreshadows the end.
Yet the play begins before the principal action begins;
it does not satisfy the criterion for the beginning.
The middle follows from the beginning, and the end
follows from the middle. The end, however, presupposes
^Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., pp. 151-157.
®^Hugh Nelson, "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin," loc.
cit.
another action following it. Hugh Nelson says: "Pinter's
vision of human relationships is basically dialectical.
Contradictions lead to new syntheses which in turn may
break apart."8^ This is true in The Lover as well, but in
that play the audience could imagine that the new synthesis
would not differ appreciably from the old. In The Home
coming "the real play may, in a sense, be said to begin
after the curtain falls; he [Lenny] and Ruth are measuring
each other up for the fight that must ensue from the ar-
88
rangements that the play has proposed."
The action is unified (except for the first scene);
it is concerned with the events involving Teddy and Ruth.
Action results from their arrival and culminates in Teddy's
departure and Ruth's decision to stay. The action has mag
nitude in its dealing with basic human relationships. Each
character is an important character and each undergoes a
significant change of fortune. Sam collapses; Teddy loses
his wife; Joey gains a wife and mother as does Max; Lenny
gains a whore and mother; Ruth finds a new family while
leaving what had been her own family behind. It Is impos
sible to say whether any of these changes are for the bet
ter or the worse. "if the play Is to have a label, tragedy
seems nearer the truth. But then the question remains:
87Ibid., p. 151.
QQ
Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit.? p. 162.
206
whose tragedy?"" perhaps It is the tragedy of the three
sons in America who seem doomed to repeat the cycle of
Max's family.
The subject of the action is, again, a presentation
of things as Pinter says they are. Pinter believes that
personality encompasses contradictory elements, and in The
Homecoming, as in no other play, there are six examples of
contradictory human beings. These six examples allow for
conclusions to be drawn about which type of adjustment to
contradictions is the most conducive to achieving power and
control.
The thinkers are over-whelmed— of course--by those
who act. . . . But those who live in their bodies, by
instinct, at the expense of their minds, are overruled
by the woman, who does not fight for power, but just
assumes it. . . . It is a play we could easily dis
like, but not possibly ignore.90
John R. Taylor and Walter Kerr agree that Ruth is the char
acter who dominates the family and the play because she is
91
free to take advantage of the situation.
The idea that Ruth makes the best adjustment to the
situation is, however, repellant to some critics and spec
tators because it includes her agreement to become a whore.
The possibility that she was a whore before her marriage to
" ibid., p. 160.
^Anonymous, "Pinter Pointers," The Times Literary
Supplement, July 1, 1965* P* 552.
^Taylor, Harold Pinter, op. cit., pp. 22-23; and
Kerr, op. cit., p. 35.
Teddy also tends to detract from Pinter's idea that per
sonality is., and should be, fluid, Gerald Mast contrasts
this play to The Lover and concludes: "In the later play
the characters have a single, unalterable, consistent per
sonality that absolutely determines their action regardless
of their attempts to assume different guises."^2
Mast ignores the obvious exhibition of Ruth in
her role of Teddy's wife when she appears quite respectable.
She continues to be a wife to Teddy even after her sexual
liaisons with the others: she asks about Ted's critical
works. Mast also ignores the inconsistencies of the other
characters: though Teddy seems an outsider, he is often as
much like his family as the others (he tells Max about
Ruth's activities with Joey; he laments Sam's collapse only
because Sam cannot drive him to the airport). Sam seems
consistently kind, but even he reveals a "diseased imagina
tion." Max, Lenny, and Joey all express both family af-
QS
feetion and hatred.
Walter Kerr gives an existential explanation of the
Importance of the whore in Pinter's plays: "The whore, by
definition, lacks definition. The whore performs no single
social role, she is what each new man wishes to make her.
She is available to experience, and she is an available
92Gerald Mast, "Pinter's Homecoming," Drama Survey,
VI (Spring, 1968), 275.
^These contradictions are the basis for Hayman's
adverse reaction to the play, Hayman, loc. cit.
I 208 I
! o i i !
; experience. The traditional critic does not look upon a j
I
whore this way, however. And though Pinter means for Ruth j
;to "lack definition"— Max fears she will not adhere to the j
j
family's definition, and Ruth herself shows by her rela- : !
1
tionship with Joey that she will not— the traditional critic!
95 !
may: not find any subtlety in her characterization. i
Pinter adds another contradiction to his usual pat- j
j
tern: the exhibition of the fluidity of personality. This j
second contradiction shows that though change is constant
(no one can call his wife his own nor expect that once the ;
mother is gone from a family, she will not return), life i
often moves in cycles. The male members of the older gen- ’
1
eration have a counterpart in the younger generation, if j
96
MacGregor can be considered part of the older generation. :
Ruth will take Jessie's place while her three sons in Amer
ica have only a father to care for them Just as Max's
0 7 i
family had only a father before Ruth arrived.
^Kerr, op. cit., pp. 35-36.
John Lahr, "Pinter the Spaceman," Evergreen Review,
XII (June, 1968), 51* says that most American audiences as
sumed that Ruth was a whore and nothing else.
^Bernard E. Dukore, "A Woman's Place," The Quarterly
!Journal of Speech, LII (October, 1966), 238, believes that
jTeddy and Max, Lenny and MacGregor, and Joey and Sam are
counterparts. Ganz, op. cit., p. l8l, thinks that Teddy
: and Sam, Lenny and Max, and Joey and MacGregor are the
:counterparts. Both critics agree that Jessie and Ruth are
counterparts.
^In The Basement, a film-script which Pinter wrote
209
The suggestiveness of Pinter's subjects, which pre
sent the conjunction of the real and unreal, the fluid and
the cyclical, the mysterious and the trite, provides ample
territory for critical investigation. The traditional
critic might ask that the theme be presented with more
clarity, yet he will not find the action improbable, given
the motives of the characters.
The Homecoming exhibits a series of events which
presuppose the same degree of distance, and therefore,
should not strike the critic as improbable. "The ending is
only incredible if the audience assumes that it has been
watching a lucid, conventional drama all along. The au
dience should make no such assumption, not only because
the characters are exceptional but because the action is
not conventional.
One scene which has elicited much critical comment
illustrates Pinter's method of letting the audience know
that this is not a conventional drama. Lenny confronts
Teddy as a result of Teddy's strange behavior, but the be
havior Lenny refers to is the stealing of a cheese-roll.
"Routine matters are treated as bizarre."^9 Teddy never
confronts either Ruth or his family about their strange
at about the same time the cyclical nature of existence is
even more explicit.
9®Mast, op. cit., p. 266.
9%unkel, op. cit., p. 19.
210
behavior. "Consistent with this Swiftian rhetoric, genu
inely shocking incidents, on the other hand, are treated
as though they were prosaic.
The play has a second act which contains signifi
cant action, but the first act builds very slowly. Action
does not begin in earnest until the meeting of Lenny and
Ruth near the end of the first act. Their scene introduces
the dramatic problem for the first time by exhibiting
Ruth's sexual byplay with a member of the family. The
next scene does not complicate that problem, however; it
returns to the exhibition of tensions within the family.
This scene reinforces the audience's impressions about the
family's needs, but the audience should be aware of them.
The final scene of the first act begins by covering the
same situation again before the action resumes. The en
trance of Teddy and Ruth provokes an emotional confronta
tion between Max and Teddy which suggests possibilities
for important action in the second act.
The second complication of the problem occurs in
the first scene of the second act: Ruth begins to confess
that she was different before marriage and she interrupts
the philosophical debate to call attention to the impor
tance of the physical. She expresses enough of her dis
taste for life in America to prompt the next complication:
100Ibid., p. 20.
211
Teddy's decision to take her home. The action* then* does
huild in intensity during this act* and it leads to the
climax when Max and Joey return to find Ruth kissing Lenny
and Joey assumes the role of Ruth's lover.
The denouement shows the results of the liaison be
tween Ruth and Joey* and the audience will remain curious
about what Teddy will do. Teddy does nothing more aggres
sive than steal Lenny's cheese-roll* however* and audience
interest shifts to Joey's revelation of Ruth's actions and
Max's plan to keep her. When the plan* including Lenny's
offer* is presented to Ruth* Sam collapses* but there is
no suspense generated; surely Ruth will accept and Teddy
will leave.
After Teddy leaves Max makes the statement which is
designed to sustain audience interest even after the play
is over: he suggests that Ruth will not adhere to their
agreement. The audience can continue their interest by
imagining what might happen* but only if they have been
interested in the characters. "All we are to expect from
the play is a gradually expanding knowledge of the inner
lives of the characters.
The action begins too late and builds too slowly
to satisfy the criterion of the traditional critic. Nor
is there enough focus on just the dramatic problem to make
■^^Hugh Nelson* "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin*" op.
cit.* p. 151,
212
the action seem Important. Each character--except Ruth—
Is so "lost In" his personal struggle (even Teddy who strug
gles to remain detached) that he does not plan any action
until near the end of the play. Even at this point Max
makes no plans to avoid the prospect of Ruth's "doing the
dirty" on them. Gerald Nelson describes the reasons for
the Inconclusiveness of the play: "Everything happens psy
chologically In a Pinter play but* as In life, translating
this psychic action into meaningful physical action, an
action that can end the play and resolve all that has gone
1 O P
before it, is (again as in life) impossible."
The structural elements of the plot do not function
conventionally. Exposition, as usual, is out of proportion
to the rest of the play: it encompasses the first half of
Act One. It has humor enough to interest the audience,
and it includes the foreshadowing of the conclusion. The
foreshadowing does not include any preparation for the ar
rival of two visitors, however; nor does it reveal why the
characters (except Sam who is exceptionally quiet) are so
brutal. Teddy and Ruth reveal much more about their mo
tives later than do any of the characters who have so much
time devoted to them in the first scene.
There is no central conflict in the play at all.
Each character, except Ruth, is personally opposed to every
102Gerald Nelson, op. cit., p. 38. ;
213
other character, yet their mutual dependence on each other
(and Teddy's desire not to be dependent on anyone) is so
strong that no conflict ever develops beyond a skirmish.
A confrontation occurs between Lenny and Teddy; but Teddy
refuses, as always, to express his emotions; he resolves
the tension with a simple "yes." Sam tries to force a con
frontation, but he is so weak that the effort leads to his
collapse. Ruth might have undergone an internal struggle
before choosing to stay with the family, but she does not.
In fact, she shows her interest in them in her first scene
with Lenny.
Arthur Ganz says that the various tensions reveal
"the power of the vital, brutish, passional elements of
the human self in both men and women— and the ability of
these elements to defeat those gentler aspects of the self
which attempt to impose some beneficient order on the world
10S
of inner violence." Yet no character tries to impose
order. Teddy might have tried, but he chose instead to
escape. The brutish elements meet no resistance in this
play except from Ruth, who does not confront but uses them
to gain her goals.
The climax, of course, cannot be a confrontation be-:
tween opposing forces; it must be the turning-point in the :
fortunes of the characters. The climax occurs when Ruth
■'■^Ganz, op. cit., p. 18. j
214
rolls on the floor with Joey and then demands food and
drink. She is in the process of assuming her role in
the family and rejecting Teddy. After this she will show
even less interest in returning to America than she re
vealed in the previous scene, and Teddy will be even more
ineffectual in trying to persuade her to leave. She shows
the family that they need her; their arrangement for keep
ing her is the logical result.
Because action is so unimportant in the play, the
climax of the action does not arouse the maximal emotional
response from any character. Max expresses more emotion
at the end of both Act One and Two than he does during the
climax. Lenny is more aroused about his cheese-roll and
Teddy more aroused about describing the swimming baths
than they are here. Joey, though sexually aroused, shows
more emotion later when Lenny says that Teddy "gets the
gravy." Sam is not even present. There is no single scene
in the play which can be called the emotional highpoint;
instead, there is a free-floating sense of anxiety which is
never dispelled.
The denouement exhibits the resolution of the fore- :
going action, but it includes no scene or speech which shows:
a recognition of the import of that action. No character
evaluates his part in the action or accepts responsibility
for its outcome. Only Max has a flash of recognition, but
it concerns the future, not the past, and he is so involved ;
215
in the present that he cannot resist Ruth. The characters
have reached an inevitable, for them, new equilibrium, and
the audience can see how these particular characters can
find it inevitable. "Ironically, Eden is not innocent, nor
civilization corrupt; the latter is an endless round of
banal responsibilities, the former— to use Freud's phrase--
'a seething cauldron' of sexual intrigues.
Analysis of Characterization
"The Homecoming again treats the struggle for power
and sexual mastery beneath the ritualized games of daily
life, yet it has a primitive quality, as Pinter reveals,
both in action and imagery, the uncontrollable, bestial
underside of tnan."'1 '^ The most uncontrolled and bestial
character is Max who, though consistently inconsistent,
seems capable of almost any outrageous behavior. His words
are a combination of pleasant and horrifying reminiscences
and terribly Insulting and sweetly complimentary phrases.
Max's actions combine violent attacks and the per
formance of housewifely duties. He also offers companion
ship to his sons (football tickets) and a cuddle and kiss
(to Teddy). He never follows through on his offers or they
are rejected; the other characters have the same ambivalent
feelings toward him that he has toward them. They are wary
^^G-ordon, op. cit., p. 6l.
105Ibid., p. 53.
216
of him because they never can be sure how he will react;
he can be reasonable but more often he is destructive. He
is "castrated"--Lenny says he is sexless— and he castrates
106
his sons.
There is a certain pattern to Max's inconsistency:
all his memories include both happy and unhappy instances.
His insults are invariably followed by pleasant remarks.
Toward the end Ruth's presence seems to exert a stablizing
influence on him., yet he is disgusted by Sam and he re
mains ambivalent. While he makes plans to keep Ruth, he
worries whether she will be able or willing to perform her
duties. He may become violent or insulting again; neither
the other characters nor the audience knows what he will
do. Though he is consistent to the extent that he is con
tinuously inconsistent, he does not exhibit control. The
traditional critic will not find in Max an objectification
of human desires and fears but an exaggeration of them.
Lenny is more controlled. "Lenny, rather than his
father, seems to be obsessed with order and clarity. He,
unlike the rest of the family, has his study downstairs: he
is sensitive to atmosphere, and only becomes desensitized
when unreasonable demands are made on him."'1 ' 0^ Yet the
things which Lenny finds "unreasonable" reveal a consis-
106Ibid.
10^Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 159.
0
217
tently peculiar definition of order and clarity. He finds
it unreasonable for his father to ask him simple questions,
for Ruth to make sexual advances (even though he makes the
first advances), and for Teddy to eat his cheese-roll.
Lenny's purpose is to impress and manipulate others, and
he succeeds with all the family except Ruth.
Lenny's methods are reminiscent of Mick's in The
Caretaker] he tells long stories about bizarre people and
he becomes philosophical (just as Mick became poetic) when
an opportunity appears. Both the stories and the philoso
phy are virtuoso performances which are designed to con-
-j / * \ Q
ceal more than they reveal about his real feelings.
He succeeds to a large extent in concealing his feelings
from the audience since he remains an aloof spectator at
the meeting between the family and Ruth and at the tableau
which forms the conclusion. When the audience learns that
he is a pimp, a man who arranges sexual encounters for
others but does not take part in the encounter itself, his
manner seems quite consistent. Yet Lenny is as likely as
Max to become angry over trifles and though his stories of
violence are never confirmed, his potential for lack of
control is established.^^
- i pvQ
Cf. ante, p. 97. (Pinter's description of strata
gems in speech.)
■^%anz, op. cit., p. 182, says Lenny represents the
ego but his actions and reported actions contradict this
opinion.
Sara is much more controlled than Lenny and he is
consistent in holding back his retaliation against Max un
til the end of the play. Sam undergoes a slight process of
development during the play. In his first scene he only
hints that some people used the chauffeured cars for "bang
ing away" at lady customers. And when he is threatened by
Max, Sam merely reminds him that this is the family home.
The next time he is threatened he replies by questioning
the skill of Max’s pal MacGregor.
Sam almost succeeds in telling Teddy that MacGregor
was Teddy's father, but he cannot bring himself to do that.
He does reveal that Teddy was Jessie's favorite, but his
effort to be confidential is interrupted by Lenny's en
trance. Sam tries to protest the arrangement between the
family and Ruth, but when she accepts, he is driven to tell
about Jessie and MacGregor. He has progressed from giving
hints to delivering a full confession. He changes from a
quiet, patient character into one who can be (verbally)
violent. He, too, is a proper member of this family; he
undergoes a consistent process of change in which the "vi
tal, brutish, passional elements" of his nature eventually
surface and cause his collapse.
Joey is as vital and brutish as any of the others,
but he is less verbal and less intelligent. He is a boxer
and can express his violence in a socially acceptable out
let. He is consistent within the play in expressing his
219
passional nature through adoration of Ruth. He is awe
struck when he first sees her and willing to accept "not
going any hog" in return for her affection. He grows angry
only when a complete sexual union between Ruth and another
man is mentioned. His anger can be pacified* however.
Joey is the most controlled and consistent character in
the playj even when he is boxing* Max says Joey does not
know how to attack. Joey is brutish* but like Sam* he is
unable to express it most of the time.
Teddy is consistent in his effort to control his
brutish feelings. Walter Kerr describes him as "rigid and
detached* wedded to essences* a Platonist. But Teddy
is not detached when he arrives (he is excited)* and he
does not remain detached throughout the play. When he
sees that Ruth is attracted to the family* he tries to
maneuver her into leaving. "Teddy— who* in completely
rationalizing his emotional life* may be the most violent
character on stage— is nevertheless aware of the real ex-
111
changes of feeling before him." He retaliates against
Lenny for helping to steal his wife in a most non-Platonic
manner.
Teddy recovers his consistent demeanor by arguing
reasonably* never emotionally* about the family’s proposal.
■ 1 ' ‘ 1 '®Kerr* op. cit., p. 35.
ini
Gordon* op. cit.* p. 59*
When he does not succeed with them, he makes his greatest
show of nonchalance by telling Ruth about the family's
plan. After she accepts it he leaves her to return to his
sons. He found one outlet for his hostility, the cheese-
roll, yet his almost total repression of emotion shows that
he has strong emotions to repress. He saves himself from
a violent expression of them by withdrawal, yet the tradi
tional critic sees in Ted's detachment, not a healthy con
trol of emotion or even, necessarily an intellectual re
sponse, but a neurotic one.
Ruth is the most consistent character in her in
consistencies. When she arrives, she appears quite re
spectable and proper. She is also a contrast to Teddy
since she is sure about what she wants. He tries to make
suggestions to her but does not listen to her answers. She
listens carefully to him and then goes her own way: she
leaves for a walk. She deals with her emotions by acting
on them; she does what she wants to do. Teddy mentions
emotions, principally nervousness, only to deny their ap
propriateness. Ruth senses his nervousness and she leaves
until he gets over it.
Ruth responds to and accepts her emotions in the
scene with Lenny, too. His advances interest her, so she
tests their sincerity and shows her superiority by making
advances of her own. Ronald Hayman finds their actions
arbitrary, "with an arbitrariness that is his [Pinter's],
221
112
not theirs." Mr. Hayman does not accept Lenny and Ruth
as examples of the conflicting desires in human personal
ity. Yet Lenny and Ruth are consistent in their expres
sion of contradictory drives; they are complete representa
tives of Pinter's philosophy.
Once Ruth is established as the image of "mother
and whore, wife and sister, matriarch and handmaiden,
guardian and hostage,"-^3 continues to fulfill each
role for the family and even her husband. She lets the
family know that she was "different" before marriage, but
Teddy says she was the same. (She was both different and
the same.) She shows how this is possible by rolling on
the floor with Joey and then asking about Teddy's critical
works. She never refuses when Teddy asks her to go home;
she accepts the family proposal when Ted tells her about
it. She need not renounce her role with him when she as
sumes the various roles which are possible in the family.
She is consistent in playing them all.
Ruth appears to be the most controlled character;
she never becomes angry and she can end a sexual liaison
as quickly as she began it. The fact, however, that she is
eager to assume any role which presents itself negates the
112
Hayman, op. cit., p. 66.
■^^Hugh Nelson, "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin," op.
cit., p. l60. Esslin says that Ruth is resigned to being
a passive object of desire, The Peopled Wound, op. cit,,
p. 164.
222
traditional critic's assessment of Ruth's personal control.
The traditional critic does not find any characterization
which aids in creating aesthetic distance. As Gerald Nel
son says, "We do not leave the theatre purged of pity and/
11 ii
or fear, but filled with it."
Each character has that motive which recurs in
Pinter's plays: the desire for dominance. "Pinter's char
acters have always had an animal instinct for 'territory,'
spatial possession. The strength of his stagecraft is that
their obscure warfare, however verbalized, is over the
stage itself. Sam does not try to dominate the entire
stage; he tries to control only his small part of it.
Sam's control fails him when he sees the past (or
what he thinks was the past) repeating itself. His reason
able motive for telling about Jessie and MacGregor is to
stop the agreement with Ruth, yet he has an emotional rea
son, as well. He has been struggling within himself all
through the play and presumably in the past, to keep from
telling. Once what he interprets to be total immorality
takes over the stage, he succumbs to its influence. He has
two adequate but contradictory motives for his revelation.
Joey does not have the skill to fight for the whole
territory, but he, too, tries to keep his part inviolate.
lli* ‘ Gerald Nelson, op. cit., p. 38.
^^Bryden, "A Stink of Pinter," loc. cit.
223
Joey does so by keeping some distance from his father, by
giving brief replies and by never pursuing his demands
when they meet a rebuff. Joey is under the influence of
Lenny, however. Lenny encourages Joey's interest in suc
cess and in sex; it was Lenny's idea to accost the two
girls in the Scrubs. Though Ruth intrigues Joey, it is
Lenny who arouses her and shows Joey what he can do sexu
ally.
Joey sees Ruth as part of the territory he wishes
to protect, but Lenny assures him that he can have a small
province of Ruth for his own, and Joey desists. Joey does
not have adequate motives or a background of experience to
fight for sole possession of either the stage or the woman.
He defers again to Lenny as he is accustomed to do.
Teddy has withdrawn from the struggle six years
previously. He returns by a circuitous route (through
Venice) and at a time when no one will be able to challenge
him. He establishes himself in the house physically just
as he has established himself first in the outside world
before he faces the family again. He intends to control at
least some portion of territory (he is thrilled that his
room is still there), but he discovers that he cannot even
control Ruth, much less the family. He has difficulty even j
controlling himself when he meets his father. Teddy has
adequate motives for trying to take Ruth and withdraw again.!
When it proves impossible to withdraw— because Ruth ;
224
Is more interested in staying— Teddy needs all his strength
to control himself. He has no real option, aside from
physical action, to reverse the growing attachment between
Ruth and the family. He tries to get the suitcases and
leave, but Ruth becomes even more involved with the family.
Teddy stays because he hopes she will go eventually, be
cause he is trying to maintain control, and because the
whole situation has a strange fascination.
Teddy steals the cheese-roll to prove to the family
that he is still independent of them, but he is not. He
becomes caught up in the action of Ruth's conquest as much
as the others because it interests him and because it
gives him secret satisfaction to see her manipulating the
people he could not manipulate. He is willing to leave her
there to continue if she chooses. He can return to a more
controlled situation and exert even more control over it
because Ruth is gone. It would be peculiar if another man
were so docile in this situation, but Teddy has his motives
for doing so. He describes one version of them (in his
"lost in it" speech); his membership in this family shows
the other side of his motivation.
Max is the most desperate in his desire to control
the territory. He alternates between sweetness and violence
in order to keep the others off-guard. He is increasingly j
unsuccessful, however, as Lenny gains expertise at the same|
'tactics on a more sophisticated level and Joey grows more
225
distant. Max redoubles his efforts when two new characters
arrive to challenge his authority (they arrive without
asking). He moves to put them off-guard immediately.
Max makes his most significant decision only after
he learns that Ruth can control Joey; "at which point,
aware that Ruth can be an asset to him in retaining an
emasculated household, he contrives a plan: They will 'keep1
"i n
Ruth in their house." Emasculated sons are a necessity
if Max is to keep control, yet he has another motive, as
well. He is attracted physically to Ruth, and he feels
more of a man with her there. He has second thoughts about
the plan as he begins to wonder whether he can control
Ruth, yet his physical desire for her makes him forget
doubts, at least for the moment. He has adequate motives
for his actions.
Before the arrival of Ruth, Lenny was the most ef
fective in exerting control over the territory. He con
trols Joey, and he can keep his father from hitting him.
He controls things by combining sweetness and the sugges
tions of violence in a manner which resembles yet is much
more subtle than Max's. He uses these tactics on Ruth in
their first scene together because he wants to control her;
she offers the challenge that Teddy does not. To Lenny's
alarm Ruth proves very adept at using tactics; she will be
* i - I
Gordon, op. cit., p. 60.
more difficult to handle than the rest of the family.
Lenny's choice of occupation shows that he is in
the habit of using a woman's sexuality to control her, and
Ruth exhibits her desire for sexual stimulation. There
fore, Lenny initiates a sexual encounter to establish con
trol over her. His plan works nicely, and Ruth's reversal
of role when she pushes Joey away does not alarm Lenny
this time. He will wait for her to play into his hands
just as he does with the rest of the family. Teddy's
momentary revolt annoys Lenny, but the scenes with the
rest of the family mollify him by presenting an idea which
serves his purpose exactly. (The rest of the family always
manages to play into his hands.) Since Max and Joey want
to keep Ruth, Lenny proposes to employ her for the same
reason he kissed her: he believes that sexual control
means complete control. When she accepts the job, he ac
cepts her conditions. He expects to dominate her, and
this suits his motives perfectly.
Ruth makes no plans and exerts no effort for con
trol. She takes it because the family appreciates her as
a woman in all her manifestations. The others plan to use
her, but it is she who uses them in order to give full ex
pression to her contradictory impulses. Lois Gordon be
lieves that Ruth talks about her past because Max surprises
117
her with his compliments. 1 It would be just as correct
•^Tlbid., p. 58.
227
to say that Ruth reveals her past because Max Insults her.
His dual reaction proves to Ruth that Max accepts women as
contradictory creatures. She Is pleased to reveal her con
tradictions in this atmosphere of instinctive understanding.
Ruth chooses to dance with Lenny and embrace Joey
because she desires sexual expression. She terminates
these activities to assume her role as the Mother in the
family; she is successful in both. She goes upstairs with
Joey but does not consumate their union because she does
not need to. Joey is happy, and she has proven her attrac
tiveness; she can continue to pursue other roles without
being confined to one. She continues by accepting Lenny's
offer; it completes the full spectrum of possibilities.
Her final words show that she does not believe that she
has lost Teddy in the process of staying in the place which
offers greater possibilities. Her motives dictate her
choices.
Some of the characters' motives are immediately
perceptible; each character is eager to dominate his ter
ritory. These perceptible motives do not provide adequate
reasons for their extraordinary actions, however. More
subtle motives account for those actions Just as Pinter's
: philosophy of motivation dictates.
The characters are below average morally. Critic
John Lahr believes that the play is beyond moral questions i
because Pinter refuses to offer experience to the audience j
228
118
from a point of view. The traditional critic is not
beyond asking moral questions, however, particularly about
Teddy. Max is truly beyond morality; Lenny is amoral and
Joey is too easily influenced by Lenny to be moral. Sam
is too weak to be a moral force, and Ruth was a whore in
the past. Teddy is the one who should reveal moral superi
ority, or at least, moral outrage at the outcome of the
action.
Perhaps Teddy makes the moral decision when he
leaves the family, but Arnold P. Hinchliffe raises good
questions about this choice:
Teddy's refusal to be "lost" in the family issue is a
good one, but it is qualified by his willingness to
lose his wife in it. . . . If he has chosen his family
(his sons) and if the choice is a right one, he ought
to be more strongly concerned with keeping his lawful
wife as well. Instead, he seems to lose himself In
philosophical speculation, which, Indeed, makes him a
stranger to this particular family.119
Teddy's philosophical speculation is prompted by Ruth's
question about his works; he does, however, show some in
terest in her welfare later. He worries about her health
and about whether she will "get old" quickly.
The traditional critic will not find enough good
qualities in Teddy to sustain a moral interest in the play.i
Teddy had a good opportunity In his second scene alone with;
Ruth to exhibit traits which might be considered moral.
■^■^Lahr, op. cit., p. 51.
■^^Hinchliffe, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 158.
229
"One of the most effective dramatic moments comes when
Teddy, sensing that something is going to go wrong, tries
1 90
to persuade Ruth to cut the visit short." (The scene is
effective because it reveals character.) "But again Teddy's
121
manner of handling Ruth is very odd indeed." Teddy's
manner is an expression of his attitudes and makes no al
lowance for Ruth's desires, makes no appeal to her moral
nature. Teddy's ultimate departure shows that he can be as
indifferent to morality as the others.
The characters are not moral, yet they do gain in
terest by their choices. Max is the most intriguing be
cause he commits such flagrant transgressions of society's
taboos. His choice to keep Ruth and send her husband away
not only violates taboos about the sanctity of marriage but
offends all notions of family fealty. Lenny's decision to
make his sister-in-law a part of his string of whores re
veals his contempt for all morality, loyalty and decency.
Joey's choice of Ruth as a sex partner is less outrageous
since she has already revealed her sexuality, but it shows
122
that Joey cannot be restrained by taboos either.
The family satisfies the audience's personal desire
to rebel and inspires fascination if not empathy. No fam-
^Hayman, op. cit., p. 69. ^^Ibld.
122
Esslin believes that the play interests the audi
ence because it presents the fulfillment of all Oedipal
wishes, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 163.
ily member is punished for his behavior, however, except
Sam. The others enjoy rebellion as a life-style; Sam is
punished for one small act of assertion. Sam may revive
and return to his small corner for self-defense. The
others may suffer punishment eventually if they lose their
territory to Ruth. But they are not punished during the
action of the play; they do not satisfy the traditional
critic's desire for the proper outcome.
Teddy makes an interesting choice before the play
begins: he chooses to return to this "seething cauldron" to
confront that which he has avoided in the past. He is de
feated by this contact; in fact, he does not find a way to
confront the problem his family and his wife present to
him. He refuses to deal with the problems or to acknowl
edge that he suffers a defeat. He fails to function as a
chief character in terms of the criterion for acute choices.
The play revolves around Ruth's decision to reveal
her contradictory nature and her decision to stay in Lon
don. She does not challenge taboos; she accepts both the
standards and their opposites. She does not confront the
family's desire for dominance or her husband's desire for
her return to America. When she accepts the family's pro
posal, she does not reject other possibilities. She is a
good representative of Pinter's philosophy; she is an am- j
biguous character in terms of traditional criteria. j
231
The critics who discuss The Homecoming do not em
ploy the confusing old labels; they call the play neither
a Comedy of Menace nor an example of Theatre of the Absurd.
Many critics do analyze this play as it relates to the
other works of Harold Pinter; Ronald Hayman goes so far as
to interpret The Homecoming in terms of the "intruder" who
existed in the early plays. Hayman says: "But this time
TOO
the danger is inside and the victim comes from outside." J
Pinter does not present Teddy as a victim* however* nor
does the family appear dangerous to Ruth. Most other crit
ics stress more differences between this and the early
plays than similarities.
According to Marshall Cohen* "Pinter has not en
tirely renounced these methods [frightful implications and
evasions] in The Homecoming* but he does distinguish much
more sharply between the subject matter from which he starts
and the esthetic materials he is interested in manipulat-
• i ph.
ing." Pinter's philosophy is a more integral part of
this play* and it is broadened to include more aspects of
personality. John Russell Brown says* "Pinter's involve
ment with the world around him has led him to a more open
acceptance of the fantasy and sexuality of inner life and
^2^Hayman* op. cit.* p. 62.
12^Cohen* op. cit.* p. 44l.
232
to a wider and more interrelated view of characters. "’ ' ’ 2^
Pinter supplements the development of his themes
by using traditional elements of drama to involve the audi
ence. Critic Hugh Nelson goes so far as to call The Home
coming a traditional drama:
The Homecoming with its sinister family history (a la
Rosmershoim)* its clear division between exposition and
development incited by the homecoming (a la Ghosts)*
its withheld facts from the past suddenly revealed in
a climactic scene (a la almost any Ibsen play)* and its
emphatic resolution* is structurally very tradition
al. 12°
Pinter does not use all the traditional elements of
drama* however; the use of some of them would curtail the
expression of his ideas. The Homecoming has no moral point
of view because Pinter does not believe that moral messages
are appropriate. He says* "To supply an explicit moral tag
to an evolving dramatic image seems to be facile* imperti
nent and dishonest. His ideas also preclude his using
traditional methods for treating motivation and exposition.
He uses only the traditional elements which supplement his
purpose; he molds others; and he discards the rest. A
traditional critic would not call The Homecoming a tradi
tional play; Pinter creates drama which cannot be labeled.
■ ' ’ ^John Russell Brown* "Introduction*" Modern British
Dramatists* op. cit.* p. 12.
■ 1 ' 2^Hugh Nelson* "The Homecoming: Kith and Kin*" op.
cit.* p. 150.
12^Pinter* "Writing for the Theatre*" op. cit.* p. 577.
233
III. Silence
Plot Synopsis
There are three "areas" on stage with a chair in
each area. Ellen, a girl in her twenties, sits in one
chair, and Rumsey, a man of forty, and Bates, a man in his
middle thirties, are seated in the other two chairs. Rum
sey speaks to himself about walks he takes with his girl;
she dresses in grey especially for him, and he tells her
his thoughts. Ellen speaks to herself about two men: "One
128
who is with me sometimes, and another." They walk by
the dogs, and she talks to him but sometimes the wind pre
vents his hearing. Bates in turn speaks to himself about
showing "her" the town with its cars "barking" and its
lights. He takes her to his cousin's place and undresses
her.
Ellen speaks again; then Rumsey; then Bates. They
are presumably reminiscing about times when two of them
12Q
were together, but they do not address each other. ^
Bates recollects a moment of anger when he complained about
racket to some young people; they called him "Grandad" and
told him to bear it. Ellen talks about her drinking com
panion, an old lady who talks sexily and asks about Ellen's
Harold Pinter, Landscape and Silence (London:
Methuen and Co. Ltd., 1969)> p. 33.
1 ‘^ P i n t e r begins with a static and placid situation
which deals only with the past and not the present.
234
youth. Ellen has two other friends; she tells them she
comes from the country. She wonders if she thinks; she
cannot remember a thought. [Nothing In these first moments
offers the possibility for action.]
Bates moves to Ellen and asks her to come for a
walk* but she refuses because she would like to go some
where else. When he asks where she would like to go, she
does not know. He suggests a place in town, but she re-
130
fuses again. There is silence. J Rumsey talks about the
weather; Bates remembers taking his little girl for a walk
and answering her question about shadows in the trees. He
tells her that the shadows are birds resting in the trees.
Ellen begins to say something about running. They take
turns speaking; no one listens.
Ellen moves to Rumsey; she tells him that his place
is beautiful. He says that the last time she was there she
131
was a little girl. J He asks if she can cook; she offers
to cook for him the next time she comes. Their meeting is
as inconclusive as the one between Ellen and Bates; it too
ends in silence. Ellen muses about silence; she does not
know whether she is silent or speaking, old or young. She
■^^Pinter brings two characters together, but their
conversation is as inconclusive as their private reminis
cences .
131
J Pinter treats time strangely; each character acts
as though he or she were old and as though the events they
speak of happened long ago.
I
235
says she must find someone to tell her. Bates remembers a
"stupid conversation" with his landlady: she asked if he
were a childish old man, suffocating himself. Each man
remembers a time when he could not hear the person he was
with or she could not hear hlm.1^2 [There is still no ac
tion, and the characters make no important choices.]
Ellen moves to Rumsey; he greets her by saying:
"find a young man." She says there are no young men, and
she hates them. He tells her to find one; there is si-
133
lence. JJ Bates speaks again of the birds. Ellen speaks
again of "the two" who halt to laugh and bellow in the
yard; they grin and she turns her eyes from one to the
other. The men repeat sentences from their previous remi
niscences; Ellen considers the fact that she does not no
tice the people in the streets she walks through everyday
after work.
134
Ellen speaks of memory; J she says:
Yes, I remember. But I'm never sure that what I
remember is of to-day or of yesterday or a long
time ago.
And then often it is only half things I remember,
132
Pinter gives his characters lines which explain
the philosophical basis of the situation. This is the mid
point of the play, however, and there has been no action
nor a promise of action. :
133pinter allows the audience to glimpse problems
which the characters have, but the problems never develop. !
He has structured the situation so that they cannot developj
1^Plnter makes Ellen a spokesman for his ideas.
236
half things, beginnings of things.
My drinking companion for the hundredth time asked
me if I'd ever been married. This time I told her
I had. Yes, I told her I had. Certainly. I can
remember the wedding.
Silence.135
After this speech Ellen Joins the other two in repeating
sentences and phrases from previous statements— punctuated
by silence.'^6
The play ends after each character has repeated
what appears to be his or her most characteristic state
ment .
ELLEN
Certainly. I can remember the wedding.
Silence.
RUMSEY
I walk with my girl who wears a grey blouse
BATES
Caught a bus to town. Crowds. Lights round the market
Long silence.137 [The play violates all criteria for
interest; it ends without developing.]
Analysis of Plot Construction
Critic Henry Hewes entitles his review of this
play— "Thought Games"— and this title forms a most ap
propriate description. The dramatic situation is the same
■^-^^Pinter, Landscape and Silence, op. cit., p. 46.
"'■■^Pinter never develops the play beyond the original
situation. He chose a situation which precludes action.
■^^Pinter, Landscape and Silence, op. cit., p. 51.
■^^Henry Hewes, "The Theater: Thought Games," Saturday
Review, LIII (April 25, 1970), 16.
237
at the beginning as at the end., except that the characters
speak in fragments at the end rather than in paragraphs.
There is no action. Bates goes to Ellen in an effort to
initiate action, and Ellen goes to Rumsey for the same
purpose. Both meet a rebuff and retreat into silence.
There is no plot in Silence. According to critic
Stanley Kauffman:
It's possible, retrospectively, to put together some
thing of a story . . . but it has to be done merely
as an outline, not explanation. ... In essence
they [Landscape and Silence] are evocations from cer
tain lives that have been lived in certain juxtaposi
tions, and the evocations include silence.139
The traditional critic will not perceive a conventional
dramatic plot because nothing occurs in the present tense.
Even Bates1 invitation to Ellen and Ellen's conversations
i4o
with Rumsey appear to be re-enactments of past events.
There is a pattern to the play: reminiscences are
followed by conversations which lapse into silence only to
be followed by reminiscences. The two men never address
each other; Bates goes to and addresses Ellen, but Ellen
goes to Rumsey for the conversation she initiates. John
Russell Taylor describes the mood: "The tone is quiet,
meditative, of emotion recollected, if not in tranquillity,
■'■^Stanley Kauffman, "Stanley Kauffman on Theater:
Landscape and Silence," The New Republic, CLXII (April 25,
1970) , 20.
l4o
Esslin refers to these encounters as flash backs,
The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 188.
238
at least In a state where all passion Is spent, and the
characters seem, to be perennially waiting."1^'1 '
The subject of the play is Pinter’s philosophy
14 p
about memory. Critic Edith Oliver finds the subject
involving; she says: "One reason Pinter remains as fascin
ating as any playwright alive is that he continues to in
vestigate character and behavior, and doesn't just slap
fashionable, tinny conclusions on both of them."'1 '^ In
Silence Pinter does not allow the audience to participate
in the process of investigation, however. He presents the
results of an investigation he has carried out before writ
ing the play; the audience may digest or reject his con
clusions but they cannot share in the investigation.
Though Pinter's conclusions are neither "fashion
able" nor "tinny," they are not drawn for the first time
in this play. All of Pinter's earlier plays embodied the
144
problem of verification: characters could not remember
their pasts clearly; they could not understand the motives
of others; they found it difficult to know themselves, to
i An
Taylor, Harold Pinter, op. cit., p. 23.
142
Ibid.
1^Edith Oliver, " Off -Broadway," The New Yorker, XLYI :
(April 11, 1970), 84.
144 ;
This was the subject of one of the earliest theses ;
which investigated Pinter's work: Carol Dixon Drake, "Har- ;
old Pinter and the Problem of Verification" (unpublished i
Master's thesis. University of Southern California, 1964).
deal with their own often contradictory desires. The Room
and The Birthday Party have characters whose pasts are
vague if not unknown; they try to hide, but someone comes
(presumably because of something in the past) and they are
crushed. In The Caretaker Davies does not recognize the
problem of verification (he does not know himself or the
others) until it is too late to try to modify his behavior.
The stories he tells show that he forgets about the problem
after every bad experience; he will forget again.
In The Lover and in The Homecoming Pinter exhibits
characters who appear to make a better adjustment to the
problem of verification as it relates to their ability to
know themselves. Richard and Sarah struggle to deal with
their contradictory desires, and they reach an equilibrium
which allows them to express many aspects of their person
alities. Ruth appears to be even more successful in deal
ing with the problem; she does not struggle. She follows
the prompting of her emotions and embraces a situation
which provides an opportunity for the expression of most
of her contradictory desires.
Pinter has said that though reality is not firm and
settled, "it's no worse or better for that."**'^ In the
early plays, however, he appeared to be saying that the
efforts people make to deal with shifting reality can trap
^cf. ante, p. 79- (Quotation from Pinter. )
240
them and lead to something that is undeniably worse. Only
in the later plays is there sufficient ambiguity built into
the conclusions to allow the audience to say that things are
neither better or worse, but even then the audience may as
sume that things are worse.
In Silence Pinter reverts to the type of conclu
sions he drew in the earlier plays. He creates Ellen as a
spokesman for his philosophy (as enunciated in 1964
and she is as immobile as Rose in The Room, as Stanley in
The Birthday Party, and Aston in The Caretaker. Ellen does
not suffer an unpleasant fate because no one comes to
bother her, yet "the silent impersonality of her life
147
vaguely troubles her." 1 Her thoughts about reality over
whelm her as they overwhelm the play. If this play reveals
148
a progression in Pinter's thought, he has progressed to
a somber and innervating conclusion. Yet Silence does not
appear to be a new conclusion but a repetition of old
themes.
Ellen's speech about memory is not the only example
■^Cf. ante, p. 235 (Ellen's speech), and p. 43 (quo
tation from Pinter).
^^Hewes, loc. cit.
148
Taylor, op. cit., and Gordon, op. cit., structure
their studies around the assumption that each play, or I
group of plays, exhibit a progression. Pinter says, "Each :
play was, for me, 'a different kind of failure.' And that i
fact, I suppose, sent me on to write the next one." "Writ-!
ing for the Theatre," op. cit., p. 580. ;
241
of her role as spokesman; she also says:
Around me sits the night. Such a silence. I can hear
myself. Cup my ear. My heart beats in my ear. Such
a silence. Is it me? Am I silent or speaking? How
can I know? Can I know such things?. No-one has ever
told me. I need to be told things.
This direct expression of the theme of the play does not
produce an impression of propaganda. Pinter is not telling
his audience how to interpret reality; he is revealing how
he looks at things.
Silence differs from the previous plays in that the
themes are not supplemented by a developing action. The
play is all exposition; it has no central conflict, no cli
max, no denouement. The traditional critic will recognize
only the language as belonging to the conventional comple
ment of dramatic elements. "Pinter has always placed words
exactly: for verisimilitude, for rhythm, for silouettes of
banality that enclose horror or, very often, humor. Now
his language is evolving new lyric qualities, poignant,
still, compassionate."1-^
Analysis of Characterization
The characters are consistently inconsistent.
Rumsey appears to be speaking of Ellen when he refers to
his girl, yet when she approaches him, he tells her to find
a young man. After her retreat he returns to his pleasant
^^Pinter, Landscape and Silence, op. cit., p. 43.
1-^Kauffman, loc. cit.
242
memories of the girl who may be Ellen. Ellen speaks of the
two men as though they were with her at the same time in
the past; Taylor calls it "a mysterious triangular rela
tionship."'1 '^'1 ' Yet the men never speak to each other, nor
do they give any indication that they are acquainted.
Ellen talks mostly about Rumsey, and it is he whom
she approaches. She says, "He hears me"; then she adds:
"But the other hears me."132 She gives no reason for pre
ferring one man over the other— she speaks of kissing both
of them when the three are together— but she seems to pre
fer the man who rebuffs her. Bates describes a sexual re
lationship with someone who is presumably Ellen (she might
have been married to him; she remembers a wedding and Bates
talks about his little girl), but Ellen will not even walk
with him at this point.
Bates is the most dynamic character since his mem
ories include anger and passion as well as more quiet emo
tions. He needs to reassure himself about his life, about
the shadows in the trees. He has contradictory feelings:
he loves and hates the city, anticipates seeing Ellen and
then "presses" the smile off her face, complains about the
noise next door but relishes "their tittering bitches, and
their music, and their love."133
131Taylor. loc. cit.
132Pinter, Landscape and Silence, op. cit., p. 34.
153Ibid., p. 47.
243
The consistency of the characters (in being incon
sistent) would be more apparent if the characters knew more
about themselves. Each, however, thinks of himself as old
though none looks over forty and Ellen looks to be in her
twenties. After seeing the play Stanley Kauffman reported
that the actors wore no make-up but that the characters
154
were presumably older people. ^ Even Henry Hewes, who has
read the text, concludes that the play is about "how people
move from the more fully engaged prime of life into the si
lence of old age. "-^5 faais to notice that the charac
ters have no fixed position in time. They move from one
period of time to another in order to explore the questions
they have about themselves. Finally they seem to be moving
into the silence of old age, but Pinter preserves their
youthful appearances in order to heighten the ambiguity.
He shows that time is as ephemeral as all "reality."
w
Ellen's motive for moving into silence is articu
lated in her speech about silence: she does not know her
self, and she has no one to tell her anything. Bates moves
into silence because he cannot move in the world: "Meadqws
156 *
are walled, and lakes. The sky's a wall." 5 He has some-
154
J Kauffman, loc. cit. Esslin also assumes that the
characters are no longer young at the times when they speak
of being old, The Peopled Wound, op. cit., p. 191.
1-^Hewes, loc. cit.
^■^Pinter, Landscape and Silence, op. cit., p. 40.
244
one next door to tell him that he is old, and though he
thinks he is strong, he has no solace, "not even any damn
inconstant solace. ’ '^57
Rumsey seems contented in his silence because noth
ing is required of him there. He sees that he cannot know
other people even if he did not retreat into silence: "So
many ways to lose sight of them, then to recapture sight of
them. They are sharp at first sight . . . then smudged . . .
then lost . . . then glimpsed again . . . then g o n e . " ' 1' - ^
The characters have motives for their choices, but a choice
of silence is not a dramatic choice in terms of traditional
criteria.
The characters make no moral choices within the
context of the play, and their reminiscences suggest that
they have not known anyone in the past (except each other
and a little girl) for whom to perform unselfish acts.
They do not arouse interest because they rebel against
taboos or confront things ordinary people would avoid. The
characters are unusual only to the extent that they avoid
things ordinary people would confront, yet they avoid
things passively. Edith Oliver concludes: "Except for the
younger man, who . . . seems truly miserable and lonely,
plagued by the sounds of lovers next door to him and frus-
157Ibid., p. 36.
^ ^ Ibid., p. 40. The ellipses are in the text.
245
trated and turned down by the woman, the characters don't
seem very interesting, nor do they encourage specula
tion.
Both the critic for Time and Henry Hewes of Satur
day Review agree that Silence has a quality which resembles
that of Beckett's novels. The language of the play
stimulates this comment because it is the most striking of
the dramatic elements. To invoke the name of Beckett again
to describe Pinter's work is, however, to reintroduce past
critical confusions. The play is mostly theme and lan
guage, and though its language may resemble the prose of
others, the theme is Pinter's own.
Pinter does not say that life is absurd or futile;
he suggests that life is unfathomable. Pinter rejects, all
categorical statements, and his characters can find no
certainties. This may be one reason for their continuing
review of their pasts; they are searching for answers.
Ellen wants someone to tell her the answers, but Rumsey
gives her one answer and she rejects it. Pinter says:
A categorical statement, I find, will never stay where
it is and be finite. It will immediately be subject
to modification by the other twenty-three possibilities
of it. No statement I make, therefore, should be in
terpreted as final and definitive. One or two of them
may sound final and definitive, they may even be al-
"^^Oliver, loc. cit.
■^^Anonymous, "The Latest Pinters: Less Is Less,"
Time, XCIV (July 18, 1969), 67 (also says the language is
reminiscent of the prose of Joyce), and Hewes, loc. cit.
246
most final and definitive, but I won’t regard them as
such tomorrow, and I wouldn't like you to do so to
day. lol
Because Pinter tries to avoid categorical state
ments, Silence should not be regarded as his final version
of the problem of verification or the problems of living.
Henry Hewes concludes that "Pinter may have lost interest
in creating theatrical journeys and is now satisfied merely
162
to present final destinations." Yet Pinter was never
particularly interested in creating "theatrical journeys."
After The Birthday Party he gave his characters fewer ac
tions to perform, and he ended his plays by suggesting
future actions which the audience was not allowed to see.
Pinter used action and developing characters to
supplement his themes in previous plays. He educated his
audience to expect fewer traditional dramatic elements in
his plays, and each successive play reveals a better cor
respondence between structure and theme. In Silence Pinter
abandons most traditional dramatic techniques in order to
concentrate on theme. The theme emerges and "sounds haunt
ing chords, made of three lives combined like notes of mu
sic. "■*•^3 ip^g theuje is not dynamic, however. The tradi
tional critic, like the critic for Time, would conclude:
■^■^Pinter, "Writing for the Theatre," op. cit., p. 574.;
1 6?
Hewes, loc. cit.
^■^Kauffman, op. cit., pp. 29-30. j
247
"Their [Landscape and Silence] meaning may he clear., hut
when they are left undeveloped and unresolved, [their]
juxtapositions are all workmanship and no play. The audi
ence gets the point— hut it gets little else."'1 '^
• 1 ^ | |
Anonymous, "The Latest Pinters," loc. cit.
CHAPTER IV
SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS
The purpose of this study was to determine the na
ture of plot construction and characterization in represen
tative plays of Harold Pinter. This purpose was explored
through the application of criteria assembled from the works
on dramatic theory by Aristotle, Gustav Freytag, Samuel
Johnson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing,
Ferdinand Brunetiere, William Archer, Brander Matthews,
George Pierce Baker, and Joseph Wood Krutch. According to
these traditional theorists, the better plot construction
will have these properties: (l) the plot should exhibit
logic and unity, (2) it should be plausible, (3) it should
contain action which accelerates and intensifies until the
climax, (4) it should have: a) exposition which provides
necessary information unobtrusively, b) a climax which
marks the turning point in the fortunes of the main charac
ter^), c) a resolution which resolves the action. The
criteria for characterization are: (l) the characters
should be consistent, (2) they should be well motivated,
(3) they should be of interest morally, (4) chief charac
ters should make acute choices in order to be judged prop- j
erly. ;
248
j 249]
I
| These criteria were applied to Harold Pinter's
three full-length plays and to three of his short plays—
The Room, The Lover, and Silence. The Room is his first j
play, and it incorporates the themes and methods which are 1
' i
refined or developed later. The Lover is one of the works j
i
written for television and in this study represents Pinter's|
]
'other television plays. Silence is his most recent short j
i
play and provides the best available evidence of the latest ;
j
trends in his methods of writing.
Application of the eight criteria revealed that The ;
Room meets the standards for plot construction to the ex- ; !
tent that the play would be of interest to the traditional i
I
critic. All of the elements of traditional drama are |
present: The Room has scenes which are logically related to j
each other; it has unity, action, exposition, conflict, a
climax and denouement. The play is not wholly experimental.
Questions which arise regarding the reasons for the action
which takes place are questions which Pinter intends to
leave unanswered.
The traditional critic would find many aspects of
Pinter's plot construction which do not meet the criteria
designed for them. The critic would ask that all scenes
iof The Room be related logically, not just those scenes
which follow the scene with the Sands; that action would
|begin earlier and build by degrees; that exposition provide
1
|some information about Bert's brutality and Riley's back-
250
ground; that the nature of the conflict be clarified; that
the climax have more preparation; and that the denouement
be less sudden and melodramatic. Though the lack of a
complete exposition is in harmony with Pinter's stated in
tentions, the melodrama of the conclusion is not. The na
ture of the denouement detracts from the thematic develop
ment and causes the critic to assume that a symbolic in
terpretation of the action is applicable to The Room.
The characterizations of Rose, Mr. Kidd and the
Sands meet the criteria for consistency and motivation even
though the four characters are evasive and contradictory in
the information they give. Pinter shows that his view of
the elusive nature of reality is not necessarily incompat
ible with traditional notions of proper characterization.
The traditionally oriented critic would not condone the
lack of moral content in the characterizations, and he
would be troubled by Rose's inability to formulate her own
choices. Nonetheless, Rose is not far below average mor
ally, and she is revealed by her difficulties in reaching
decisions. Rose is not a traditional heroine, but her
character does not detract from Pinter's thematic develop
ment .
The characterizations which diverge furthest from
the criteria— those of Bert and Riley— are characteriza
tions which trouble all critics who study the play. Riley ;
is so different from the other characters in the play, and ;
l
251
the results of his visit are so catastrophic that his pres
ence seems explicable only if he is a symbol. Pinter does
not want his characters to be dismissed as symbols., yet he
admits that Riley does not act as his other characters do.
The Room is Pinter's effort to manipulate the tra
ditional form of drama into a form which will express his
philosophy about the shifting nature of reality. He does
not succeed in this play. Critic Martin Esslin appreciates
the method Pinter uses to build horror from elements of the
commonplacej George Wellwarth is equally impressed by the
mood of the play; Arnold P. Hinchliffe is intrigued by
Pinter's use of language. These critics agree, however,
that the melodrama of the ending spoils the mood. Pinter
is more successful in sustaining the mood and developing
his themes in his subsequent plays.
Pinter incorporates traditional dramatic elements
in The Birthday Party (his first full-length play) as he
did in The Room. Each scene of the three-act play is log
ically related to the others. The play has a potentially
plausible subject; it exhibits things as Pinter says they
are. The play gains interest through language and humor,
and Pinter arouses interest in action during the final mom
ents of Act One and increases interest until the climax at
the end of Act Two. Pinter uses action to interest his
audience just before they leave for intermission in order
252
to assure their return to see the development of the theme.
Critic John Russell Brown feels that Pinter's ef
forts to use action to involve his audience were unsuccess
ful in causing them to deal with the themes. Mr. Brown be
lieves that this could be the reason that Pinter incorpor
ates less narrative in his subsequent plays. Mr. Brown
believes that Pinter may have discovered that audiences
became too involved with the plot of The Birthday Party.
The traditional critic would not agree that this
plot could usurp the attention which should be devoted to
the theme. As far as the traditional critic is concerned
the plot of The Birthday Party is not consistently involv
ing. Though there is some action, very little is initiated
during the first act, and the third act exhibits inaction.
The climax occurs too early in the play, and it is followed
by a second line of action in which the chief character
does not appear. The plot does not fully meet the criteria
which the traditional critic would apply to it.
There are no obvious logical primary causes for the
events on stage; the exposition does not include an explan-'
ation of Stanley's fear or of the visitors' job. These
omissions violate the criterion for exposition, and the
traditional critic would conclude that the omissions were
an arbitrary choice on the part of the playwright. Stanley
knows who he thinks the visitors are; he could say some
thing about them. Goldberg and McCann know something about:
253
their job; they could discuss it when they are alone to
gether. Pinter expresses his theme by leaving such ques
tions unanswered* but his plot does not preclude those
answers.
Most of the characters are consistent. Petey is
stimulated by the situation to rise above himself for a
moment; but he is unable to persevere. Goldberg has his
moment of inconsistency; yet McCann does not find it unus
ual. The others— Meg; LulU; McCann and Stanley— are con
sistent throughout the play, but Stanley does not have suf
ficient self-control to satisfy the criterion of the tra
ditional critic. Pinter can create motivated characters:
Petey; Meg and Lulu have perceptible reasons for their
actions. There are motives suggested for Stanley's actions;
but the things he says about his background give no ade
quate preparation for his extraordinary fear. Goldberg and
McCann have hidden motives; and the clues to their identi
ties are contradictory. Sufficient clues are provided,
however, to stimulate critics to search for a single, com
prehensive explanation for the conflict between Stanley and
the visitors.
Many critics put forward just such an explanation,
and each differs from the explanation given by the others.
Martin Esslin, on the other hand, finds at least three lev-!
els of meaning in the play, and he stresses the fact that
none of these levels is incompatible with the others.
Pinter intends for motives to be ambiguous, yet he provides
the clues and the structure which cause critics to over
simplify the theme. Mr. Esslin is in the minority in his
ability to find many meanings rather than one.
The traditional critic would see weakness in that
none of the characters is above average morally. Each char
acter is trapped because he has bargained his moral freedom
for something else. No character can develop morally be
cause each has no moral options available. Thus Stanley
cannot escape, and Goldberg and McCann cannot leave their
job. They cannot make the most acute choices; they cannot
function as chief characters in traditional terms.
The Birthday Party comes closer to meeting the
eight criteria than did The Room. The Birthday Party has
none of the obvious devices or incredible characters which
marred the earlier play. Pinter's use of traditional dra
matic elements confused the audiences for the first produc
tions, however. They expected the entire play to follow
traditional patterns, and they were bewildered when it did
not. Audiences for subsequent productions knew more about
Pinter's unusual techniques, and the play achieved longer
runs. The play itself, in the theatre and on television,
educated an audience to accept its combination of the rea
sonable and the bizarre.
The Caretaker, Pinter's second three-act play, has
many traditional elements, particularly in the area of
255
characterization, which meet the eight criteria. The play
exhibits a sequence of events which result from the motives
of the characters. The action is ostensibly unified, and
the structure has a beginning, middle and end. The subject
of the play is plausible even to the most traditional of
critics. The major characters hide their motives from each
other, but Pinter does not prevent the audience from know
ing at least as much as the characters know. (in The Room
Rose and Mr. Kidd feared Bert, but the audience knew noth
ing about him; in The Birthday Party Stanley feared Gold
berg and McCann, but the audience never learned who Stanley
thought the men were.)
The traditional critic would be concerned by the
lack of action in the play. Rather than accelerating and
accumulating interest toward the climax, the action gains
interest in some scenes only to allow it to recede in
others. The critic would consider The Caretaker to be a
character-study since Pinter uses what plot there is to
reveal character rather than as a vehicle for action. Pin
ter uses conflict to reveal character; the central conflict
is perceived differently by each character. The climax
also reveals character; two confrontations are necessary
in order to show the reactions of the three men. The de
nouement shows that Aston will not allow Davies to stay,
but it does not conclude with Davies’ actual departure.
The play ends when the audience knows as much as Pinter
256
feels it is possible to know about the characters.
The characterizations meet the criteria more fully
than those of The Room or The Birthday Party. The charac
ters are more consistent: Aston undergoes a gradual, if
slight, process of development; Mick is consistently incon
sistent in toying with Davies but consistent in his concern
about his brother; Davies undergoes a slight process of
development which makes his expulsion pathetic. Aston and
Davies have adequate motives for their important actions,
even though the audience learns about some of their motives
after the action has taken place. Mick's motives remain
ambiguous, and the traditional critic would be troubled by
Mick's erratic behavior and wild conversational gambits.
Mick's motives are difficult to understand because he ex
presses Pinter's ideas: Mick hides his motives from the
critic because Mick is so successful in hiding his desires
from the other characters.
The Caretaker is not lacking in a moral dimension
even though the characters do not sustain an above average
moral level. Aston is exceptionally good to Davies, but
his actions are an imitation rather than an expression of
morality, Mick mixes self-interest with morality but dis
covers that this is ultimately impossible. Davies has a
code of conduct which serves him in lieu of morality. He
tries to improve morally, but it is too late. The tradi-
257
tional critic would find that interest is generated by the
moral efforts of the characters.
The characters are revealed by acute choices: Aston
reveals that his judgment has improved when he rejects
Davies; Mick's rejection of Davies reveals his devotion to
his brother. Davies does not always function well as chief
character because he places himself in the position of hav
ing some of his choices made by others. Nonetheless, he is
responsible for his fate, and the choices he makes reveal
his cowardly grasping for the position which continuously
eludes him.
The Caretaker has been called both an example of
Realism and of Theatre of the Absurd because of its mixture
of traditional dramatic elements and modern themes. Martin
Esslin calls it the first Pinter play to form a complete
synthesis of realism and the poetic metaphor. The realistic
externals contribute to the presentation of the idea that
reality is impossible to categorize. The characterizations
keep the audience interested, and though the traditional
critic finds little action in the play, he would find that
this play is much less contrived than the earlier plays.
In The Lover Pinter is very successful in using
both plot construction and characterization to supplement
the thematic development. The play has a logical structure,;
unity of action, and a beginning, middle and end in proper ;
proportion to each other. The action is important to the
258
characters, and the nature of their change of fortune is
ambiguous. Pinter manages to exhibit a distinct change of
fortune while allowing the audience to decide whether that
change is for the better or for the worse.
The subject of the play is the fluidity of person
ality and one couple's efforts to deal with it. The char
acters have at least two contradictory personalities which
do not remain nicely separated despite the couple's imposi
tion of order. The characters' struggles to structure
their lives are the substance of the plot. The plot does
not exhibit another action in which the fluidity of person
ality is a secondary issue.
The action gains and maintains interest by arousing
curiosity about the dramatic problem— the existence of the
lover or second personality. The plot creates suspense be
fore the lover arrives, and a conflict over the lover's
visits is established. The action accelerates toward the
climax as first "Max" and then Richard confronts Sarah.
The action provides a new complication during the denoue
ment which will encourage the audience to speculate about it
even after the play is over. Pinter uses action to main
tain audience interest without diverting attention from his
theme.
The structural elements meet the criterion: the ex- ;
position gives the audience just enough information to
stimulate interest; the conflict is between forces which
259
are equal enough to leave the outcome In doubt; the climax
Is the emotional high point and it results in a change
which is important to the characters. The denouement re
solves the action and includes the couple's recognition of
a new pattern in their relationship.
The characters are consistently inconsistent be
cause they are designed to illustrate Pinter's idea that
personality includes a number of contradictory elements.
Sarah undergoes a gradual process of development (or dete
rioration) in which she changes from a character devoted to
order into a character who will accept a less orderly pat
tern of existence. Richard alters the established order
so as to give greater freedom to his contradictory impulses.
The characters have adequate and multiple motives
for their actions. Richard chooses to end the old pattern
because it has become distasteful and dreary to him, and
because Sarah controls it. He becomes involved in the new
pattern because he does not wish to subdue the impulses
which demand expression in the evening. Sarah encourages
him to be Max in the evening because she cannot abandon
her need to be his mistress and she cannot preserve the old
pattern.
The characters are moral even though they express
immoral impulses. Pinter's treatment of sexual morality
provides amusement for the audience. The play is a comedy,;
and the irony of the moral dilemma which Richard articu
260
lates keeps the audience interested. The characters are
revealed by acute choicesj Richard chooses to end the
afternoon meetings, and Sarah chooses to encourage a meet
ing in the evening. The characterizations meet the criteria
of the traditional critic.
The Lover meets each of the eight criteria, and the
traditional critic would judge it to he the most successful
of the plays treated in this study. Critics Walter Kerr
and Ruby Cohn also appreciate The Lover, yet they believe
that it is less suggestive and complex than other Pinter
plays. Perhaps Pinter is able to use traditional methods
most consistently when the themes he wishes to express are
not especially intricate.
Pinter believes that The Homecoming has the best
structure of any of his plays, but the traditional critic
would not agree. The play has a sequence of events which
is motivated by the desires of the characters, but the tra
ditional critic would not find the sequence logical because
the characters are both exceptional and enigmatic. The
play has a beginning and a middle, but the end presupposes
another important action. The inconclusive nature of the
denouement expresses Pinter's theme, but it does not sat
isfy the criterion for unity.
The principal subject of the action is the efforts
of people to deal with the contradictory aspects of their
personalities. Ruth, who seems to make the best adjust
I
261
ment, begins to fulfil all possible female roles for the
family. This is not the only subject, however. Pinter
incorporates a struggle for dominance as he does to a cer
tain extent in each play, and he shows that life can be
cyclical. The older generation has a counterpart in the
younger, and Teddy's sons seem destined to follow the same
pattern. These subjects give the play a rich texture of
meaning, but they are not exhibited in a sequence of action
which has an equally rich texture.
The first act has very little action, and though
the dramatic problem is introduced, it gains little atten
tion. Each character, except Ruth who reacts to the others,
is so lost in his personal struggles that he does not plan
any action until near the end of the play. Exposition
takes too much time, and there is no central conflict.
There is a turning-point in the fortunes of the characters,
but it does not arouse the maximal emotional response from
any of them. The second act (there are only two) presents
action to the audience, but the traditional critic would
fear that some spectators would not return from intermis
sion to see the further development of Pinter's themes.
The characters are consistently inconsistent. Max
combines insults with praise, violence with sweetness.
Lenny is more detached, but he is as likely as Max to be
come angry over trifles. Sam undergoes a process of change
in which the brutish aspects of his nature surface and
262
cause his collapse. Joey is the most consistent because
he is controlled by Lenny. Teddy tries to remain detached,
but he finds a way to show his dislike for his family so he
takes it. Ruth appears to be the most controlled, but she
proves eager to assume any role the family offers. The
characterizations supplement the thematic development, but
the traditional critic would not find any character whose
control could contribute to the proper aesthetic distance
for the spectator.
Pinter's treatment of motivation serves his pur
poses and meets the traditional criterion. Each character
seeks to dominate his portion of the territory, and this
motive is quite clear to critics and audiences. Each char
acter also has multiple and often contradictory motives for
his important actions. Sam tells about Mac and Jessie in
order to prevent the pact with Ruth and to punish the fam
ily. Teddy allows his wife to stay because he cannot con
trol her, yet she can control the family which always in
timidated him, while he can control his sons back in
America. Ruth stays because she can be wife, mother, mis
tress and whore for this family, and she could not find
this freedom with Teddy.
The characters are all below average morally, and
Pinter imposes no moral point of view upon their actions;
no one is punished for his behavior. The characters make
moral choices, nonetheless. They choose to commit flagrant
jtransgressions of society's taboos, and the traditional
critic must admit that their choices inspire fascination if
not empathy.
Because Pinter uses many traditional dramatic ele- j
ments in The Homecoming; critic Hugh Nelson calls it a very ‘
traditional play. It is certainly more conventional than j
other modern experiments in playwriting. The audience will j
find much in this play that is familiar; Pinter uses aspects!
i
of external reality to get his audience to accept the un- ;
familiar as a part of life. The traditional critic, how- ■
ever, would not conclude that the play is traditional; the '
plot does not meet the criterion for action; the structural ;
elements do not meet the criterion for exposition, climax !
and denouement; the characterizations do not meet the cri
terion for morality. There are no ready-made labels that
adequately describe the play; it is not traditional.
Silence is Pinter's most recent short play, and it
has none of the traditional dramatic elements except lan
guage. There is no action; the dramatic situation is the
same at the beginning and at the end. The audience can put
together something of a story in retrospect, but they will
not perceive a conventional plot as they watch the play.
Nothing occurs in the present tense; Bates' invitation to
Ellen and Ellen's conversations with Rumsey are events
I from the past.
!
The subject of the play is the shifting nature of
264
reality, and the play shifts in time and space. The pres
entation of this subject does not mark a progression in
Pinter’s thoughtj he returns to an exhibition of the sort
of optionless characters who inhabited the rooms of the
earlier plays. He creates Ellen as a spokesman for his
philosophy about the shifting nature of reality, and she
is as immobile as Rose in The Room, as Stanley in The Birth
day Party, and Aston in The Caretaker. In fact, she is
more immobile since she fears no intruder, and no one comes
to bother her.
The audience can understand Pinter's philosophy in
this play, but they do not see it develop; it remains
static. The play is all exposition; it has no conflict, no
climax, no denouement. By abandoning the traditional meth
ods of plot construction, Pinter has curtailed his expres
sion of theme.
The characters are consistently inconsistent. They
refer fondly in their monologues to persons who could be
the other three characters, but when Bates talks to Ellen
and Ellen talks to Rumsey, the conversations reveal no
lasting affection. Ellen rejects Bates and Rumsey rejects
Ellen. Each of the characters voices questions about his
past and his personality, and each seems to move back and
forth in time to recreate past events and to experience
the silence of old age. Finally they seem to choose the
silence of old age; they speak less and they no longer go
265
over to another character. Their outward appearances do
not change, however; they still look relatively young.
They have motives for retreating into the silence, but such
a choice is not a dramatic one. The traditional critic
would conclude that the characters provide little stimula
tion to audience interest.
The characters make neither moral nor courageous
choices. They are unusual only to the extent that they
avoid things ordinary people would confront. The charac
ters review their lives in order to find answers to life's
mysteries, and they find no answers. Pinter has found no
answers; his effort is to find the right questions. But in
Silence the questions are not dynamic; they are a restate
ment of ideas he has discussed more completely in printed
interviews.
Most of the criticism now available about Silence
comes from reviews of the productions. Edith Oliver, Stan
ley Kauffmann and Henry Hewes give the play respectful con
sideration, but Miss Oliver and the critic for Time con
clude that the play offers little that is of dramatic
interest. It uses none of the methods of plot construction
or characterization which could be used to involve the au
dience in the theme.
Harold Pinter uses traditional dramatic elements of
plot construction and characterization in almost every
play. Application of the eight criteria revealed some
266
weaknesses, in traditional terms, in each of his full-
length plays. The Birthday Party lacks sustained intensity
in action, especially during the third act. It lacks a
complete exposition.; Stanley could say more about the visi
tors and they could say more about their jobs. It has no
characters who are moral or able to make acute choices.
Critics who have an adverse reaction to the play are par
ticularly concerned about Stanley's lack of stature as a
dramatic hero.
The Caretaker shares some of the same weaknesses
when judged by the eight standards. It too lacks sustained
intensity in action; the dramatic problem does not emerge
as an important consideration until the third act. Exposi
tion provides very little information about Mick, and vital
information about Aston is withheld until the end of Act
Two. None of the characters sustains an above average moral
level, and the most important character is the furthest be
low average. The characters make choices, but the resolu
tion of the play does not seem to be a result of the choices
Mick and Davies have made. Critics who have an adverse re
sponse to this play are particularly concerned by the lowly
condition of Davies and the mysterious actions of Mick.
The Homecoming is lacking in sustained intensity in
action; the first half of the play is devoted to exposition,
and the second half has no central conflict. Despite its
protracted length the exposition provides no preparation j
267
for Teddy's return, nor does he say why he has come back
when he does return. The characters are the furthest below
average morally of any that Pinter has drawn, and each
makes unmoral choices. Critics are particularly concerned
by the lack of moral content in the play; one character
(Teddy) exists who could conceivably react morally, but he
does not.
Application of the eight criteria also revealed
that each full-length play contains traditional dramatic
elements which function effectively. Each play has a plau
sible subject for action which reflects things as Pinter
says they are. Given the characterizations of Stanley,
Goldberg and McCann, The Birthday Party should evolve as it
does. The critics do not question the plausibility of the
action; their questions are directed toward the meaning and
import of that action. Similarly, the subjects of The Care
taker and The Homecoming are appropriate to the characters
in those plays. Critics have differing interpretations of
the subjects not because the subjects are implausible, but
because they are so suggestive as to stimulate many re
sponses. Critics have pondered over exact meanings of the
plays, but eventually the plays educated some critics to
accept the idea that the plays contain multiple levels of
meaning.
The full-length plays exhibit consistent characters
who supplement the thematic development. Stanley's consis-:
268
tent fear of the visitors in The Birthday Party creates the
proper atmosphere for the confrontations in the play.
Davies' consistently pitiable condition and his consistent
grasping for security combine to give his story depth and
pathos. Ruth's consistency in fulfilling all possible fe
male roles for the family in The Homecoming serves as an
expression of Pinter's idea of the contradictory aspects of
personality. The other characters are as consistent as
these major ones.
The full-length plays also exhibit characters who
are well motivated. The major characters in The Birthday
Party are not as effective as those in the later playsj
Stanley, Goldberg and McCann have the opportunity to say
more about their motives than they do. Pinter seems to be
imposing the problem of verification upon these characters.
Nonetheless, they have complex motives just as the charac
ters do in The Caretaker and The Homecoming. The complex
ity of the characters' motives is the basis for the com
plexity of the themes in Pinter's plays.
Modern critics seldom study the effect of Pinter's
use of traditional dramatic elements upon the reception of
the plays. Each of the full-length plays contains some ef
fective traditional elements, and each has won awards. All
three are produced often in American college and university
theatres, and each has a group of critics who considers it
Pinter's best play. When Pinter's plot construction and
characterization meet the eight criteria, as they do in
The Lover, the traditional elements supplement his themes
and involve his audience. The Lover has won many awards,
and it (along with The Collection) is the most frequently
produced Pinter one-act play in American college and uni
versity theatres.
When Pinter abandons plot and characterization, as
he did in Silence, his themes do not develop, and critics
who reviewed the production at Lincoln Center in New York
reported that the audience was not involved. When Pinter
fails to use the traditional elements effectively, as he
did when creating the conflicting characters, the climax
and the denouement in The Room, his intended themes can be
obscured. Critics give the play an overtly symbolic inter
pretation, and they conclude that the play is melodramatic.
Application of the eight criteria revealed no Pinter play
which is strictly traditional.; it did reveal, however, that
Pinter has emplpyed traditional elements. The traditional
elements which are used effectively contribute to the de
velopment of Pinter's themes; it is unlikely that his
themes will develop further if he continues to experiment
with the type of play exemplified by Silence. Harold Pin
ter is most effective when he uses traditional dramatic
elements as defined by the best traditional theorists.
BIBLI OGRAPHY
Books
Archer^ William. PIay-making. New York: Dodd, Mead and
Company, 1926.
Baker, George Pierce. Dramatic Technique. New York: Hough
ton Mifflin Company, 1919-
Brown, John Russell, ed. Modern British Dramatists.
Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1968.
Brustein, Robert. The Theatre of Revolt. Boston: An At
lantic Monthly Press Book, Little Brown and Company,
1962.
Burcher, S. H. Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art.
New York: Dover Publications Inc., 1951*
Clark, Barrett, ed. European Theories of the Drama. New
York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1965.
Cole, Toby, ed. Playwrights on Playwritlng. New York:
Hill and Wang"^ I960.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. Essays and Lectures on Some
Other Old Poets and Dramatists. London: J. M. Dent and
Sons, Ltd., 1914.
Esslin, Martin. The Peopled Wound: The Work of Harold
Pinter. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Company, Inc.,
1970.
. The Theatre of the Absurd. Garden City, N.Y.:
Anchor Books, Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1961.
Felheim, Marvin, ed. Comedy: Plays, Theory and Criticism.
New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, Inc., 1962.
Pp. 241-253.
Preytag, Gustav. Technique of the Drama. Translated by
Elias J. MacEwan. Chicago: £. C. Griggs and Company,
1885.
270
271
Gascoigne, Bamber. Twentieth Century Drama. London:
Hutchinson University Library, 1963.
Gordon, Lois G. Stratagems to Uncover Nakedness. Columbia:
University of Missouri Press, 1969.
Hayman, Ronald. Contemporary Playwrights: Harold Pinter.
London: Heinemann Educational Books Ltd., 1968.
Hinchliffe, Arnold P. Harold Pinter. New York: Twayne
Publishers, 1967•
Hollis, James R. Harold Pinter: The Poetics of Silence.
Carbondale and Edwardsvilie: Southern Illinois Univer-
sity Press, 1970.
Kerr, Walter. Harold Pinter. New York: Columbia Univer
sity Press, 1967.
Kitchen, Laurence. Mid-Century Drama. London: Faber and
Faber, i960.
Kris, Ernst. Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art. New York:
International Universities Press, Inc., 1952.
Lumley, Frederick. New Trends in 20th Century Drama. New
York: Oxford University Press, 19&7* Pp. 266-273.
Marowitz, Charles; Milne, Tom; and Hale, Owen, eds. The
Encore Reader. London: Methuen and Co. Ltd., 1965.
Matthews, Brander. The Development of the Drama. New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1924.
Millett, Fred B., and Bentley, Gerald Eads. The Art of the
Drama. New York: D. Appleton-Century Company, 1935.
Pinter, Harold. The Birthday Party and The Room. New York:
Grove Press, Inc., 1959*
________. The Caretaker and The Dumb Waiter. New York:
Grove Press, Inc,, I960.
The Homecoming. New York: Grove Press, Inc.,
1965.
________. Landscape and Silence. London: Methuen and
Company Ltd., 1969.
________. The Lover, Tea Party, The Basement. New York:
Grove Press, Inc., 1963.
272
Pinter, Harold. Three Plays. New York: Grove Press, Inc.,
1962.
Rader, Melvin, ed. A Modern Book of Esthetics. New York:
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962.
Styan, J. L. The Dark Comedy. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni
versity Press, 1962. Pp." 235-238.
Taylor, John Russell. Anger and After. Baltimore, Md.:
Penguin Books, Inc.3 1963. Pp. 265-316.
________. Harold Pinter. Harlow, Essex, England: Longmans,
Green and Company Ltd., 1969.
________. The Angry Theatre: New British Drama. New York:
Hill and Wang, 1969.
Wellwarth, George. The Theatre of Protest and Paradox.
New York: New York University Press, 1964'. PpT 197-211.
Articles
Amend, Victor E. "Harold Pinter— Some Credits and Debits."
Modern Drama, X (September, 1967), 165-174.
Anonymous. "The Latest Pinters: Less Is Less." Time, XCIV
(July 18, 1969), 67.
Anonymous. "Pinter Pointers." The Times Literary Supple
ment, July 1, 1965, p. 552.
Anonymous. "The Reaction Against Realism." The Times Lit
erary Supplement, June 30, 1961, p. 400.
Arden, John. "Book Reviews: The Caretaker." Critical
Quarterly, V (Autumn, 1963), 251-265.
Armstrong, William A. "Tradition and Innovation in the
London Theatre, 1960-61." Modern Drama, IV (September,
1961), 184-195.
Ballew, Leighton, and Kahan, Gerald. "Production Trends in
the American College and University Theatres: Problems
and Prospects." Educational Theatre Journal, XX (Oc
tober, 1968), 449-456.
. "The AETA Production Lists Project Survey: 1968-
69.1 1 Educational Theatre Journal, XXII (October, 1970),
301-307.
273
Ballew, Leighton, and Kahan, Gerald. "The AETA Production
Lists Project Survey, 1967-68: Minor Variations on
Established Themes." Educational Theatre Journal, XXI
(October, 1969), 333-340;
Bernhard, P. J. "Beyond Realism: The Plays of Harold
Pinter." Modern Drama, VIII (September, 1965)* 185-191.
"English Theatre 1963: In the Wake of the New
Wave." Books Abroad, XXXVIII (Spring, 1964), 143-144.
Bowen, John R. "Accepting the Illusion." The Twentieth
Century, CLXIX (February, 1961), 153-165.
Boulton, J. T. "Harold Pinter: The Caretaker and Other
Plays." Modern Drama, VI (September, 19&3)j 131-140.
Brown, John R. "Dialogue in Pinter and Others." The Crit
ical Quarterly, VII (Autumn, 1965)* 225-243.
________. "Mr. Pinter's Shakespeare." The Critical Quar
terly, V (Autumn, 1963)* 251-265.
Bryden, Ronald. "A Stink of Pinter." New Statesman, LXIX
(11 June 1965), 928.
Cohen, Marshall. "Theatre 67." Partisan Review, XXXIV
(Summer, 1967), 436-444.
Cohn, Ruby. "The Absurdly Absurd: Avatars of Godot." Com
parative Literature Studies, II (1965)* 233-240.
"Latter Day Pinter," Drama Survey, III (Pebru-
aryT" 1964), 367-377.
"The World of Harold Pinter." Tulane Drama Re-
view, VI (March, 1962), 55-68.
Dick, Kay. "Mr. Pinter and the Pearful Matter." Texas
Quarterly, IV (Autumn, 1961), 257-265.
Douglas, Reid. "The Failure of English Realism." Tulane
Drama Review, VII (Winter, 1962), 180-183.
Downer, Alan S. "Experience of Heroes: Notes on New York
Theatre, 1961-1962." The Quarterly Journal of Speech,
XLVIII (October, 1962), 261-270.
Dukore, Bernard. "The Theatre of Harold Pinter." Tulane
Drama Review, VI (March, 1962), 43-54.
274
Dukore, Bernard. "A Woman's Place." The Quarterly Journal
of Speech, LII (October, 1966), 237-241.
Gallagher, Kent S. "Harold Pinter's Dramaturgy." Quarter
ly Journal of Speech, LII (October, 1966), 242-248.
Ganz, Arthur. "A Clue to the Pinter Puzzle: The Triple
Self in The Homecoming." Educational Theatre Journal,
XXI (May, 1969), I8O-I87.
Goodman, Florence Jeanne. "Pinter's The Caretaker: The
Lower Depths Descended." Midwest Quarterly, V (Winter,
1964), 117-126.
Hall, John. "British Drama in the Sixties: A Note from
London." Texas Quarterly, X (Summer, 1967)* 15-19*
Hall, Stuart. "Home, Sweet Home." Encore, LVI (July-
August, 1965), 30-34.
Hewes, Henry. "The Theatre: Thought Games." Saturday
Review, LIII (April 25, 1970), 16.
Hinchliffe, Arnold P. "Mr. Pinter's Belinda." Modern
Drama, XI (September, 1968), 173-179.
Hoefer, Jacqueline. "Pinter and Whiting: Two Attitudes
Towards the Alienated Artist." Modern Drama, IV
(Spring, 1962), 402-408.
Kauffman, Stanley. "Stanley Kauffmann on Theater: Land-
scape and Silence." The New Republic, CLXII (April 25,
1W07, 20, 31.
Knight, G. Wilson. "The Kitchen Sink: On Recent Develop
ments in Drama." Encounter, XXI (December, 1963), 48-
54.
Kunkel, Francis L. "The Dystopia of Harold Pinter."
Renascence, XXI (Autumn, 1968), 17-20.
Lahr, John. "Pinter the Spaceman." Evergreen Review, XII
(June, 1968), 49-52; 87-90.
Mast, Gerald. "Pinter's Homecoming." Drama Survey, VI
(Spring, 1968), 266-277.
Morris, Kelly. "The Homecoming." Tulane Drama Review, XII
(Winter, 1968J, 185-191.
275
Nelson, Gerald. "Harold Pinter Goes to the Movies."
Chicago Review, IX (1966), 33-43.
Oliver, Edith. "Off-Broadway." The New Yorker, XLVI
(April 11, 1970), 84.
Pesta, John. "Pinter's Usurpers." Drama Survey, V (Spring-
Summer, 1967), 54-65.
Pinter, Harold. "The Art of the Theatre III." The Paris
Review, No. 39 (1966), pp. 13-37.
"Harold Pinter Replies." New Theatre Magazine,
II ("January, 1961), 8-10.
"Writing for Myself." The Twentieth Century,
CLXIX (February, 1961;, 172-175.
________. "Writing for the Theatre." The New British
Drama. Edited by Henry Popkin. New York: Grove Press,
Inc., 1964. Pp. 574-580.
Sprague, Claire. "Possible or Necessary?" New Theatre
Magazine, VIII (Autumn, 1968), 36-37-
Storch, R. F. "Harold Pinter's Happy Families." The Massa
chusetts Review, VIII (Autumn, 1967)* 703-712.
Thornton, Peter C. "Blindness and the Confrontation with
Death: Three Plays by Harold Pinter." Die Neueren
Sprachen, XVII (Mai, 1968), 213-223.
Walter, Augusta. "Messages from Pinter," Modern Drama, X
(May, 1967), 1-10.
Unpublished Materials
Arnold, Lionel Atwell. "Ambiguity and Ambivalence in Mod
ern Drama: The Sphinx and the Playwright." Unpublished
Doctoral dissertation, Drew University, 1969.
Baker, Richard. "A Study of Harold Pinter's Early Plays."
Unpublished Master's thesis, The University of North
Carolina, Chapel Hill, 1968.
Canny, Mildred Rosemary. "Patterns of Human Interaction
in the Drama of Harold Pinter." Unpublished Doctoral
dissertation, The University of Wisconsin, 1970.
276
Cole, Robert W., Jr. "Comedy of Menace and Its Exemplifi
cation in Selected Plays of Harold Pinter." Unpub
lished Master's thesis, De Pauw University, i960.
Conlon, Patrick Owen. "Social Commentary in Contemporary
Great Britain, as Reflected in the Plays of John Os
borne, Harold Pinter, and Arnold Wesker." Unpublished
Doctoral dissertation, Northwestern University, 1969*
Dillon, Perry Claude. "The Characteristics of French Thea
tre of the Absurd in the Plays of Edward Albee and
Harold Pinter." Unpublished Doctoral dissertation,
The University of Arkansas, 1968.
Drake, Carold Dixon. "Harold Pinter and the Problem of
Verification." Unpublished Master's thesis, University
of Southern California, 1964.
English, Alan Craig. "A Descriptive Analysis of Harold
Pinter's Use of Comic Elements in His Stage Plays."
Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, The University of
Missouri, 1969.
Gale, Steven Hershal. "Thematic Change in the Stage Plays
of Harold Pinter." Unpublished Doctoral dissertation,
University of Southern California, 1970.
Giannetti, Justine. "The Neurotic Personality in the Plays
of Harold Pinter." Unpublished Master's thesis, The
State University of Iowa, 1965.
Giannetti, Louis Daniel. "The Drama of the Welfare State."
Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, The State University
of Iowa, 1967.
Malpas, Edward. "A Critical Analysis of the Stage Plays of
Harold Pinter." Unpublished Doctoral dissertation,
The University of Wisconsin, 1965.
Moulthrop, Robert Wallace. "Harold Pinter: The Poetic Ef
fects of Theatricality." Unpublished Master's thesis,
The Catholic University of America, 1966.
Nelson, Hugh. "Language and Silence: A Study of the Plays
of Harold Pinter." Unpublished Doctoral dissertation,
The Carnegie Institute of Technology, 1965.
Pierce, Roger Nicholson. "Three Play Analyses." Unpub
lished Doctoral dissertation, The University of Iowa,
1969.
277
Sanders, Walter Ernest. "The English-Speaking Game-Drama."
Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, Northwestern Uni
versity, 1970.
Simon, Nancy. "An Analysis of the Plays of Harold Pinter."
Unpublished Master's thesis, Tufts University, 1966.
Wright, Donald Gene. "A Critical Examination of the Works
of Clifford Odets According to a Psychoanalytic Crite
rion." Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, University
of Southern California, 1970.

Linked assets

University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Conceptually similar

PDF

A Historical Study Of The Belasco Theatre In Los Angeles And The Forces That Shaped Its History: 1927-1933

PDF

The Nature And Significance Of The Father In The Plays Of Eugene O'Neill

PDF

A Critical Examination Of The Works Of Clifford Odets According To A Psychoanalytic Criterion

PDF

A Historical Study Of The Origins Of The Persian Passion Plays

PDF

A History Of Theatrical Activity In Fresno, California, From Its Beginnings In 1872 To The Opening Of The White Theatre In 1914

PDF

A Descriptive Study Of The Value Commitments Of The Principal Characters In Four Recent American Plays: 'Picnic,' 'Cat On A Hot Tin Roof,' 'Long Day'S Journey Into Night,' And 'Look Homeward, Angel'

PDF

A Historical Study Of Oliver Morosco'S Long-Run Premiere Productions In Los Angeles, 1905-1922

PDF

A Survey And Analysis Of Current Attitudes Toward Censorship Of The Legitimate Theatre In The United States

PDF

A Critical Study Of Murngin Dramatic Ritual Ceremonies And Their Social Function

PDF

"The Ramona Pageant": A Historical And Analytical Study

PDF

An Analytical Study Of Structure, Characterization, And Language In Selected Comedies By Philip Barry

PDF

An historical study of the legitimate theatre in Los Angeles: 1920-1929 and its relation to the national theatrical scene

PDF

The Paradox And The Grotesque In The Work Of Friedrich Duerrenmatt

PDF

The interaction of Los Angeles theater and society between 1895 and 1906: a case study

PDF

A History Of The Development Of Professional Theatrical Activity In Los Angeles, 1880-1895

PDF

A Historical Study Of Gilmor Brown'S Fairoaks Playbox: 1924-1927

PDF

A Re-Evaluation Of The Major Works Of George Kelly

PDF

A Critical Study Of The Influence Of The Classical And Christian Traditions Upon The Character Of The Hero As Revealed Through The Concepts Of 'Love' And 'Honor' In Three Restoration Heroic Tragedies

PDF

South Coast Repertory, 1963-1972: A Case Study

PDF

A Historical Survey Of The Mise-En-Scene Employed In Shakespearean Productions From The Elizabethan Period To The Present

Asset Metadata

Creator Soroky, Rose Eileen (author)

Core Title A Critical Analysis Of The Nature Of Plot Construction And Characterization In Representative Plays Of Harold Pinter

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Communication (Drama)

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag mass communications,OAI-PMH Harvest

Language English

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Advisor Stahl, Herbert M. (committee chair), Butler, James H. (committee member), Metzger, Charles R. (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c18-570079

Unique identifier UC11362306

Identifier 7211960.pdf (filename),usctheses-c18-570079 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier 7211960.pdf

Dmrecord 570079

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Soroky, Rose Eileen

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the au...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus, Los Angeles, California 90089, USA