Beckett at the Holy Sepulchre is exactly my cup of tea; and with Peter Price you know your standard spoon of sugar will be replaced with sand: slightly uncomforting, probably not beneficial to your health, and not something you drink every day.

The performance comprised of Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape and ‘movements’, two bursts of performance art enclosing Krapp. Krapp is a one-act play depicting the 69th birthday of a man, hauling out and listening to a recording he made when he was 39 on a large tape-recorder. There is a pathos in the piece, partially encapsulated by the “fire in me” recounted by the earlier Krapp, and the “burning to be gone” of the old man listening.

Following the play’s rejection from the ADC, Price and his band of bohemians formed the Cambridge Experimental group – arguably the best thing to happen to this play. For one, an ADC theatre space would not have worked in the spirit of the piece: the Norman architecture of the Round Church, with its circular nave, colonnettes and voussoirs expound and facilitate the ‘movement’ performances, whilst its sacredness echoes with due intensity each cough, expletive and gesture of Krapp. It was also notably free of constraint, refreshingly raw and unreserved in it actions, with the creative force of the group left to its own devices.

The actors are already in place when you walk into the Church, shivering in a circular sandy womb like their umbilical cords have been cut. Chairs skirt a ‘stage’ filled with damp sand, lit with harsh artificial light. In a nice touch, musicians were placed at regular intervals behind the audience, commencing the performance with the sound of a contrabassoon. The actors rose and so began the first ‘movement’: jolting, writhing, coordinated movements accompanied by fragmentary sudden sound. What struck me as most poignant were the uncomfortably loud musical notes, the kind that made you wince and screamed of Artaud. This piece was not meant to make you feel comfortable.

Following the end of the movement, an actor departed from the ‘stage’ and beckoned the audience to the altar. There was a brilliant silence where audience members looked pleadingly at each other, waiting for the first to person to move – audience became spectacle.

The most impressive part of the whole performance was undoubtedly Tim Atkin’s role as Krapp. Competently handled, Atkin managed to adopt the idiosyncrasies and voice of an aged man, tastefully dispersing Beckett’s subtle comedy. Moreover, there was a certain pathetic quality Atkin managed to bring to the role, providing a moving rendition. The inclusion of a consistent aggressive cough recalled Beckett’s ex-lover Ethna McCarthy, who was diagnosed with terminal throat cancer one year before he wrote Krapp. It also echoed, albeit with less force, Pinter’s performance when he was approaching death from liver cancer. Price interlaced this well.

The final movement was interesting, and uncomforting on occasions. However, it seemed incongruous after watching Krapp, making me question the purpose of its presence. The movements were intense and at times powerful, yet they often recalled a terrier trying to scratch an itch.

All in all, this was a refreshingly evocative piece of theatre, and did justice to the name of Beckett. The movements provided something, whether deflation or a purposive confusion, I’m uncertain.