There are two main meanings for the word it can refer to the visible features of an area of land, or to an example of the genre of painting that depicts such an area of land.[1] Landscape, in both senses, includes the physical elements of landforms such as (ice-capped) mountains, hills, water bodies such as rivers, lakes, ponds and the sea, living elements of land cover including indigenous vegetation, human elements including different forms of land use, buildings and structures, and transitory elements such as lighting and weather conditions.
Harold Pinter was a British playwright, screenwriter, director and actor. A Nobel Prize winner, Pinter was one of the most influential modern British dramatists with a writing career that spanned more than 50 years. His best-known plays include The Birthday Party (1957), The Homecoming (1964) and Betrayal (1978), each of which he adapted for the screen. His screenplay adaptations of others' works include The Servant (1963), The Go-Between (1971), The French Lieutenant's Woman (1981), The Trial (1993) and Sleuth (2007). He also directed or acted in radio, stage, television and film productions of his own and others' works.
Three one act plays by Pinter – as well as Landscape and Silence, there’s an even shorter work, Night, that’s only seven pages long. Silence has three characters, the others have only two. They are static affairs, the actors/characters are largely seated – it’s just in Silence that two of the characters briefly stand and cross to another. The influence of Samuel Beckett on Pinter has always been obvious and Pinter never kept it a secret – of Pinter’s work, at least that which I know, these are perhaps the closest to Beckett. Even the titles sound Beckettian. But I’m not sure that is a good thing. Beckett is an important influence on Pinter, but Pinter’s interest is that he is uniquely Pinterian, not second hand Beckett. But I’m not dismissing these short plays: they cannot be reduced to Beckett imitation. In Landscape, for instance, two characters talk: a woman, Beth, seemingly talks to the audience; a man, Duff, seemingly speaks to Beth – neither seems to hear the other, so while at first glance the play might look like a dialogue, in fact it is two monologues. Beth describes being with her man on the beach...the man might be Duff, but might not be. And so it goes on: the events described might involve them both or maybe not. This is all very Beckett, two figures talking, but not communicating, seemingly caught in their own memories. But they don’t exist in Beckett’s world. They exist in England...maybe Pinter’s England, but in its details this is solidly England. Part of Pinter’s fascination is the detailed realism existing with the formalized uncertainty. I feel these are minor works, maybe Pinter was playing with ideas that he would develop in later work - there are similarities with Old Times – and, as such, these short works are important as little glimpses of Pinter's development. More than footnotes to his career, but not really chapters, maybe not deeply important in themselves, but fascinating if you have an interest in Pinter.
No recollection of this, but they are short and surely would have taken only an hour or so. The copy has my dad's name in it, which makes me sad, because he recently died. And that's why I'm going through the books that have sat on my shelf for years - because going through his books was painful. This one is off to the charity shop (June 2025).
"One of them told me I was lucky to be alive, that I would have to bear it in order to pay for being alive, in order to give thanks for being alive."
"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. I seem to be old. Am I old now? No-one will tell me. I must find a person to tell me these things."
And at last: "My visit, my care, will be like any other visit, any other care."
The only thing interesting about this collection is that of cultural artifact where a powerful writer might have become lost within his personality and allowed self-indulgence to be considered profound. This reads like a parody of Pinter. Meandering elliptical pseudo-observations from isolated characters that never seem discrete or real. Stifling in its Baby Boomer pretension (down to the glowing praise from John Lahr on the dust jacket). A waste of time. It is no wonder these are not remembered.
Landscape: this is a very boring "memory play" in a style Pinter is famous for. A middle-aged husband and wife take turns spouting memories of earlier times. It has something to do with the poor communication between husband and wife. I don't care about what they're saying.