Only Samuel Beckett would write a play about a woman buried up to her chest in a
massive hill of sand, her only companions a taciturn old man and a bag containing drugstore goodies and a gun … and call it Happy Days.
On its surface, the play, now on stage at New City Theater, is little more than a faintly optimistic two-hour monologue, delivered by a Pollyanna-ish older woman, Winnie (Mary Ewald). Lurking just beneath the typical Beckett circumlocution is a profound treatise on loss and physical decay that disturbs as often as it illuminates.
- Read review at Crosscut.com.










