Irish Timeswriters review Endgameat the Players' Theatre, TCD, and Fables, Tales and Tattlersat Pavilion, Dún Laoghaire

Endgame, Players' Theatre, TCD

Somewhere during AC Productions's dutiful revival of Endgame, Pepe Roche's Hamm strikes a suitable tone of dread and asks, "We're not beginning to . . . to . . . mean something?" Heaven forbid. Fifty years after the first utterance of these words, however, in Fin de Partie, such cryptic emanations from Samuel Beckett's airless, post-apocalyptic room are threatening to become all too meaningful.

More so than any of his plays, Endgamefeels like a tense standoff between Beckett and the audience, a confrontation measured out in endless self-reference, deliberately torturous stretches, an absurd comedy of deadening routine and an over-arching message about the futility of human endeavour.

This is a play that goads the audience constantly. Hamm, imprisoned in his wheelchair, his face crimson with blood, his parents confined to dustbins, his daily painkiller forever deferred and nothing but death beyond the ravaged walls, goes on to anticipate "rational beings" who having "observed us long enough" will arrive at an interpretation.

At one point Clov, his staggering slave, thrusts a telescope in our direction to find "a multitude . . . in transports . . . of joy". The play is funny, certainly, but the joke is invariably on us. Given the inflexibility of the author, which prevents an artist from stressing any particular interpretation or counterpoint, director and designer Peter Reid has made just one concession to modest insurrection, painting his floor in a chessboard pattern. That may seem an over-literal interpretation of the title, but it is a rather acute rendering of the theme: stalemate.

Does that gesture acknowledge that there is little more for us to find in Endgame? Roche turns in a creditable Hamm, his teeth frequently borne in a rictus smile, while Nick Devlin's Clov, played more as a local character than placeless figure, makes for a tightly physical and slightly insane foil. Delivering his well-worn jokes and tender entreaties, Terence Orr provides a touching Nagg, while the dustbins have been designed to put him and Norette Leahy's endearing Nell at ease (which actually seems like cheating).

It's a very serviceable, no-frills production, and if you have never seen Endgamethere is no reason not to begin here. At the risk of spoiling the comic twist, though, the meaning is that there is no meaning and the point that there is no point. As Hamm puts it, summing up the Beckettian worldview with some snappy finality: "The end is in the beginning and yet you go on."  Runs until Aug 18 Peter Crawley

Fables, Tales and Tattlers, Pavilion, Dún Laoghaire

There's an International Storytelling Festival coming up, and Jan Jan and Lou Lou are rehearsing their entry. They bombed last year, mainly through an inadequate grasp of their material, and are trying to find out where Puss in Boots bought his footwear, whether it was the same Prince Charming who courted Snow White, Cinderella and others, and so on.

Their previous attempt was Hansel and Greteland, as they reprise it, the audience comes to their aid. A tiny tot (with the confidence of an obvious plant) tells them that they omitted the best part about the witch and the sweetie house. Well, they'll really practise the new one, which is Red Riding Hood, and will take all the help they can get.

The innovations - they want to be creative - are many and ludicrous. Red's dad is called Neville, her mum is a celebrity chef, there is an off-stage character named Kevin who keeps interrupting, and other kooky variations. When the wolf goes to eat granny, he is frustrated by a series of sneezes, air pollution (she has a medical condition) and other unforeseen obstacles. The opportunities for audience support are numerous, and availed of with enthusiasm.

Jan Jan and Lou Lou are very funny throughout, two contrasting characters playing off each other with the aid of a honking horn, puppets, an accordion and other props. The surprising thing in this Pavilion production running on Sunday afternoons this summer, is that the humour is often sophisticated beyond the grasp of the tots (ages three to 10 seem about right), but generates much hilarity among the minders while their charges revel in the slapstick. The players are Janet Moran and Louis Lovett (who wrote the 45-minute piece), and their energy and flair send everyone home happy.

Runs on July 29 and Aug 5, 12 and 19 at 2.30pm and 4pm Gerry Colgan