The old man rose painfully as the performance ended. The applause built slowly from a single clap of hands to a tumult. Harold Pinter, playwright and actor, weakened by the years and by illness, had just performed “Krapp’s Last Tape,” by his friend and fellow Nobel laureate Samuel Beckett.
...
“And all along Pinter makes you feel the gravity, the meticulousness, the sheer power of his endeavor,” Mr. Nightingale [of The Times of London] wrote. “This is an old man’s last-gasp search for a meaning he knows he’ll never find.”

wow Pinter does Beckett - terrifing, awesome
I would love to witness it

edit
part of me reflects that in a sense i've been in the hinterland - upon occasion - and one day, barring car accidents or some other sudden exit, i'll face the silence that follows twilight