Samuel Beckett‘s absurdist masterpiece is often described as the Female Hamlet, so complex and challenging is the delivery of the part of Winnie. And no wonder, two thirds is performed by the actor submerged in a pile of sand up her midriff, and one third up to the neck. But in Roxana Silbert‘s beautifully directed production in Pitlochry’s marvellous Studio Theatre you’d think Siobhan Redmond was Lord Olivier – but the ease with which she performs this monumental role is a facade, in a recent interview she describes the role as, ‘Monstrously difficult’. The truth is this is as examplary a performance as you will see this year anywhere in Scotland, and continues Alan Cumming‘s extraordinary season with tremendous impact. It’s a performance of considerable accomplishment.

From her hole in a sand dune that virtually covers the stage, Redmond communicates, or tries to, with her reluctant and rather vulgar husband Willie, played partly for laughs by Forbes Masson. He ably supports the star of this wonderful production.

The play, written in 1961, predates the concept of metatheatre by about two years, but meta it most certainly is. We, the audience, are represented by an unseen character, only recalled by Winnie as Mr Shower or Cooker (German words for looking/seeing), as she gradually unravels on stage. There’s a wonderful meta gag courtesy of Mr Shower. He observes, on passing by Winnie’s sand dune with his wife, that Winnie is ‘Stuck up to her diddies in the bloody ground.  What does it mean?’  Oh indeed, what does it mean? Beckett is revelling in his meta absurdism, only too aware that much of his audience will be scratching their heads searching for a narrative arc, a logical theme; anything for it to make sense.

In the first, the longer of the two acts, Winnie is putting a brave face on her existential crisis (one wonders how does she eat, drink, ablute in a sand-made semi-sarcophagus?). The end, surely, is nigh. Willie is in denial in his below-sand man-cave, grunting, farting, snorting, and occassionally emerging to read meaningless headlines from a surely ancient newspaper. He’s a chocolate teapot.

But Winnie is determined to maintain a positive stance in the light of their troubles, carefully brushing her teeth with a toothbrush made of slaughtererd swine-hair, guzzling her rapidly diminishing medicine, applying the last of her make-up, arranging her fascinator, lofting her parasol to protect herself from the burning sun, all the while eyeing her revolver (quaintly called Brownie) – surely the escape mechanism from this deathly crisis.

Everything is, like time, running out.

The play significantly pre-dates, but chimes with, Groundhog Day. Maybe, like Bill Murray’s character, Winnie will finally reach for the revolver. How long has this daily series of unfortunate events and distractions been going on? Will it be the same tomorrow? Yes it will, but more deeply mired in the sandy substrate. This sense of Esher-like repetition is echoed in the script with lines and thoughts repeating and recurring increasingly frequently.

There’s no denying that this is a puzzler of a play, not often performed professionally in Scotland, and certainly not to the average theatre-goer’s taste.  But, if you want an intellectual challenge, or if you just want to see one of Scotland’s finest actors at the peak of her game then this is an absolute banger of a show.

Happy Days is at Pitlochry Festival Theatre until Sat 10 Oct 2026