I never expected a Robin Leach approach to a Modernist Titan. The author was able to door-stop poor Sam by his tenure as drama critic. Sam was sage, there were ground rules: no notes in our "chats." [Cut to an aside of the hack rushing to his moleskin afterwards, musing--more detail on Sam's craggy appearance]

Aside from the "interviews" with Beckett himself, there are discussions with many involved in productions of plays. All of this is miraculously accomplished without an artful word. There is something of a permanent leer, an unsettling gaze. I didn't care for it.

Gussow confesses he harbored aspirations of an authorized Beckett biography. Denied by Sam, Gussow gathered gossipy notes. There are anecdotes about Dustin Hoffmann completing a reading of Godot. There's Pinter stating he once drank for 24 hours with Beckett. Towards the end there is an actual interview with Beckett's nephew and executor of his estate. There is a touch of sentiment, though one imagines the nephew cringing from the author's excited, hot breath. ( )