Such is life.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I read Samuel Beckett's work Waiting for Godot: A Tragicomedy in Two Acts in preparation for viewing the current production on Broadway. I decided to hold off on formulating a definitive opinion until I had seen the production and I'll explain why in a minute. What is this story about? Two late-middle aged homeless men, friends who have lived together for decades, are waiting to speak to someone (or something) named Godot. While waiting, they come across a couple of interesting characters. And that's it basically. Well, perhaps on the surface.
This dramatic work is truly the definition of minimalism. From the sets, to the amount of characters and the costumes, everything is sparse, bare and simple. And most importantly, so is the dialogue. Which isn't to say that the themes and threads that underlie the play are simple; quite the contrary, due to the minimalistic langauge the greatest advantage the play has is its openness to interpretation. While the protagonists, Vladimir and Estragon, wait for the mysterious Godot, they try to wile away the time. Their discussion ambles from Christ, to hanging themselves, to the unity of man, although in not so serious a fashion. It's a rather vague, meandering conversation and anything from existentialism to religious to psychodynamic and homoerotic undertones may be teased from the subtext.
But that is not the question. Why are we here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, inthis immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come.
This complex quote espouses so many fears and crises that come with the simple fact of being a human being. In our existential angst, we are forever finding meaning, or THE meaning of our lives. A majority have relied on religion to alleviate these feelings of confusion. It’s not a stretch to consider Godot as a god-figure. (Interestingly, I have always heard the name pronounced god-OT, with an emphasis on the second syllable. The actors in this production pronounced it GOD-ot, with an accent on the first. Very telling, no?) The viewer never knows why they’re waiting for him, except that if they don’t, they will be “punished.” They plan their lives around this character, this being they’ve never met yet he holds so much power over them. They are beholden to him, they fear him, and they despise him. But they soldier on, day after day, waiting to speak to the thing named Godot.
To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
Time passes differently for these men; day is eternal, night is momentary. People they have seen, or believe to have seen rather, do not remember them. Eventually, even Estragon forgets what he has done the previous day. All of these incidents lend a dream-like quality to the proceedings: are these hallucinations? Is everything a dream? Does “Godot” even exist? But humanity has identified with these questions ever since we first attempted to explain the notions of reality. What is reality? Is this an unanswerable question? I cannot speak for your reality, and I doubt that I can speak for mine.
Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
The most frequent exchange between Vladimir and Estragon involves the suggestion of action and then desisting of this action with the excuse: I/we can’t, we’re waiting for Godot. They decide to leave and go to the Pyrenees; they cannot because they’re waiting for Godot. They want to hang themselves; well they can’t because they’re waiting for Godot. I was hit with the realization that our “Godot” is the X factor, the influences and excuses that prohibit us from fulfilling our own wants, and thereby leading to feelings of anxiety and doubt. The number of times I’ve prohibited myself from doing something due to superfluous circumstances are too numerous to count. And eventually, these excuses disallow our ability to become fulfilled, self-realized and self-actualized human beings.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
During their wait, they’re confronted with Pozzo, a wealthy landowner out for a stroll with his manservant (or rather slave), Lucky. It is here where we find most of the comedy and humor, as well as some insight into Beckett’s beliefs on human nature. Pozzo treats Lucky abominably; he keeps him on a leash and whips him to do his bidding. Perhaps the implication being that we are slaves only to ourselves, if we wish to be? However, Pozzo relies on and admits his gratitude to Lucky; even though he’s silent (until he’s given his bowler hat to wear), he was once an intelligent and articulate speaker who taught Pozzo all of his theories on culture, life and humanity. His one line of dialague is a long, disordered soliloquy that, at first listen, sounds to be gibberish. But underneath its verbosity, it justifies the existence of a heartless god, and decries man’s insistence on wasting away on this earth, one that does not offer cultivation for mankind. And so, it is the dumb man, the madman who is the most perceptive and astute.
I hesitated to make a well-formulated impression until I saw the production. I believe that great actors imbue the text with their own interpretation of the work. If talented enough, they can inspire you to see the work in a new light. Fortunately, this was the case with the current production at the Roundabout Theater, directed by Anthony Page. What I was most surprised about was how lighthearted and even slapstick the mood was at times. While reading the play, I imagined it in such a somber, dare I say pretentious manner, but that just may be because I’m a pretentious jackass. I digress. Bill Irwin as Vladimir and Nathan Lane as Estragon were remarkable; they were the ultimate “everyman” and so were completely relatable as two men looking for meaning and purpose. John Goodman as Pozzo was disgustingly condescending yet simultaneously hilarious and although he had one line, John Glover as Lucky was a pitiable and powerful character in his own way. The sets were a bit more crowded than I had visualized, but not egregiously so. I highly recommend this production, and I believe that even more layers are uncovered when this work is viewed on the stage.
Ultimately, for me to say what this play means is pointless; I can only tell you what I think it’s about. You will find your own interpretation of this masterful work.
Let's go. Yes, let's go. (They do not move).
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