Waiting for Godot

Beckett’s language pioneered a form of expressionistic minimalism, encapsulating existential despair of post-World War II Europe, offering one of the most enduring and profound allegories of human existence. Great plays evolve with time and circumstance, and while Waiting for Godot has been reinterpreted over the years, its relevance endures. Today’s society, much like a post-war world, grapples with widespread uncertainty, climate anxiety, economic instability, and alienation. The pandemic not only triggered a global recession but also fractured our sense of community, collective identity and sense of continuity, forcing many to confront their existential fears. Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, with its themes of inaction, and existential limbo, captures the zeitgeist of a world suspended in apprehension, marked by disorientation and uncertainty. 

Famously consisting of few characters, plot and props, Waiting for Godot sees two woe-begotten men: Estragon (played by Lucian Msmati) and Vladimir (played by Ben Whishaw) waiting by a single dead willow tree (crafted by sculpturist Giacometti in the 1961 production), for a mysterious figure named Godot – who Beckett has insisted is not ‘God’. Almost as if anticipating the critical response to his own play, while encapsulating its broader existential themes, Beckett has Estragon declare: “Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful.” Crippled by their own boredom, Estragon and Vladimir are endlessly trying to distract themselves from their own condition: (Vladimir: “That passed the time.” Estragon: “It would have passed in any case.”) Perhaps, we the audience are not dissimilar, as we sit in red velvet seats (next to loved ones or alone) seeking to distract ourselves, perhaps to pass the time. 

Macdonald’s rendering of Estragon and Vladimir display this need for distraction, reimagining their narrative as the looping ramblings of two drunks wandering London, their clothes muddied, their eyes weary, appearing to be evading something greater than themselves. Wishaw’s eerie monotone voice fits chillingly well with the role of a troubled Vladimir, as Msmati’s performance is more animated and playful. 

Inspired by the French existential philosophy of Sartre and Camus, Beckett has written his two characters to live a repetitive and banal life, constantly wondering whether they should hang themselves or live yet another day while they wait for Godot, who never seems to come. Their musing captures our own paranoid and empty search for meaning and purpose. Failing to find Godot, Vladimir and Estragon depend on each other for both logic to their existence and for reassurance, forgetting why they were waiting for Godot in the first place. This sentiment is not unlike our own condition, illustrating how community, friendship or love might offer fleeting respite, before we return to our empty search for something we hope will be ‘greater’.

Waiting for Godot, with its nuanced devices, weaves a delicate balance of tragedy and comedy, absurdity and truth, where at its centre lies ever-plaguing questions on the existence of the divine, and other contemplations that give meaning to our existence, or render it completely meaningless. The difficulty Waiting for Godot possesses is that it is both tragic and comic but too much emphasis on the latter element can misrepresent the play. On its American premiere in 1956, critics noted that it was: “the laugh-hit of two continents,” which of course, defeats Beckett’s more subtle and dry humour, and no doubt the nuance that topics like death or belonging might inspire. 

Macdonald however, strives for balance in his production: aptly breaking the fourth wall, with Pozzo’s direct gimmicks, laughter is present but does not detract from what is ultimately, dismal and depressing: a bleak stage with a limp tree and two men waiting for something that will never come –– though of course, there is arguably something funny in the absurdity of blind faith.

The star of the show was surprisingly Lucky (mute servant to character Pozzo), played by Tom Eden, who reimagined this tortured character with a visceral physicality that stood out from previous renderings. At the end of Lucky’s monologue, the audience clapped whole-heartedly, as Lucky collapsed on the floor. Sometimes the most impressive performers, or likeable characters, are the most cursed, as we the audience grapple with our own sordid tethering. 

Though Vladamir and Estragon hurl insults at each other (“moron”, “vermin”, “sewer-rat!”), Estragon, ‘with finality’, shouts: “critic,” the worst insult of all, and I am reminded that I am in fact a fool, my notes no better than Lucky’s paranoiac and senseless monologue. In the interval someone behind me complained to her boyfriend that the play wasn’t funny, another said that it was strange that nothing really happens (which Beckett would have relished), and again, awareness of his audience leaks ever from the script.

In the final act, Vladamir asks Estragon if they should go, to which he responds, “yes, let’s go.” The stage direction reads: ‘They do not move’. The curtain closes and the play ends — though the audience remained still and unstirring. Perhaps the real treasure of Waiting for Godot is this: we can leave at any time, we don’t have to wait for God[ot], the lights to turn on, anyone else. Yet, we linger, wondering who Godot is, why he never came, why he wasn’t funnier or why it didn’t make sense. We remain seated, waiting for a cue, despite the fact that life will move on without our comprehension — and thus as existentialism compels us, we must find a way to accept meaninglessness, and from it, forge our own sense of autonomy in the world, learning to leave before the lights turn on, even before Godot arrives. As Estragon notes, though we might be born mad, we do not have to remain so.