I can’t go on at any length regarding the themes and resonances of Waiting for Godot. Samuel Beckett’s ever-so-meaningful drama has been endlessly explicated by greater minds than mine, so far be it from me to add to that critical mass.
Anyway, whoever has read along this far is likely to have their own notions of what it’s all about.
Instead, let’s begin by saying that Ireland’s Druid theater company currently delivers a very fine staging of Waiting for Godot that lends the play a glowing sense of humanity. The production, currently onstage at the Gerald W. Lynch Theater as part of Lincoln Center’s ninth annual White Light Festival, presents a truly radiant interpretation of Beckett’s challenging work.
[Read David Finkle’s ★★★★★ review here.]
The closely meshed performances by Marty Rea as Vladimir and Aaron Monaghan as Estragon, chummily known as Didi and Gogo, those two vagrants who forever are killing time by the side of a road, possess a personal warmth and vitality that brightens the existential desolation of Beckett’s classic. From the natural quality of their easy rapport, these shabbily-dressed fellows obviously are longtime buddies who already have endured much together and undoubtedly will go on waiting for whatever comes down that pike.
Rea’s Didi is the tall one, a lanky fellow with expressive eyebrows and elegant gestures who restlessly roams around. Monaghan’s Gogo is a befuddled little fellow who usually and sadly slumps upon a rock. Visually embodying the vaudeville-like nature of their absurd interactions, with its bowler-swapping routine and other shticky bits, the often exuberant Rea and frequently morose Monaghan appear as nicely contrasting figures.
Somehow they are able to be as funny as they are poignant, and that’s quite an achievement.
Different as they may look and act, it’s amusing to see them each strike identical poses in profile whenever they contemplate the distance: One hand raised over their brows, the other hand at the small of their backs, they crouch forward with one leg kicked back as they gaze away. (Why do they suddenly remind me of Buster Keaton in The Navigator?)
Both of the men speak with lilting Irish accents that underscore the musical quality of Beckett’s dialogue and point up its Irish rhythms. This production, incidentally, pronounces the name Godot as GOD-ut. Not that such enunciation is meant to imply how these guys are awaiting the resurrection, God forbid.
In the meantime, Didi and Gogo are twice visited by the overbearing Pozzo and his hapless slave Lucky. Elegantly clad in loud plaids, Rory Nolan presents a preening, portly figure as Pozzo, while Garrett Lombard’s foot-stomping Lucky is a spooky creature crowned with a witch’s mane of blondish-white hair. Lombard’s maniacal rendition of Lucky’s monologue was rewarded by the audience with a round of applause.
The actors’ enjoyable performances are augmented through the crisp reinforcement of Gregory Clarke’s sound design, which at times subtly contributes a suggestion of wind and waves.
Subtlety is similarly observed by production designer Francis O’Connor, who faithfully yet artistically serves Beckett’s austere demand for simply a stone and a tree by a road. Here the egg-like stone is whitish and smooth, while the tree is a skinny, skeletal specter. The background is a mottled, streaked expanse vaguely suggesting a cloudy horizon. Bordered by a white translucent frame that seemingly floats within a black void, this abstract setting is variously tinted by lighting designer James F. Ingalls in shades that quietly range from a dusty parchment to violet and then a deep, dark blue as night suddenly descends.
These striking visuals and endearing performances have been cultivated by Garry Hynes, the director, who successfully infuses Beckett’s bleak study in existence with a warm, wonderful sense of humor and eternal life.
Waiting for Godot opened November 4, 2018, at the Gerald W. Lynch Theater and runs through November 13. Tickets and information: lincolncenter.org
