It had been ages since I last saw a stage production of Beckett's Waiting for Godot, and so it was with some measure of excited anticipation that I looked forward to PBS's airing of the Michael Lindsay-Hogg film adaptation of the play on the new PBS series Stage On Screen. And, excepting a single two-pronged blunder,* what a first-rate realization it was, too. Oh, there was some careless thinking involved in the mise en scène (too busy and populated), and some equally careless thinking involved with some of the camera viewpoints (too many medium closeups and medium shots, and not enough establishing shots — in this case establishing the intimate identity of the physical, emotional, and spiritual landscapes, an identity central to this play). But that's largely quibbling on my part as the faults were not in any way crippling. As to the performances, they were all first-rate, and it was especially gratifying to hear the lines of the two protagonists, Vladimir (Barry McGovern) and Estragon (Johnny Murphy), spoken in Irish-inflected English as it gave pungent point and poignancy to the vaudevillian character of many of the exchanges, and imparted to the moments of genuine pathos a certain deepening of affect not otherwise attainable.
The play itself is a prodigy of sorts. Easily one of the most profound and suggestive plays of the 20th century, it's also among the most profound and suggestive ever written, its plentiful vaudevillian comedy notwithstanding. The dialogue is a marvel as well, and contains worlds in its concise, tightly coiled lines; lines that pierce heart, mind, and soul as with daggers even as they entertain.
A neat trick, that, and a Beckettean specialty.
Volumes could be written on analyses of Godot, and I suspect volumes already have (a Google search on the play's title turned up some 33,600 entries). I'm not ashamed to admit I've never read an analysis of the play. I don't yet know it well enough for that, and have still to reach my own conclusions on many points before reading the conclusions of others better qualified. That's surely not the easiest route to take, but worth the effort, I think, as it sharpens sensibilities and hones the critical faculties.
Speaking of which, in talking with some acquaintances about the play, I discovered to my surprise that the focal point for them, almost to a man, was Lucky's "think" of Act I. I'll grant it's one helluva think, but what I found so marvelous about it seems to have passed by (or over) these inveterate play-goers (which I am not), their concern being the deciphering of the think's actual content, the sense of its words, which to my understanding rather misses the think's point, that point being a practical demonstration — by way of a savage (but hilarious) parodying of learned modes of speech and discourse (theology, philosophy), and of intellectual, devotional, and common sense substance (science, religion, politics) resolving finally to word-salad gibberish — of the futility of man's resort to and reliance on faith, reason, and common wisdom to make sense of and give meaning to an otherwise irrational and meaningless universe.
Or so it said to my understanding.
It occurs to me there's a key to the getting to the bottom of this play, and that key, it seems to me, resides in an understanding of the characters Pozzo and Lucky (wonderfully played in this production by Alan Stanford and Stephen Brennan, respectively), and their part in the tragicomedy. One might begin by asking, Just who are these two characters, and what are they doing here? Estragon (in Act II) imagines Pozzo might have been Godot himself. Vladimir dismisses the suggestion immediately, but then, in rapid stages, becomes less and less certain. To me, Pozzo and Lucky seem a potential epiphanic vision vouchsafed to Vladimir and Estragon by agency unknown; a vision of the reality of what they're waiting for as it really is as opposed to what they but dimly imagine it might be. Pozzo as Godot incarnate, and Lucky as the incarnate whole of mankind that is Vladimir and Estragon — and us. Part (but only part) of my reason for being driven to that view is that Beckett puts into the mouth of Pozzo (in Act II) the most profound and searing lines in all of Godot, and perhaps the most horrific ever uttered by any character in any play whatsoever:
(Spoken to Vladimir in a fury) Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It's abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he [Lucky] went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we'll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? (Calmer, and more to himself) They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
That simultaneously searing and chilling speech is the play's climax, its crisis, after which Pozzo and Lucky exit the tragicomedy, and it's left to Vladimir to musingly, all the while feeling the full weight of it, round off the horrific image while Estragon sleeps:
(Vladimir looks at Estragon sleeping) He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot. (Pause) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. (He listens) But habit is a great deadener. (He looks again at the sleeping Estragon) At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause) I can't go on!
But he will. He's seen a glimmer of the appalling truth; more than is seen by most of humanity, and certainly more than is even imagined by his sleeping-even-when-awake soul mate. But, still, it's insufficient to murder hope (incarnate in the figure of the young boy who is Godot's messenger). He will go on, as will Estragon. Godot hasn't come today, but he'll come tomorrow. And when he does, they'll be there to meet him and so be saved. This they believe because they can't believe otherwise and still go on.
Nor can we.
*Concerning that two-pronged blunder — and it's a doozie — the director permitted, or sanctioned, or instructed his Pozzo and Vladimir to disregard Beckett's stage directions in the former's Act II exit speech (quoted above), and the latter's following reflection / epiphany (partially quoted above) — critical moments in the play. In consequence, those two utterances not only failed of their full effect and impact, but had their very sense altered. Quite extraordinary, actually, given how pitch-perfect was most of the rest of the production.
It's The Music, Stupid!
Peggy
