CBR11bingo: Back to School
One day a few years ago, my husband came home and suggested we see Waiting for Godot, which was being performed by a local theater company. I said, “I have a better idea, let’s schedule a couple’s colonoscopy instead, because that would be equally as fun.” Needless to say, he hasn’t broached the subject of Samuel Beckett since.
But as I pondered the CBR Back to School bingo square, I wondered whether I may have been unfair. I hadn’t read any Beckett since college; perhaps my opinion had changed. Waiting for Godot has generally been lauded by critics, and even the masses who review titles on Amazon give it a solid four stars. So I thought, “Yes, I shall give Beckett another chance. Older, wiser Kim may enjoy it!”
Newsflash: The time to really wallow in the pointlessness of human existence is when you’re in college. If you’re not attracted to that philosophy at the age of 20, you’re probably not going to have a change of heart three decades later, unless life has been particularly unkind to you.
I hate this play so much. I just hate it. I didn’t even want to read the second act, but I refused to let a 90-page play defeat me. I thought about writing this review in Beckett’s style, with 20-year-old Kim talking to 50-year-old Kim, something like the following:
50YK: I hated this play.
20YK: You hated it?
50YK: I hated it.
(50YK throws iPad across the stage, where it lands with a thud. They both stare at it.)
20YK: Shall we go?
50YK: Yes, let’s go.
They both stare at the audience.
So that was my plan, but honestly, it’s not even worth my time. I’ll summarize quickly if you’re not familiar with the play.
It’s about two men. According to Beckett, the characters have to be portrayed by men because women don’t have prostates, and one of the characters has to leave the stage frequently to urinate. Beckett has clearly never been on a three-hour car ride with me after I drank four diet cokes, but I digress. The two men are called Vladimir and Estragon, or Didi and Gogo, and it’s a mark of how thoroughly this play irritated me that this morning, when I put on my Fitbit and it said “Go, go!” I was actually annoyed. I kid you not.
Anyway, the play starts with Estragon trying to take off his boot. He tries several times, then gives up and says. . . are you ready?
Estragon: Nothing to be done.
There it is, folks! Beckett tips his hand in Act 1, Scene 1, line 1, so let me spare you the pain of reading any further. A few other characters come and go, a couple of things happen–there’s some rolling around on stage, for example–but the point is “Nothing to be done.”
I’m not going to argue with the author’s premise. Just because existential futility isn’t my cup of tea doesn’t mean it can’t be worthwhile. But after three decades between readings, I still haven’t found anything in this play to captivate my attention.
20YK: Shall we go?
50YK: Yes, let’s go.
(50YK walks offstage, because she’s got shit to do and can’t stand here all day contemplating the pointlessness of life.)