Waiting for Godot

Waiting for Godot

26 June, 2009
by: Tom Jeffreys

There's a regular series of cartoons in Private Eye called 'First Drafts'. One of the best ones that I can remember pictures Samuel Beckett sitting at his writing desk, quill in hand. Written across the sheet of paper, the words: 'Enter Godot'.

Sitting through the much-hyped production of Waiting for Godot at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, this little cartoon periodically pops into my head. Why won't he just bloody turn up, and put us all out of our misery?! It's very hot in the Royal Stalls and I get fidgety in the theatre at the best of times. In truth, there are parts of this play where I have to admit to getting a little bored.

That, of course, is the point of Godot. It's a famous examination of the boredom, futility and ultimate pointlessness of human existence. But having read all the advance press, I was lead to believe that this was a production with a different edge – funny, sharp, slapstick.

And it is in a way. Certainly Sir Ian McKellen is absolutely mesmeric: gruff, miserable, scraggy of beard and attitude. We all know of his splendid voice and dancing eyes, but the physical aspects of his performance are a revelation. He hobbles, limps, struggles and groans with the best of them. In contrast, Patrick Stewart is perhaps a little too straight. He's great as the eternal optimist, the driving energy of the narrative, but I find it too hard to disassociate him from the squeaky clean Professor Xavier or Captain Picard. He just doesn't seem quite like a tramp.

Comedy interludes supposedly come in the form of Pozzo and Lucky, the former played by thesp-extraordinaire Simon Callow. For me, however he is too much. His performance lacks the range and subtlety of McKellen and Stewart. Too often he resorts to what seems like a camp Brian Blessed impression.

This is very much a luvvie performance, but knowingly so. There's a sense that it could just have become an act-off, and with Callow there is that slight impression. The play is at its strongest when it is just McKellen and Stewart on stage – their tragicomic double-act deftly depicted.

I do feel privileged to have watched this production. The set is fantastic, and the cast obviously brilliant. Occasional nods to the presence of the audience are neat and unexpected, and the whole performance is layered and surprisingly restrained (Callow apart). But Godot, in its miserable modernity, is just so bloody interminable.

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Tom Jeffreys