Waiting for Godot- Nothing Happens Twice

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I am entranced by Samuel Beckett’s writing. He has an incredible theatrical sense: he knows the power of live performance and everything it entails in terms of choreography, rhythm of movement, lighting and all the other resources of the medium. It’s almost as if he writes the theater before he writes the play, telling the story through those three-dimensional elements rather than beginning with text that then has to be translated onto the stage. Some of his plays don’t even have any spoken words. I love that kind of inherently theatrical drama. And then on top of that, the words he does write are heartstoppingly beautiful poetry. To me, the old joke that Waiting for Godot is a play in which “nothing happens, twice” is inherently untrue. On the contrary, what doesn’t happen in this play? Everything happens. Beckett takes humanity and the universe and puts them under a microscope. When you look at a blade of grass through a microscope, it becomes unrecognizable: a whole other world of fine detail is revealed. Likewise, to some people it might seem on the surface that nothing happens in Godot, but if you look at it through the right lens, as I hope we do in this production, it reveals not just a blade of grass but a whole tropical rainforest of events and action and story. I don’t think Beckett set out to mystify people; to me, Godot is written in a very straightforward way. As I see it, he’s conducting an experiment, with himself as the subject. In the play, Vladimir is an intellectual: he analyzes and tries to understand. He seeks purpose and meaning in the world around him, which is how I imagine Beckett to be. I can imagine Beckett saying, “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I made a little puppet of myself, with my own character tendencies taken to extremes, and dropped him into various scenarios – caught, for instance, between a dictator and a slave? What’s he going

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