“Waiting for Godot” at Theatre Royal Haymarket

Neil Dowden in the West End
29 September 2024

At one time Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot tended to be regarded either with puzzled reverence or bored bafflement. Written in the late Forties (and influenced by the horrors of the Second World War), produced first in France in 1953, then in the UK in 1955, this absurdist tragicomedy was hailed as a masterpiece of avant-garde theatre even when it left people guessing at its meaning.

Photo credit: Marc Brenner.

In recent years, though, its lack of plot and elliptical style no longer seem to have the same distancing effect. Productions have emphasized the play’s specific human qualities rather than the abstract metaphysical aspects, with audiences engaging more closely with the protagonists’ plight. We are no longer waiting for things to be explained.

Beckett – and since his death his estate – ensured that the text (including stage directions) is not tampered with by directors, but that doesn’t mean that different interpretations are not viable in a work that is rich in ambiguity. Godot was always a funny play, but its humour – which ranges from gallows to slapstick – is often foregrounded now.

That was certainly the case with Sean Mathias’s 2009 production at Theatre Royal Haymarket with Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen’s music-hall double act as respectively Vladimir and Estragon – as well as a touching camaraderie. James Macdonald’s revival at the same venue, starring Ben Whishaw and Lucian Msamati as the hapless duo, also prompts much laughter amidst the pathos, in a remarkably accessible and lucid production.

Famously described by Vivian Mercier in 1956 as “a play in which nothing happens, twice”, Godot may be short of action but every word counts. A couple of homeless men, Vladimir (Didi) and Estragon (Gogo), come to the same place – or is it? – for an appointment with the mysterious Godot who never turns up – but a boy messenger assures them he will the next day. In each of the two acts they also encounter the rich landowner Pozzo and his misnamed servant/slave Lucky whom he physically and verbally abuses, but the second time the now mute Lucky seems to be more like a carer for the now blind Pozzo. The structure may seem repetitive but in fact nothing stays the same – apart from the end result. “Let’s go.” “We can’t.” “Why not?” “We’re waiting for Godot.”

Jonathan Slinger and Tom Edden.
Photo credit: Marc Brenner.

Designer Rae Smith’s bleak, ashen wasteland with a single surviving willow tree perhaps suggests a post-apocalyptic scenario, though the green leaves that sprout on its branches in the second act signal some hope for the future. Although the background remains unchangingly dark, Bruno Poet’s lighting gives the set a rosy glow at the end of each act, implying diurnal sun-setting as life goes on.

There may well be an existential edge of desperation hanging in the air, as the two men play games, banter, moan, and console each other to give some release from their deep unease, but here there is an authentic sense of personal warmth in their interactions – not to mention a genuine feeling of stoic endurance.

Macdonald’s production is poignant but never portentous. Occasionally it feels a bit too cosy, and may not capture all of Beckett’s stark poetic vision of the human condition. Yet this more intimate approach makes us feel that real individuals are stuck in no man’s land, distracting themselves with play-acting as they wait for some resolution to their predicament. “That passed the time.” “It would have passed in any case.” “Yes, but not so rapidly.” The comic business – including the Laurel and Hardy-like swapping of a bowler hat by Didi and Gogo and the collapse of all four characters into a heap together on the ground – is done brilliantly. There are also a few times when the fourth wall is broken as the audience is directly engaged.

The cast is superb. Whishaw’s Vladimir and Msamati’s Estragon are convincing as shambolic survivors who bicker and groan like an old couple, sometimes threatening to separate but always knowing deep down that they can face the uncertain world more strongly together. The tracksuit-wearing Whishaw – with a beanie over his long unkempt locks – is full of nervous energy, constantly in motion, conveying Didi’s more optimistic temperament. The full-bearded Msamati – garbed in shabby combat gear with a fur hat – is often slumped in posture as he seems close to giving up.

The strangely symbiotic relationship between Jonathan Slinger’s tweedy toff Pozzo – a sneering bully with a whip whose power turns to vulnerability – and Tom Edden’s goggle-eyed and traumatized Lucky – who is on the verge of collapse but somehow willingly supports his master – is also brilliantly done. The latter’s extended, increasingly manic monologue – a parody of an academic treatise that seems to explain the mysteries of life but is in fact incoherent – is applauded by an audience who appreciate the absurdity of it all.