Samuel Beckett

In mid 1989 I probably could have told you that Samuel Beckett wrote Waiting for Godot. I'm pretty sure that's about as much as I knew about the man and his work. Beckett died at the end of '89 and around that time there was a notice in my local paper that a theater group was auditioning for a production of Godot. This was a small company that I was eager to work with, a company that focused on meatier plays, not the more common Neil Simon-y kinda things. An actor friend called me to ask if I was going to audition and I said I was. He suggested we get together and read some passages. I went out and bought a copy and tried to read it. "Um. Huh?" was my reaction after getting through a few pages. I put the book down. My friend and I tried to read the play aloud. You can't cold-read Beckett, come to find out.

The audition ... I don't remember much, actually. I know I read some passages ... right! I remember reading Vladimir's "Let us not waste time in idle discourse" speech, and I remember being in a scene with an actor reading Lucky's speech as if he were bouncing around on a pogo stick. After, the director walked me down the stairs, telling me that if this one particular actor takes part in the production I'd be playing Estragon. If he doesn't take the part, I'd be Vladimir. I remember that when I went in I was hoping I'd be cast as Pozzo (silly, young, clueless actor - wanting the hammiest role). I got a call a day or two later that I'd been cast as Estragon. I had no idea what I was in for.

The rehearsals were impossible. The director was very patient and helpful but I was a naive Method wanna-be, trying to make naturalistic sense of an absurdist play. We had the luxury of a long rehearsal process and about four weeks in, I was completely lost. I decided I had to jettison the notion of finding the logic as to why Vladimir and Estragon were waiting, what our relationship was, who was Godot and all the other million and two questions that this play raised. After letting go, suddenly things started to make sense. By boiling this incredibly complex play down to the simplest of terms, suddenly this barren world came alive. And this greener-than-the-hills-of-Ireland actor came to the conclusion that Godot was perhaps the most brilliant play ever written. And one of the most wickedly funny plays. My wife says "It's life." Vivian Mercier, an Irish literary critic and Beckett scholar, famously said it's a play in which "nothing happens. Twice."

It was a very good show with a remarkable cast. Oh, make no mistake - I was terrible. A young, fairly inexperienced actor in over his head and just trying too hard. I was exhausted by the end of our brief run. But an obsession was born. I went out and bought every book Beckett ever wrote. Read some, couldn't make heads or tails of others. A year later, thanks to a well-known artist who had designed our set and had vigorously praised this production, we were invited to an international theatre festival in France. The cast regrouped, mounted another production to get us back into shape. I was a little more confident this time, familiar with the play, the context and the character now, also understanding that I didn't need to be a clown to play a clown. I had read about Beckett and his plays, watched a few documentaries and saw that it wasn't about being an antic idiot to get a laugh. It was vaudevillian poetry.

Again, the shows were a success but so draining. I remember coming off stage after the last show in France, exhausted, and throwing my costume in the garbage. It was dirty and stank (I was still a bit into the Method) and I said I never wanted to do this play again. Silly actor.

Almost 20 years later, the director and I are still very close friends. In addition to a number of other shows, we have done five productions of Godot, getting the itch every few years to do the play again, each time doing a little less and always learning something more. It's an incredible pool to swim in, bottomless, each time we get a little deeper understanding of the play while knowing full well one never reaches the bottom. Though some get close.

A year ago, we were finally able to see the Gate Theatre's production of Waiting for Godot. I had wanted to see this production for more than 15 years. The Gate revives it every so often, with the same cast (save the boy), and tours it. I tried to see it in 1996 when Lincoln Center presented the Gate's Beckett festival but couldn't get close to a ticket. However, I was able to see Endgame, another play I wanted to do one day when old enough. I had wanted to play Hamm (silly actor - always wanting the hammy role). But then I saw Barry McGovern, pictured above, play Clov and realized THAT was the role I wanted to do. McGovern played Beckett as if it was music, a symphony, and I was awestruck by what he was able to do, the notes he reached. Reading more about him, I found that, unsurprisingly, he was regarded as a consummate Beckett actor, if not the consummate Beckett actor. He became something of an idol of mine, so when I discovered the Gate production, with McGovern playing Vladimir and Johnny Murphy playing Estragon, was coming through in October of 2007, I was ecstatic when I was able to get tickets. They played first at a small upstate college theater (I also got a ticket to their NYC stop). It was as though my friend and I were seeing the Beatles. Simply an amazing production. I think I wrote here last year that it was a simple and specific production, which is no easy task to accomplish. We then had the good fortune of bumping into the cast in a small nearby town where they were staying. We gushed profusely like giddy teenagers. Meeting Barry McGovern was, for me, like meeting your favorite Beatle (or whomever you would find yourself to be tongue-tied around). We chatted for a few minutes then we retired to the restaurant bar, understanding that he may want a little rest between shows after just finishing a matinee. We then bumped into Johnny Murphy. He and I talked for a bit about Beckett and about playing Estragon. A very cool experience and a gracious man, letting some ne'er-do-well bend his ear while he tried to relax.

My friend and I were recently talking about Godot, maybe staging it again. It's always a big sigh when the feeling starts. No matter how often we've done it, no matter how eager I am to do it again, there is always that "Oh, Lord, how are we gonna do this?" feeling, this near impossible challenge, like a climber taking a deep, cautious breath before tackling Everest.

I then found out that Lincoln Center is presenting another Gate/Beckett festival that includes McGovern's one man show, I'll Go On, based on Beckett's trilogy of novels. It's ridiculously expensive to see the three plays that are being presented (seriously, it would be cheaper to buy a roundtrip ticket to Dublin and perform Beckett in St Stephens Green), but I have to see it, see McGovern perform again, listen to the notes he plays and wonder if I'll ever be able to hit even one of them.

Dammit. All this Beckett stuff ... it's starting to itch.