Waiting for Godot
Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

IS this really a play in which nothing happens — twice, as so many critics have claimed?

Is it all nihilistic gloom, or is there a tale of comradeship against the odds?

Samuel Beckett himself may have grunted in disdain at claims to grasp the work’s core meaning. When Ralph Richardson asked him if Godot were God, the playwright said: “If by Godot I had meant God, I would have said God, not Godot.”

Fair enough, as they say in Foxrock.

The big themes, of the apparent futility of existence, of cynicism and cruelty, are all here, but they’re woven into the warp and weft of humour and friendship.

The pairing of Lucian Msamati as Estragon and Ben Wishaw as Vladimir is sublime. The precision of their comic timing is meticulous, and deceptively natural. Beckett’s adoration of Laurel and Hardy shines from the stage, and observers of a certain age may recall another double act; the genius of Morecambe and Wise who famously decided on their act: “We’ll BOTH be idiots.”

Trying to banter their way out of boredom, the duo’s wordplay is both absurdist and naturalistic, a seemingly effortless pas de deux. True, there were a few moments when the farce-like direction seemed to drift into Abbott and Costello territory, but that’s a quibble.

As the two friends bicker and grumble, their endless waiting is interrupted by the arrival of Pozzo (Jonathan Slinger) and Lucky (Tom Edden), the cruel master and his oppressed slave. It’s always tempting to see this wealthy, pompous, demanding man as a representation of Capital, with the downtrodden serf as Labour.

There is a hint, as Pozzo reflects on a past time when his bondsman recited poetry for him, that this twosome may have existed in perfect equilibrium. If such halcyon days ever existed, they must have been few, given Lucky’s desperate state, prematurely aged and almost mute.

Edden’s performance, in a monologue which defies all rules of reason, sense and punctuation, is truly spellbinding. The conceit, that simply placing his bowler hat on his head unleashes a tirade of word salad, surely has resonance with a 21st century audience. Our society has a surfeit of words, yet understanding of the world eludes us.

One effect of witnessing “nothing happening” is to focus an audience on meaning in the smallest exchanges. Vladimir asks his friend who beat him, and why; the responses, that “they” may not have had a reason, is chilling. 

When he wails, later: “Where are all these corpses from? A charnel house! A charnel house!”, Whishaw seems to be pleading with the audience for answers. 

Beckett’s experiences in the French Resistance, with his cell betrayed to the Nazis, fuelled this work. His comrades were marched off to camps, while he survived. Only a few, traumatised years later, he wrote these words for a tramp waiting under a tree: “Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now?”

Runs until December 14. Box office: (020) 7930-8800, trh.co.uk.