Last night I went to see Waiting for Godot with my husband. It’s Beckett’s centenary year (for those living in a completely different planetary sphere) and the Gate Theatre,
The Gate is a small theatre, intimate in atmosphere – but you really can’t get any more intimate than the second row of seats (getting showered with actor's saliva!), to get you right into the action. Barry McGovern plays
It is so hard to believe that this play was written by Beckett 57 years ago. The topic is so fresh and the method of conveying an existentialist germ through all these characters is just breathtaking and it really hasn’t dated. The clowning around, the allusions to silent movies, French culture, literary culture, mime, comedy, tragedy...! I’ve yet to study this on the 20thC lit course, but for sure I’m strongly thinking of doing the assignment on WfG and Heaney’s Selected Poems… if for no other reason that they are compatriots of mine, and both are exceptionally newsworthy this year. The play was bloody brilliant and I can’t wait to see it again on DVD and get analysing for real with the course material. It may be a cliché, but watching plays performed is far better than reading them or watching on TV, because as part of the audience you have to invest energy back to the actors – that’s why they are up there: they’re working your emotions in time with the words and actions (same reason why poetry works better aurally than just off the page!).
To add my personal evening to things, I had arranged to go up and meet my husband in
Food was another yarn – having had our own Didi/Gogo-esque tiff on