An Absurdist comedy of existential despair…
“Why are we here, that is the question? And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come… We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment.”
Samuel Beckett’s tramps Vladimir and Estragon are lost in time and space. Their shoes are falling apart, they’ve only got turnips and carrots to eat and lately, unknown attackers have been beating up Estragon on a nightly basis.
They abuse, amuse and console each other while they wait for a man whose arrival promises both a job and perhaps some kind of salvation.
This landmark play is a masterpiece of comic wordplay, but what lies beneath is a lyrical layer of exquisite prose that explores humankind’s search for meaning.
“Something that will securely lodge in the corner of your mind for as long as you live.” Sunday Times, London