“Waiting For Godot” Chicago -A Review-
J David Moeller’s The Moellerizer
J David Moeller’s The Moellerizer
Redtwist Theatre, Chicago, IL
Four Molars!
“Waiting For Godot”
-The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly-
The Good:
Redtwist Theatre, formerly the Actor’s Workshop, presented Samuel Beckett’s enigmatic classic “Waiting For Godot” (now modernly pronounced "God-o") last night to a predominantly wizened full house of Jefferson Committee members, a reviewer or two, and friends of the existentialist’s dissertation on Hope.
Two souls: Estragon –the forgetful, and Vladimir –the historian; together for at least half a century, meet daily at an obscure point in their world to pass the time attempting amusement while they attend the arrival of the titular entity.
As we watch, the hopelessness of their assigned duty, their lives, and plight grows more and more evident. Their momentary fruitless attempts to occupy themselves only strengthen and encourage their angst.
Enter Pozzo and Lucky, slaver and acquiescent carrier, yards long hemp leash around his neck. Perhaps Hope has arrived? Or just passing through?
(l-r: Mike Nowak, Bob Wilson)
Mike Nowak, as Vladimir, plays the vacuous know-it-all of the two abiders, and his characterization lures the audience into his guise with deceptive ease. We accept him; and, willingly, believe he knows whereof he speaks, a thoroughly generous credit to his style and ability. His presence commands admirably. He gives us a brilliantly and touchingly played soliloquy in Act Two in a moment of enlightenment. Or is it nostalgia?
On the other hand, Bob Wilson’s Estragon appears to know and understand more than he will admit even to himself. His gentle subtlety and acquiescence works beautifully in sync with Nowak's bewildered savant. Wilson knows his character’s inner workings and, with delicacy and immaculate timing, reveals it to us.
Noah Simon as the slaver, Pozzo (“PPPpppppOTzo!”) is a joy to watch –as is his mole. Here he has created the quintessential grandiloquent buffoon. Too, his mastery over Lucky, the hapless be-roped mule, is here beautifully played in his calculated and precise allowance of the age-old delicate balance of dominant/submissive to flow back and forth between the two, seamlessly.
Mike Nowak, as Vladimir, plays the vacuous know-it-all of the two abiders, and his characterization lures the audience into his guise with deceptive ease. We accept him; and, willingly, believe he knows whereof he speaks, a thoroughly generous credit to his style and ability. His presence commands admirably. He gives us a brilliantly and touchingly played soliloquy in Act Two in a moment of enlightenment. Or is it nostalgia?On the other hand, Bob Wilson’s Estragon appears to know and understand more than he will admit even to himself. His gentle subtlety and acquiescence works beautifully in sync with Nowak's bewildered savant. Wilson knows his character’s inner workings and, with delicacy and immaculate timing, reveals it to us.
Noah Simon as the slaver, Pozzo (“PPPpppppOTzo!”) is a joy to watch –as is his mole. Here he has created the quintessential grandiloquent buffoon. Too, his mastery over Lucky, the hapless be-roped mule, is here beautifully played in his calculated and precise allowance of the age-old delicate balance of dominant/submissive to flow back and forth between the two, seamlessly.
(l-r: Noah Simon, Bob Wilson, Andrew Jessop)And then there’s Lucky, this writer’s favorite character (a love affair first set ablaze 46 years ago after reading the play in Switzerland). Who is Lucky (so named also in the original French) and what about his one line in the play?
Jack MacGowran, who worked closely with Beckett on his embodiment of the character, stated the famous speech deals with “…the consistency of the Divine…shrinkage of humanity…petrification of the earth…”
It is said the speech, all 700+ words of it written in a stream-of-consciousness word salad, perhaps exemplifies the thoughts at the abyss of the ultimate corporeal departure, and the character, Lucky, personifies humanity’s grace.
Andrew Jessop slides onto the stage, panting “like a grumpus”, laden with suitcase, picnic basket, his master’s greatcoat and stool. He sleeps whenever and wherever he falls, which is often, or sags –still encumbered- into slumber .
One immediately is taken by Jessop’s obeisance. He gracefully pulls us to him and we suffer his consignment, his lot. Jessop came to the role late in the rehearsal process and his assumption of Lucky is perfect. While he is subdued, he still proffers strength; and when he ignites it is surprisingly unexpected and brilliantly alive.
Jack MacGowran, who worked closely with Beckett on his embodiment of the character, stated the famous speech deals with “…the consistency of the Divine…shrinkage of humanity…petrification of the earth…”
It is said the speech, all 700+ words of it written in a stream-of-consciousness word salad, perhaps exemplifies the thoughts at the abyss of the ultimate corporeal departure, and the character, Lucky, personifies humanity’s grace.
Andrew Jessop slides onto the stage, panting “like a grumpus”, laden with suitcase, picnic basket, his master’s greatcoat and stool. He sleeps whenever and wherever he falls, which is often, or sags –still encumbered- into slumber .
One immediately is taken by Jessop’s obeisance. He gracefully pulls us to him and we suffer his consignment, his lot. Jessop came to the role late in the rehearsal process and his assumption of Lucky is perfect. While he is subdued, he still proffers strength; and when he ignites it is surprisingly unexpected and brilliantly alive.
(l-r: Mike Nowak, Bob Wilson, Andrew Jessop)
Toward the ends of the acts Boy appears. Boy is not a wait-er, he tends goats for Godot, and relays his messages to those who do. It is always the same. It is always expected. It is always.
Proof there are indeed no small parts, Adam Shalzi’s Boy is spot on…the enigma of it was subtly 
poignant.
poignant. (l-r: Bob Wilson, Adam Shalzi, Mike Nowak)
Here his eyes, ever watchful, almost pleading, almost over-wise, almost pitiable are magnetic. His brief moments solidify his facility of craft.
Critically acclaimed Director Jimmy McDermott, the former artistic director of Glencoe’s estimable Writer’s Theatre, has mounted a magnificent production and fleshed it out with superb performers worthy of Beckett’s pen.
Critically acclaimed Director Jimmy McDermott, the former artistic director of Glencoe’s estimable Writer’s Theatre, has mounted a magnificent production and fleshed it out with superb performers worthy of Beckett’s pen.
This is a deceptively difficult play. Its dialog meanders, often incoherently, through the minds of the men we see. On the page, it reads with a modicum of sense. In preparation and performance it is revealed as much deeper and invested with intricacies far more distressing and affecting.
McDermott, for the most part, and with much thanks to the intelligence and acuity of his wards, draws out the pure gold in this fertile mine.
His experience with the métier is apparent.
The Bad:
McDermott, for the most part, and with much thanks to the intelligence and acuity of his wards, draws out the pure gold in this fertile mine.
His experience with the métier is apparent.
The Bad:
Like Dickens’ Tiny Tim’s gushing, “God bless us…every one!” Lucky’s is the “money” speech, the one that people will pay to hear.
It is considered one of the greatest speeches in modern theater. No one fully understands it, it is continually analyzed; but it is written to be heard, so the attempt at gleaning some insight can once again be experienced.
Here, McDermott not only fails the playwright, but his actor. The maddening drudgery of committing those nonsensical words is almost Sisyphusian labor in the least. To have rolled the stone to the acme after his late start is monumental.
McDermott has directed his others to mount a rising cacophonic din commencing midway through the dissertation which, unrelentingly, builds to such a level and furor that Jessop is barely audible; never mind the toll on his mental acuity, his focus –his maintenance of which is Herculean.
The audience and the actor are denied.
The Ugly:
The wigs. They are the only veritable deal breakers here.
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“Waiting For Godot” plays Thursdays through Sundays (no performance 8/6) at Redtwist Theatre, 1044 W. Bryn Mawr, Chicago. Times and Tickets: 773-728-7529. Closing August 23.
