Review: Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Waiting for Godot is an irreverent take on life and the passing of time and consequently is neither funny nor entertaining. Or maybe it's just a play about bitter old men, written for bitter old men and released in book form so that the rest of the population can read it, scratch their heads and risk looking stupid if they say they do not like it.

The basic premises is this. Two old blokes are waiting for some other bloke called Godot to show up. They cannot remember the finer details, but Godot is supposed to be there, never arrives and in the meantime they meet this other odd paring of men. In the second act, the two blokes wait for Godot again, once again he never shows up and they see the other odd pair again who are somewhat changed. It is unknown how much time has passed since the events in the first act, or even indeed there have been other days where the pair have waited for Godot. All the while, they have various conversations that prove the basic futility of their existence.

Some may call it satire, others may like to say that the only reason this is so popular was because it was written by an ageing white intellectual and consequently, everyone has to claim to like it for fear of otherwise being thought of as stupid.

Boring as bat shit, really. 

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