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Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Waiting for Godot (1952)

by Samuel Beckett

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MembersReviewsPopularityAverage ratingMentions
9,069112331 (3.92)249
  1. 102
    Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard (guyalice)
    guyalice: Stoppard's play's been called "Waiting for Hamlet," as both are existentialist plays featuring a pair of clueless (yet tragic) idiots.
  2. 20
    Incidences by Daniil Kharms (ateolf)
  3. 20
    Rhinoceros by Eugène Ionesco (interference)
    interference: Ebenfalls ein Klassiker des Absurden Theaters.
  4. 10
    The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe (christiguc)
  5. 03
    Beatrice and Virgil by Yann Martel (Othemts)

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» See also 249 mentions

English (101)  French (5)  Dutch (2)  German (1)  Spanish (1)  All (1)  All (111)
Showing 1-5 of 101 (next | show all)
Confusing, hilarious and tragic.

Estragon and Vladimir wait for Godot. He never comes. Or he will tomorrow. They are told that every day, but they never leave. They plan to, constantly, but never actually do. There's a tree. I have not the slightest clue what this play's setting is supposed to be; there is only a tree. Estragon and Vladimir constantly forget what they are talking about. They talk to kill the time, get bored, want to leave, only to figure out, once more, that they are waiting for Godot. This goes on and on.

"Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful." It's true of the story, and it's how the two men feel about life. They repeat themselves, bounce between emotions helplessly, lose their trains of thought constantly, forget that they are sad, remember it again, ad infinitum. The play is funny, intensely bewildering, but mostly sad; Estragon and Vladimir live on even though they don't know why. They don't hang themselves from the only thing in their surroundings, a tree, due to some technical issue only. They are stuck in a limbo between not wanting to live and not wanting to die, and live on out of sheer habit, waiting, forever, for Godot.
  bartt95 | Jan 15, 2017 |
Essential ( )
  EMS_24 | Dec 5, 2016 |
What are we all waiting for? "The point is --" as explained by Beckett:

Estragon: Charming spot. ... Inspiring prospects. ... Let's go.
Vladimir: We can't.
Estragon: Why not?
Vladimir: We're waiting for Godot.
Estragon: (despairingly) Ah! ... You're sure it was here?
Vladimir: What?
Estragon: That we were to wait.
Vladimir: He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others.
Estragon: What is it?
Vladimir: I don't know. A willow.
Estragon: Where are the leaves?
Vladimir: It must be dead.
Estragon: No more weeping.
Vladimir: Or perhaps it's not the season.
Estragon: Looks to me more like a bush.
Vladimir: A shrub.
Estragon: A bush.
Vladimir: A --. What are you insinuating? That we've come to the wrong place?
Estragon: He should be here.
Vladimir: He didn't say for sure he'd come.
Estragon: And if he doesn't come?
Vladimir: We'll come back tomorrow.
Estragon: And then the day after tomorrow.
Vladimir: Possibly.
Estragon: And so on.
Vladimir: The point is --.
Estragon: Until he comes.
(pages 8-9)
  Mary_Overton | Dec 1, 2016 |
I am being very kind here in giving Beckett's famous play two stars out of five. The play may or may not be about existentialist despair, the meaninglessness of life, or simply the playwright's thumbing his nose at dramaturgy. It is for me the equivalent of an oversized blank canvas with a single tiny dot hanging in the modern art museum of your choice which one may take for commentary on the futility of life, the isolation of every human being in a post-modern world or some similarly pretentious, futile attempt at explaining what could be simple fly poop or, just as likely and of equal intrinsic value, a metaphor for the artist's lack of the slightest scintilla of talent or imagination and the curator's boundless gullibility. At least one can analyze and dismiss the latter immediately without experiencing the existential angst of a wasted evening at the theater or (seemingly) endless hours reading and re-reading the former while waiting for something, anything (meaningful or not) to happen. ( )
  VictorDLopez | Nov 25, 2016 |
Reading plays is a mistake, but I don't think seeing this play would make things any better. Nothing happens, seriously nothing!! I understand that nothingness is the point of the play, but it's boring. And I want to squish Pozzo like a bug. Monsterpiece Theater summarizes it best with "Waiting for Elmo" ( )
1 vote ladonna37 | Nov 23, 2016 |
Showing 1-5 of 101 (next | show all)
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» Add other authors (59 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Samuel Beckettprimary authorall editionscalculated
Andrade, Fabio de SouzaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Brée, GermaineEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Duckworth, ColinEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Eriksson, Göran O.Translatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Eriksson, Lill-IngerTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Ouředník, PatrikTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Schoenfeld, EricEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before. Enter Vladimir
ESTRAGON: (giving up again) Nothing to be done.
"Don't talk to me. Don't speak to me. Stay with me."
ESTRAGON: Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful!
ESTRAGON: We've lost our rights?
VLADIMIR: [Distinctly.] We got rid of them.
VLADIMIR: That passed the time.
ESTRAGON: It would have passed in any case.
VLADIMIR: Yes, but not so rapidly.
VLADIMIR: Abortion!
ESTRAGON: Morpion!
VLADIMIR: Sewer-rat!
ESTRAGON: [With finality.] Crritic!
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Amazon.com Product Description (ISBN 0802130348, Paperback)

A seminal work of twentieth-century drama, Waiting for Godot was Samuel Beckett’s first professionally produced play. It opened in Paris in 1953 at the tiny Left Bank Theatre de Babylone, and has since become a cornerstone of twentieth-century theater.

The story line revolves around two seemingly homeless men waiting for someone—or something—named Godot. Vladimir and Estragon wait near a tree on a barren stretch of road, inhabiting a drama spun from their own consciousness. The result is a comical wordplay of poetry, dreamscapes, and nonsense, which has been interpreted as a somber summation of mankind’s inexhaustible search for meaning. Beckett’s language pioneered an expressionistic minimalism that captured the existentialism of post-World War II Europe. His play remains one of the most magical and beautiful allegories of our time.

(retrieved from Amazon Thu, 12 Mar 2015 18:22:07 -0400)

(see all 5 descriptions)

Two old tramps wait on a bare stretch of road near a tree for Godot.

» see all 5 descriptions

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