What a thrill it was — and is — to see Samuel Beckett’s hilarious and depressing (there’s a post-apocalyptic linking of two adjectives, eh?) Endgame, playing at Soulpepper until Nov. 17. I have long preferred it to Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, and to every other “absurdist” play of the second half of the last century for that matter.
Filled with pratfalls and comic turns, with death and dying, with despair and vaudeville-esque routines, the entire “plot” echoes its inspired title, which is drawn from chess: when you have reached the point in the game when losing is inevitable, but you must play it all out. C’est la vie, one might say in French.
For years, Beckett was close friends with fellow Irishman and fellow word-obsessed genius, James Joyce, and this “metafiction” echoes Joyce’s influence throughout.
As a former university lecturer, I remember the joy experienced by my theatre students as we kept noting the profound, multilingual symbolism. Hamm is an egocentric, blind, dying bully in a wheelchair (played superbly by Joseph Ziegler), forever whistling for life-saving assistance from Clov, his stunned, stupid and bullied near-slave, brilliantly performed by the always-excellent Diego Matamoros. Hamm, of course, suggests the word “hammer;” Clov’s name looks and sounds like the French word “clou,” or “nail.” Ham is a kind of meat; cloves keep it from becoming inedible. The entire play is filled with such clashing symbols (Joycean pun deliberate), and it is a non-stop joy to experience. Best of all is Daniel Brooks’ exquisite direction, evident from the very outset to the life-denying lowering of the noisy, creaky, deadly curtain.
The play opens with Hamm covered by a white tarp in the exact centre of a white room, seemingly after the world has come to an end. (Has there been a recent nuclear war, destroying nearly all of humanity? Probably). Throughout the play, Hamm orders Clov to make sure that he is in the exact centre of the room, just like humanity struggles to see itself at the centre of the universe.
Not surprisingly, the play’s first words are, “It’s finished; nearly finished,” followed by “Me — to play!” Hamm cannot stand, and Clov cannot sit; there’s humanity for you. “Why this farce, day after day?” is often asked, and it gets us thinking. Yet amidst the scenes and expressions of horror are endless gags; great ones. Spoken to the audience several times by Clov: “If I could kill him [Hamm], I’d die happy!” The phrase “This is deadly!” is followed moments later by the ironic “Things are livening up!”
The “metafiction” is almost nonstop: “What is there to keep me here?” one asks. “The dialogue!” is the answer, and the audience howls with laughter.
Perhaps the play’s greatest exchange comes when Hamm orders Clov to lift the lid of one of the giant garbage cans, containing his aged parents. “What’s he doing?” asks Hamm, about his father Nagg (played with awesome wit by the great Eric Petersen). “He’s crying,” answers Clov, lifting the lid. “Then he’s living,” Hamm states.
ENDGAME is one of those plays that any lover of modern theatre — no, of any kind of theatre — should see. It is hysterically funny, balanced precariously against the moans, shouts, anger and despair of a dying world. I cannot deny: it’s an extraordinary feat to try to capture boredom on stage for an hour and a half without boring some of the audience. And if you wish to experience perfection in acting in one of the most important plays of the past century, I urge you to get thee down to the Distillery District. This is what’s called a rave review.
Endgame, Yonge Centre for the Performing Arts, 416-203-6264. Runs until Nov. 17
Allan Gould is Post City Magazines’ theatre critic. He has a Ph.D. in English and Theatre from York University and has written over 40 books. His writing has appeared in Toronto Life, Chatelaine, enRoute, Canadian Business, Good Times and the Financial Post. He is married, with two children. Aside from his family, his major passions are theatre and film, because they enrich life with pleasure and meaning.
