After class, I had a couple of hours until I had to be somewhere, so I went to a pub to write some letters. I was very happy with the letter I wrote. As I sat sipping my Guinness and basking in the glory of my letter, a middle-aged gentleman sitting near me unexpectedly asked what I thought of the art show opening I mentioned in the last post. It caught me a little off guard; I've considered myself to be pretty anonymous when I go out on my own. Frankly, it was a little flattering that he recognized me. We talked about the cool idea of the show, but general failures in the execution; we talked about my studies at the college here; he mentioned being involved in the Derry Anti-War Coalition, and was thrilled to here about my involvement with a Mennonite college; he finally asked if I was attending the performance of Beckett's Waiting for Godot this evening. I was happy to answer in the affirmative. Hopefully, this fella will turn up again in my letter-writing pub excursions.
In short, the performance kicked ass. It's a brilliant play, that seems to become only more relevant as time goes on. It was performed by the Gate Theatre Company, who are considered to be the premier interpreters of Beckett's work. Anyone who's familiar with Beckett will tell you that this is no small achievement. It's difficult to explain the "plot," but suffice to say that it's got one painful foot firmly planted in the real world, and one foot sinking quickly into absurdity.
Very depressing and very funny.
No comments:
Post a Comment