Now a few questions for those of you who, by some cruel turn of fate, have been subjected to Jarry, Artaud or Genet...or better still, all three of them, over the course of your lifetimes:
Did you like UBU? Did UBU make you grin like an idiot at your little pea green book, while the other passangers on the bus gave you suspicious, sideways glances? Did UBU enrich your argot volcabulary, and give you the chance to rejoice in the brilliance of 'Shikt'? Or how about The Maids? Did The Maids provide you with new and exciting phrases to quote in your meaningless day to day existence? Are you still yelling 'Those Gloves' and 'The Kahva!', in sudden, quiverring fits of dementia?!
If you've answered 'YES!' to all the above, then my friend, Waiting for Godot will change your life :) It will enlighten you and show you the wisdom in the ways of the absolutely and utterly nonsensicle.
ESTRAGON: Then adieu.
POZZO: Adieu.
VLADIMIR: Adieu.
POZZO: Adieu.
[Silence. No one moves.]
VLADIMIR: Adieu.
POZZO: Adieu.
ESTRAGON: Adieu.
[Silence]
POZZO: And thank you.
VLADIMIR: Thank you.
POZZO: Not at all.
ESTAGON: Yes yes.
POZZO: No no.
VLADIMIR: Yes yes.
ETRAGON: No no.
[Silence]
POZZO: I don't seem to be able...[long hesitation]...to depart.
ESTRAGON: Such is life.
To conclude this blog: Elest is not all sound upstairs any more, and one wonders why she is always writing about Experimental Theatre...perhaps it makes her feel normal. Thank you.
I feel like pie crust.
No, actually, I think I feel like a hug :(
ESTRAGON: [Turning to look at the boots.] I'm leaving them there. [Pasue] Another will come, just as...as...as me, but with smaller feet, and they'll make him happy.
