** (out of ****)
Samuel Beckett is an acquired taste. There, I've said it.
I had joked shortly before my performance that I’d been waiting my entire life to see Waiting For Godot. I could have waited a lot longer.
While some may have buzzed ad nauseum about how Anthony Page’s revival may be the best for Beckett’s Waiting For Godot in over 50 years, consider this: more than five long decades have passed since the existential, absurdist play last trod Broadway’s boards.
Make that Broadway boreds.
Maybe it was my decided lack of sleep the night prior to finally seeing this play, but yours truly found himself waiting for just one thing -- that this seemingly interminable play would end. And that was long before the end of Act One.
Sure, there are some terrific performances from a top-shelf cast, lead by Nathan Lane as Estragon and Bill Irwin as Vladimir. In fact, John Glover’s breathtaking turn as the utterly dehumanized and most unfortunate Lucky was among the most haunting portrayals of the last year
But decent performances and present day parallels aside, this was one snooze-inducing revival. And Beckett’s ironic patter about boredom near the close of the first act gave me no encouragement:
ESTRAGON:Yes indeed. Same here. Same here.
In the meantime, nothing happens.
You find it tedious?
(to Vladimir). And you, Sir?
I've been better entertained.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).