The Wood Demon Art Theatre presents: Waiting for Godot

 

I am thrilled to be working again with director Jacob Clary to present Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. I will be playing Vladimir, opposite my dear, true friend James Yeary as Estragon. Also starring Theon Weber, Sean Magee and Cecelia Jackson.

Getting into the meat of this play has given me ample occasion for reflection on the facts of mortality, decay, and the difficulty of finding purpose in this brief and aimless existence. It is true that the text is bleak, even draining. All the same, Beckett infuses the work with tiny glimmers of something resembling meaning, if not redemption. The first step in reconciling oneself with futility is to look upon it with honest eyes, eschewing the delusional consolations of hope, reason, and master narrative:  "All I know is, the hours are long under these conditions, and constrain us to beguile them with proceedings which... may at first sight seem reasonable, until they become a habit. You may say it is to prevent our reason from foundering. No doubt. But has it not long been straying in the night without end of the abyssal depths? That's what I sometimes wonder." Vladimir is a bit of an armchair philosopher, or would be, if he had an armchair. Or a home to put one in. 

The play is entertaining and even fun, but a very dark sort of fun. To meet life in its splendored difficulty with a spirit of daring, a life-affirming joy--whoever said that this should be easy?

We will be giving four performances:

at Performance Works Northwest: April 27th at 8 pm and May 4th at 8 pm;

at Irvington School (in the yard) on April 29th at 5 pm;

and at galleryHOMELAND: May 6th at 8 pm.

 

 
 

-- Jeff

Earlier Entries

Fabbri Series Closing Ceremony

Why I Must Be Careful, DJ KM Fizzy, Four Legs and Two Voices, The Yielded You

Winter Compresses the Day

My unending quest for awkward beauty.

The Fabbri Series at galleryHOMELAND

Two years' worth of oil portraits!

In memoriam George Whitman

Imagine that. One million friendships. Quite a life’s work.

Anti-nihilist machine

All progress has steadily tended toward this.

I’m performing at Foreman Fest!

Really stoked about this one.

The Cherry Orchard goes live!

Now playing! Four shows!

I am very excited.

Barrelling the gravy train through the vail of tears.

Reading Granada

Graffiti and other forms of guerrilla art serve to restore the dialectic in a city whose immense beauty might otherwise blind us to its problems.

La Malafollá Granaina

I don’t think my body is capable anymore of getting drunk enough that clubbing can seem like pure fun, rather than icky, corrupted fun tainted by overtones of fake sex, feigned aloofness, broken glass and the unnerving gyrations of fauxhawks and tracksuits.

Pray do, Prado

Don’t you just want to punch him in his smug royal mug? I sure do. I don’t think that face would be quite so punchable if it weren’t rendered so realistically.

Oath

She tries to sing Mack the Knife in honor of Brecht’s birthday, but quickly discovers that she doesn’t really know the words in English, so she switches to German, and, stumbling again, peters out.

NYf’inC

This city is humanity distilled.

Peripherals

Over the course of her project on Melville, Anderson learned that the original draft of Moby Dick had no Ahab–and thus lacked its driving force. Ahab is pure, focused intention, blind to his periphery: the obstinate human will as a force of nature, insouciant of its own consequences. Just imagine Moby without the dick! (Actually, come to think of it, the Ahab-free version probably read even more like a homoerotic farce, and thus had its own innuendoed share of dick).

(Re)nacimiento

All of the performances were both excellent and challenging.