Word: godot
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Gogo and Didi, the heroes of Waiting for Godot, are Beckett's symbols of the twentieth century man; they are former hoboes, now burns, who dress in the loose fitting and shabby formal clothes of the burlesque clown; they are former homosexuals, now incapable of satisfying each other beyond a furtive embrace or a titillating story about an Englishman in a brothel; and, because of Beckett's genius for paradox, they turn out to be dignified human beings...
...meantime," says Gogo, "let us try and converse calmly, since we are incapable of keeping silent." Waiting for Godot has nearly no action, only waiting and talk, the talk to make the waiting pass more quickly. Gogo, intellectually an infant, curls into a foetal position and sleeps whenever he has the chance, tries to tell Didi about his dreams, talks of running away so that Didi will convince him to stay, and whines about his aching feet. Didi knows that his only important job is to keep the two together. He ignores Gogo when necessary, refuses to listen...
...Still fresh and unwilted by the heat are Little Mary Sunshine, a crisp, straight-faced spoof of the Grand Old Operettas; The Balcony, Jean Genet's surrealist universe ensconced in a brothel; The Connection, a pad full of Pirandelloish characters waiting, not for Godot, but the heroin fix; and a neat double dose of disenchantment-Samuel Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape, in which a defeated, Proust-like writer plays back his own past, on the same bill with Edward Albee's Zoo Story, which stars a lonely beatnik trying to communicate with an awful square...
Waiting for Marco is like waiting for Lefty or Godot. In this first novel it represents a messianic yearning for an honest man who will redeem the corruption of Mussolini's Italy. Long before Marco makes his anticlimactic appearance, Italian Author Pasinetti explores half a dozen themes-love, death, courage, Venice, and, above all, the interplay of two families...
...Connection is all about drug addicts, and it has a sporadic, hypodermic sort of distinction. The junkies sit in a pad impatiently waiting, but for nothing so vague as Godot: they wait for their "connection" and the heroin he will bring. They numb the hall with torpor, draw beads on the audience with four-letter words, pick their eyes, ears, nails and noses, and squeeze the "green stuff" out of a boil on one man's neck. They trade hip remarks: "I don't have any marijuana, but how quaint of you to ask." Says a Negro junky...