The Melancholy Madness of Beckett
Posted by Robert Hines III on 6/15/2010
(Robert is a teaching artist with Steppenwolf for Young Adults)
When I first found out that I was going to lead post-show discussions for Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had studied Beckett’s Waiting for Godot in graduate school, but felt intimidated by the prospect of leading discussions about a play so many have studied.
But my apprehension did not dampen my desire to moderate post-show discussions; in fact, they spurred me on. I chose not to read the play again - or comb through any of the research the Literary Department gave me - before I saw it. I wanted to go in cold, as many Steppenwolf patrons would do, not knowing what to expect and seeing what moved me. As I watched the play, I found myself working to make sense of Beckett’s dense and absurd dialogue. And yet, I was taken with the beautiful poetry of the play: the phrases of humor in response to tragic events. When I heard Clov’s line “if I don’t kill him, he will die” about a wounded rat, I laughed out loud. I pondered the image of a three-legged dog and the absence of color in the set. As the house lights came up, I struggled to understand the meaning of the play. I searched for some linear plot line that would make the post-show discussions run smooth and easy, but found nothing.
But as I reflected on the play over the following days, I realized that this is not a play that tells us what to think or believe but challenges us to ask questions… and to find personal meaning through its conscious and unconscious resonances. Personally, Endgame inspired me to investigate why I do things and to understand the habits I set up to make sense of life. Sometimes I am Clov, the servant, feeling trapped as I walk through the mundane routines of daily life, caring for others without any hope of escape. Sometimes I am Hamm: the sufferer believing that my suffering is loftier than everyone else’s. There are moments when I feel like the forgotten one, stashed away in the ash can of someone’s mind; pushed aside until someone needs me, and occasionally lured out by the false promise of a metaphorical sugarplum. I saw the personal nature of this play and realized the audience should provide the meaning from a personal perspective.
As the post-show moderator, many patrons expected me to answer the question of the “true” meaning of Endgame, but since the play asks questions instead of providing answers, I structured the post-show discussions around lines of inquiry designed to elicit personal reflection. This approach generated active, engaged discussion, charged with the personal parallels the audience members discovered in the play. Some of the most moving comments came at the end of our conversations. I always concluded by asking these questions: 1) What are you taking away with you from the play? 2) What do find hopeful about this play? 3) What resonates with you as you leave?
One woman was reminded of her mother, who takes care of her “mean-as-hell” grandmother, who is dying of cancer and suffering from dementia. She was moved by how some of the absurdity witnessed in Endgame parallels what she witnessed in their relationship. Another patron in a wheelchair spoke about how he sees and knows all that goes on around him but the limitations of his body keep him from being fully engaged with life. When I asked another man what he thought of the play, he playfully shouted, “Should I just go home, quit my job, and divorce my wife!?”
One audience member spoke to the importance and effectiveness of the post-show discussions: “I didn’t understand the play until I stayed for the post-show discussion. It was good to hear other peoples’ thoughts and interpretations of the play… I’ll be thinking about this for a long time.”
Endgame could so easily have been dismissed as too confusing and disjointed to make sense, but the post-show discussion provided a forum for audiences to clarify their thoughts. And after so much apprehension at the beginning of the process, I found that I could hardly contain my excitement about discussing this play with our patrons.
While the world of Endgame is definitely bleak and depressing, I discovered a certain joy in leading the discussions. Recently, I started using the word “melancholy” to describe what I see in Endgame. To me, the word connotes despair with some unknown quality of softness. Thanks in part to the illuminating comments from audience members, I learned to look at Endgame with a fond eye for the bittersweet, the softness within the despair. Having the opportunity to come to a deeper understanding of Beckett’s melancholy madness through these nightly conversations has been deeply rewarding.