When Robin Williams & Steve Martin Starred in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot (1988)

Despite the dourest demeanor in lit­er­ary his­to­ry and a series of plays and nov­els set in the bleak­est of con­di­tions, there’s no doubt that Samuel Beck­ett was fore­most a com­ic writer. Indeed, it is because of these things that he remains a sin­gu­lar­ly great com­ic writer. The deep­est laughs are found, as in that old Mel Brooks quote, in the most absurd­ly trag­ic places. In Beck­ett, how­ev­er, char­ac­ters don’t just tell jokes about the wretched exi­gen­cies of human life, they ful­ly embody all those qual­i­ties; just as the best com­ic actors do.

It’s true that some of Beckett’s char­ac­ters spend all of their time onstage immo­bi­lized, but the play­wright was also a great admir­er of phys­i­cal com­e­dy onscreen and drew lib­er­al­ly from the work of his favorite film come­di­ans. Vet­er­an vaude­ville com­ic Bert Lahr, best known as The Wiz­ard of Oz’s cow­ard­ly lion, starred in the orig­i­nal Broad­way pro­duc­tion of Wait­ing for Godot in 1956. “Beck­ett once wrote a film script for Buster Keaton,” notes the­ater crit­ic Michael Kuch­waraGodot’s cen­tral char­ac­ters, Vladimir and Estragon, evoke one of the most renowned of com­e­dy duos, many of their ges­tures “obvi­ous deriva­tions from Lau­rel and Hardy,” as film his­to­ri­an Ger­ald Mast notes.

It is fit­ting then—and might meet with the approval of Beck­ett himself—that Robin Williams and Steve Mar­tin, two of the most riv­et­ing phys­i­cal come­di­ans of the sev­en­ties and eight­ies, should step into the roles of the bum­bling, bowler-hat­ted fren­e­mies of Godot. The pro­duc­tion, which took place in Octo­ber and Novem­ber 1988 at the 299-seat Mitzi E. New­hous The­ater on Broad­way, sold out almost imme­di­ate­ly. Williams and Mar­tin weren’t its only big draw. Mike Nichols direct­ed, and the rest of the cast includ­ed F. Mur­ray Abra­ham as Poz­zo, Bill Irwin as Lucky, and Lucas Haas as the absent Godot’s mes­sen­ger boy.

Sad­ly, we only have a few clips of the per­for­mance, which you can see in the grainy video above, inter­spersed with inter­views with Mar­tin and Irwin. These too will leave you want­i­ng more. “I saw it as a com­e­dy,” says Mar­tin of his read­ing of the play. What this meant, he says, is that the laughs “must be served, almost first…. The com­e­dy of the play won’t take care of itself unless it’s deliv­ered.” Robin Williams, writes Kuch­wara, deliv­ered laughs. “His Estragon is a mani­a­cal crea­ture, verg­ing out of con­trol at times.”

Williams also veered “into some stage antics and line twist­ings that Beck­ett nev­er would have dreamed of—giving hilar­i­ous imi­ta­tions of R2D2 and John Wayne, com­plete with an impro­vised machine gun.” For his part, Mar­tin had “a tougher assign­ment play­ing the sub­dued, almost straight man Vladimir to Williams’ more flam­boy­ant Estragon.” Mar­tin has always tend­ed to sub­merge his mani­a­cal com­ic ener­gy in straighter roles. Here he seems per­haps too restrained.

For rea­sons that have noth­ing to do with the play, the trag­ic heart of these clips is see­ing Williams as Estragon. Yet in the final few min­utes, trained mime Irwin shows why his Lucky may have been the most inspired piece of cast­ing in the show. We get a taste of his per­for­mance as he recites part of Lucky’s mono­logue.  â€śEvery ges­ture has been care­ful­ly thought out, not only for the com­e­dy, but for the pain that lies under­neath the laughs,” Kuch­wara says.

Lucky is essen­tial­ly a slave to Abraham’s dom­i­neer­ing Poz­zo, who keeps him on a leash. He gives one speech, when his mas­ter orders him to “think.” But in his ver­biage and bear­ing, he con­veys the play’s deep­est pathos, in the form of the arche­typ­al tor­tured clown, who reap­pears in Alan Moore’s joke about Pagli­ac­ci. When Beck­ett was asked why he named the char­ac­ter Lucky, he replied, with mor­dant wit, “I sup­pose he is lucky to have no more expec­ta­tions….” It is as though, Mel Brooks would say, he had fall­en into an open sew­er and died

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Wait­ing for Godot, the Acclaimed 1956 Pro­duc­tion Star­ring The Wiz­ard of Oz’s Bert Lahr

Steve Mar­tin & Robin Williams Riff on Math, Physics, Ein­stein & Picas­so in a Smart Com­e­dy Rou­tine

Steve Mar­tin Per­forms Stand-Up Com­e­dy for Dogs (1973)

Robin Williams Uses His Stand-Up Com­e­dy Genius to Deliv­er a 1983 Com­mence­ment Speech

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Sportscaster Dave Revsine (Big 10 Network) Joins Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast to Discuss the Role of Sports in Pop Culture

How is spec­ta­tor sports dif­fer­ent from oth­er types of enter­tain­ment? Dave Rev­sine (lead stu­dio host for the Big Ten Net­work and for­mer ESPN anchor) joins your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt to dis­cuss the var­i­ous sources of appeal, team iden­ti­fi­ca­tion, exist­ing in a sports-filled world as a non-fan, watch­ing vs. play­ing, human inter­est sto­ries, sports films, and more.

Some of the arti­cles we looked at to pre­pare includ­ed:

The first two links above were part of a series of 2016 edi­to­ri­als in the Wash­ing­ton Post coin­cid­ing with March Mad­ness. As the whole series is def­i­nite­ly worth a look, just fol­low the links at the bot­tom of those arti­cles.

Dave wrote a book you might want to look at called The Open­ing Kick­off: The Tumul­tuous Birth of a Foot­ball Nation. Fol­low him on Twit­ter @BTNDaveRevsine.

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.

Woody Guthrie Creates a Doodle-Filled List of 33 New Year’s Resolutions (1943): Beat Fascism, Write a Song a Day, and Keep the Hoping Machine Running

On Jan­u­ary 1, 1943, the Amer­i­can folk music leg­end Woody Guthrie jot­ted in his jour­nal a list of 33 “New Years Rulin’s.” Nowa­days, we’d call them New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions. Adorned by doo­dles, the list is down to earth by any mea­sure. Fam­i­ly, song, tak­ing a polit­i­cal stand, per­son­al hygiene — they’re the val­ues or aspi­ra­tions that top his list. You can click here to view the list in a larg­er for­mat. Below, we have pro­vid­ed a tran­script of Guthrie’s Rulin’s.

1. Work more and bet­ter
2. Work by a sched­ule
3. Wash teeth if any
4. Shave
5. Take bath
6. Eat good — fruit — veg­eta­bles — milk
7. Drink very scant if any
8. Write a song a day
9. Wear clean clothes — look good
10. Shine shoes
11. Change socks
12. Change bed cloths often
13. Read lots good books
14. Lis­ten to radio a lot
15. Learn peo­ple bet­ter
16. Keep ran­cho clean
17. Dont get lone­some
18. Stay glad
19. Keep hop­ing machine run­ning
20. Dream good
21. Bank all extra mon­ey
22. Save dough
23. Have com­pa­ny but dont waste time
24. Send Mary and kids mon­ey
25. Play and sing good
26. Dance bet­ter
27. Help win war — beat fas­cism
28. Love mama
29. Love papa
30. Love Pete
31. Love every­body
32. Make up your mind
33. Wake up and fight

We wish you all a hap­py 2020.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Note: This fine list orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site back in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sci­ence of Willpow­er: 15 Tips for Mak­ing Your New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions Last from Dr. Kel­ly McGo­ni­gal

The Top 10 New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions Read by Bob Dylan

Mark Twain Knocks New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions: They’re a “Harm­less Annu­al Insti­tu­tion, Of No Par­tic­u­lar Use to Any­body”

Mar­i­lyn Monroe’s Go-Get­ter List of New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions (1955)

RIP Syd Mead: Revisit the Life and & Art of the Designer Behind Blade Runner, Alien & More

Has any year ever sound­ed more futur­is­tic than 2020, the one we all live in as of today? 2019 came close, most­ly because it was the year in which Blade Run­ner took place. Though ini­tial­ly a flop, Rid­ley Scot­t’s cin­e­mat­ic adap­ta­tion of Philip K. Dick­’s nov­el Do Androids Dream of Elec­tric Sheep? soon became a con­tender for the most influ­en­tial vision of the future ever put on screen. This owes not just to the direc­to­r­i­al skill of Scott him­self, but also of the many col­lab­o­ra­tors who set their imag­i­na­tions to the year 2019 — then near­ly 40 years in the future — along with him. Among the most impor­tant was con­cept artist Syd Mead, who died this past Mon­day at the age of 86.

Mead cred­it­ed as an inspi­ra­tion for his own Blade Run­ner work MĂ©tal hurlant, the 1970s French com­ic book that brought atten­tion to the even more deeply influ­en­tial art of Moe­bius. But his own career as an illus­tra­tor and indus­tri­al design­er, already far along by that time, had also pre­pared him thor­ough­ly for the job. That career began in 1959 with Mead­’s recruit­ment to the Ford Motor Com­pa­ny’s Advanced Styling Stu­dio, where he spent two years think­ing up the cars of the future. He then illus­trat­ed pub­li­ca­tions for oth­er cor­po­ra­tions before launch­ing his own design firm in 1970, work­ing with Euro­pean clients includ­ing Philips and Inter­con­ti­nen­tal Hotels, and lat­er near­ly every Japan­ese cor­po­ra­tion that mat­tered, from Sony, Bandai, and NHK to Minol­ta, Dentsu, and Hon­da.

That was in the ear­ly 1980s, when we all looked upon Japan as a vision of the future. To an extent we still do, not least because of the Japan­i­fied future envi­sioned in Blade Run­ner — as well as the one envi­sioned in its recent sequel Blade Run­ner 2046, also a ben­e­fi­cia­ry of Mead­’s con­tri­bu­tions. No mat­ter how much Japan fas­ci­nat­ed Mead, Japan repaid that fas­ci­na­tion ten­fold, seek­ing him out for film and ani­ma­tion projects, putting on shows of his work, and even pub­lish­ing a dig­i­tal col­lec­tion of his art as one of the very first CD-ROMs. (I myself first heard of Mead from Syd Mead’s Ter­raform­ing, a Japan­ese-made video game for the Tur­bo­grafx-CD that made use of his visu­als.) This was per­haps an unex­pect­ed devel­op­ment in the life of a kid from Min­neso­ta who spent his youth draw­ing in soli­tude, even one who grew up absorb­ing the sci-fi swash­buck­ling of Buck Rogers and Flash Gor­don.

But unlike those kitschy, dat­ed worlds of fly­ing cars, gleam­ing tow­ers, rock­et­ships, robots, Mead cre­at­ed cred­i­ble, endur­ing worlds of fly­ing cars, gleam­ing tow­ers, rock­et­ships, robots. That must owe in part to an instinct, devel­oped through indus­tri­al design work, of root­ing the fan­tas­ti­cal in the pos­si­ble. A look back at the full scope of his art — which you can glimpse in the trail­er for the doc­u­men­tary Visu­al Futur­istThe Life and Art of Syd Mead at the top of the post as well as in the mon­tage video just above — reveals that Mead real­ly believed in the futures he drew. And by hav­ing believed in them, he makes us believe in them. The real 2020 may not bring any of the sky-high build­ings, impos­si­bly sleek vehi­cles, or sub­lime­ly vast pieces of infra­struc­ture that Mead could ren­der so con­vinc­ing­ly. But how­ev­er the next year — or the next decade, or indeed the next cen­tu­ry — does look, it will owe more than a lit­tle to the imag­i­na­tion of Syd Mead.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Blade Run­ner Sketch­book Fea­tures The Orig­i­nal Art of Syd Mead & Rid­ley Scott (1982)

The Art of Mak­ing Blade Run­ner: See the Orig­i­nal Sketch­book, Sto­ry­boards, On-Set Polaroids & More

French Stu­dent Sets Inter­net on Fire with Ani­ma­tion Inspired by Moe­bius, Syd Mead & Hayao Miyaza­ki

“The Long Tomor­row”: Dis­cov­er Mœbius’ Hard-Boiled Detec­tive Com­ic That Inspired Blade Run­ner (1975)

The Giger Bar: Dis­cov­er the 1980s Tokyo Bar Designed by H. R. Giger, the Same Artist Who Cre­at­ed the Night­mar­ish Mon­ster in Rid­ley Scott’s Alien

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Voynich Manuscript: A New Documentary Takes a Deep Dive Into the Mysteries of the Bizarre Manuscript

If you’re a reg­u­lar read­er of Open Cul­ture, you know we like to bring you the lat­est attempts to deci­pher the leg­endary Voyn­ich Man­u­script, a strange medieval book whose lan­guage has baf­fled schol­ars for cen­turies. Like many oth­er ear­ly 15th cen­tu­ry texts, the Voyn­ich seems to com­bine med­i­cine, alche­my, her­bol­o­gy, botany, zool­o­gy, astrol­o­gy, and oth­er forms of folk knowl­edge in a com­pendi­um. But it’s filled with bizarre illus­tra­tions (see an online ver­sion here) and writ­ten in a lan­guage no one can read. Is it a lost ances­tor tongue? The secret code of a cult? Is it a hoax? Why was it made and by whom?

Researchers have tried to trans­late the Voyn­ich lan­guage as vari­ant forms Latin, Ara­bic, and Sino-Tibetan. An AI iden­ti­fied it as Hebrew. This year a father and son team con­vinc­ing­ly made the case for Old Tur­kic. No Voyn­ich trans­la­tion has been defin­i­tive­ly accept­ed by a schol­ar­ly con­sen­sus, and per­haps none ever will. This may say as much about the mys­te­ri­ous Voyn­ich as it does about the niche research area, in which aca­d­e­m­ic lin­guists, cod­i­col­o­gists, and all man­ner of ama­teur sleuths try to make a name for them­selves as Jean-François Cham­pol­lions of Voyn­ich stud­ies.

The hour-long doc­u­men­tary above tells the sto­ry of both the manuscript’s enig­mas and the cult of fas­ci­na­tion that has grown up around them. We first learn the ori­gin of the name: Acquired by Pol­ish book­seller Wil­frid Voyn­ich in 1912, the man­u­script passed into the care of his wife Ethel, an Irish artist and nov­el­ist, upon his death in 1930. Ethel died 30 years lat­er in New York, leav­ing the man­u­script behind, sealed in a bank vault. “Its fate had trou­bled both Mrs. Voyn­ich and her hus­band before her.”

Wil­fred Voyn­ich has often been sus­pect­ed as the man­u­scrip­t’s true author, but its mate­ri­als have been car­bon dat­ed to the ear­ly 1400s, and its first con­firmed own­er, an alchemist from Prague named George Baresch, lived in the 17th cen­tu­ry. Oth­er pro­posed authors have includ­ed Queen Eliz­a­beth I’s advi­sor John Dee, an alchemist and occult philoso­pher, and Fran­cis­can fri­ar and philoso­pher Roger Bacon, who was renowned as a wiz­ard almost two cen­turies before the extant Voyn­ich could have been pro­duced.

Evi­dence for these claims is often ten­u­ous, but the wealth of spec­u­la­tion to which the Voyn­ich has giv­en rise only deep­ens the mys­tery of its cre­ation. As more Voyn­ich schol­ars under­take frus­trat­ing, and often fruit­less, inves­ti­ga­tions, they add to the manuscript’s lore, itself so rich as to occa­sion anoth­er, two-hour, fol­low-up video from our doc­u­men­tar­i­an, who goes by the name The His­to­crat on YouTube. See the fur­ther “Deep Dive” on the Voyn­ich manuscript’s many his­tor­i­cal owners—both con­firmed and rumored—just above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore Online the Mys­te­ri­ous Voyn­ich Man­u­script: The 15th-Cen­tu­ry Text That Lin­guists & Code-Break­ers Can’t Under­stand

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence May Have Cracked the Code of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script: Has Mod­ern Tech­nol­o­gy Final­ly Solved a Medieval Mys­tery?

The Writ­ing Sys­tem of the Cryp­tic Voyn­ich Man­u­script Explained: British Researcher May Have Final­ly Cracked the Code

Has the Voyn­ich Man­u­script Final­ly Been Decod­ed?: Researchers Claim That the Mys­te­ri­ous Text Was Writ­ten in Pho­net­ic Old Turk­ish

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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