Peter Marinker

Returning to Godot

Talk at the Cockpit Theatre, London

Back in the 60’s, on an extremely hot summer night in East London, I puzzled my way through a first encounter with Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Like many people, I knew nothing of the man and nothing of the play. I left the theatre none the wiser – but it set something in motion.

Over the years, I watched productions of Beckett’s work on stage and television but still, though I was fascinated, I just didn’t get it. Until, in the late 90’s, I took the plunge. I produced and performed a short play of his called “A Piece of Monologue” which begins with the unforgettable line, “Birth was the death of him. Again. Words are few. Dying too. Birth was the death of him. Ghastly grinning ever since.”

Some years later; in another millennium (Friday 12th of April 2003 to be precise) I flew to Cork with the radical publisher, John Calder.  I’d often been a reader at his weekly Theatre of Literature evenings in the back room of his bookshop just opposite the Young Vic. Since the mid 1950’s John had been Sam”s friend and publisher. John asked me to join him in Ireland to give two readings, one in Galway and one in Sligo for the relaunch of his publication of the playwright’s poetry. The wonderful Beckett actor, Barry McGovern had to drop out at the last moment.

One of Beckett’s favourite photographers, John Minihan, met us in Cork and drove us three aging Beckett enthusiasts to the west coast for the first reading. The bookshop was packed and the reception was very warm. I was relieved that no one questioned  my Irish lilt, thanks be to God.

Next day we drove to Sligo – it was to be quite an affair – the Taoiseach himself had been invited. However, he was to be disappointed.  It turned out our hosts had expected us the night before on what they must have thought was Friday the 13th, Beckett’s birthday.  But this was Saturday the 13th and when we arrived there was nobody there. Well, we did the only sensible thing and headed for a booth in Hargadons pub. When the Guinness arrived, I told the publican what had happened. “Ah now” he said, “we’ll have to see what we can do.” and, in about half an hour, he’d managed to round up a sizeable crowd and the show went ahead – without the Taoiseach.

Afterwards, back at the pub we met a group of American academics who were very disappointed to have missed the reading. After downing a couple of pints we all trooped off to the graveside of another Irish poet/playwright, W.B.Yeats where, 2 years after 9/11,  I read his prophetic  poem, The Second Coming. From the trees above the raucous cawing of crows accompanied the poem “turning and turning in the widening gyre the falcon cannot hear the falconer”… local critics perhaps?

Near a crumbling cliff on the edge of the Atlantic we ended the afternoon in Ellen’s pub where local poets read their works and quenched their thirsts.  Altogether it was what I would call a very Irish day. That same evening the two Johns and I found a completely empty restaurant. I asked the one visible waiter if they were serving. Seamus was a fine waiter who really liked and knew his job, when to wait, and when to come forward – without interrupting the conversation. What we were passionately discussing was WAITING FOR GODOT.

Calder and I felt we knew how it should be presented. We’d need a company of dedicated London actors prepared to subsidise themselves and to follow the notes and text amendments from Beckett’s Theatrical Notebooks. These were kept by his young assistant, Walter Asmus, when Sam directed his own play for the first time in Germany in 1975. I was lucky enough to see the show a year later at the Royal Court, performed in German. After 20 years of often fussy productions the play had been stripped back to the bare bones he intended. With my schoolboy German I barely understood a word but I loved the simplicity and the staging.

In 2004, a year and a half after our conversation in Sligo, John Calder introduced the show, at the Southwark Playhouse. It was the beginning of a tour of the London Fringe, Edinburgh and Paris. After months of rehearsal in the back of his bookshop without a director, just following the author’s invaluable notes, we were just about ready.

I’ll try to give you a taste of this great play.

Tony Jackson played Estragon, nicknamed Gogo, and I played his friend Vladimir. We were the wandering vagrants who were waiting for a meeting with Mr Godot . Early on when I was thrashing about trying to understand the role. It was Tony who told me, ‘Come on, mate, what’s the problem? You are Vladimir.’ He was absolutely right. It’s got to be personal.

I’ll try and give you another taste of this great play from 2014 at the Cockpit in London. I hope it will encourage you to see more.

Silence is important in the play. Its pressure is always there, driving the vocal and physical exchanges.

Credits

Thanks to
Edward Beckett, John Calder and Teresa Marinker.

 

Film Test
Peter Marinker – Vladimir & Estragon
Filmed by Nichola Bruce & Sam Sharples.

 

Paris Poetry Readings – Sonnet, Calvery By Night, Antipepsis
Introduction – John Calder
Reading – Peter Marinker
Filmed in Paris by Michael Raeburn

 

Film Test
Peter Marinker – Lucky
Filmed by Nichola Bruce & Sam Sharples.

 

Paris performance
Jim McManus – Estragon
Peter Marinker – Vladimir
Peter Pacey – Pozzo
Oengus MacNamara – Lucky
Corbin Thomas Smith – A Boy
Filmed in Paris by Michael Raeburn

 

London Cockpit
Kenneth Colley – Estragon
Peter Marinker – Vladimir
Joe Cushley – Pozzo
Jeremiah O’Connor – Lucky
Tom Cawte – A Boy

Alexander Technique Teacher – Karen Wentworth
Dramaturg – Peter Marinker
Producer – Dave Wybrow
Tree designed and created by Paul Hazelton

The Cockpit Theatre
Gateforth Street
London NW8 8EH
http://www.thecockpit.org.uk/

Filmed by Nichola Bruce, Sam Sharples and Tim Dale.

 

This website was made by Peter Marinker, Nichola Bruce, Sam Sharples for educational use.