The Broadway Theatre Review: Waiting for Godot
by Ross
I’ve seen the pictures. Of the curtain calls and the production stills. But nothing prepared me for the awesome spectacle of that massive drainage pipe interior that was unveiled before us for the infamous line: “Together again, at last.” With “nothing to be done” about it, there’s something endlessly fascinating and elastic about Waiting for Godot. Beckett’s desolate masterpiece can stretch to fill the theatrical vastness of Broadway or be boxed in and folded neatly into the intimacy of a small Toronto stage and still hum with the same absurdist ache. I saw both the high-profile Broadway revival, starring the movie star team, Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter (Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure), and the Coal Mine Theatre’s more strategically straightforward, finely tuned version. Both offer compelling encounters with futility and hope, but it’s deep inside the tunnel, where the Broadway production can claim the spotlight on inventiveness and risk. But not without some drawbacks.
Breaking all the rules with ingenious flair, Jamie Lloyd (Broadway’s Sunset Blvd; West End’s Romeo + Juliet) unravels a dystopian revival stripped away of standard props and tree stumps. Reeves plays Estragon with a fascinating, tightly staccato anger; Winter’s Vladimir holds our attention from the start with a steadiness beside him, pangs of connection and longing in every line and glance. The set and costume design by Soutra Gilmour (National Theatre’s My Brilliant Friend) frames the action in curved, ominous forms — a hollow circle void of humanity and earthiness — echoing emptiness and destitute ritual. Lighting designer Jon Clark (West End/Broadway’s Betrayal) glows with precision, descending shockingly into pathos; sound by Ben and Max Ringham (Broadway’s Prima Facie) pulses at the edges of silence, a disturbing dark whisper that underscores the play’s absurd rhythm. Across the cast, Michael Patrick Thornton (Broadway’s A Doll’s House) as Lucky delivers one of the most captivating, unhinged yet well-spoken monologues, finding pauses where none were thought to exist before. Brandon J. Dirden (MTC’s Skeleton Crew) concocts a Pozzo that looms, proud and cruel, taking over the spotlight with vigor. At the same time, the Boy duties are shared delightfully and innocently by Zaynn Arora and Eric Williams.
This production dares and ends up delivering on that. It pushes Beckett to the brink, stretches the air sealed in around them to the brink. The vaudevillian pairing of these two obvious real-world friends emphasizes the philosophical weight of connection and their bond with the existential ache of repetition, reliance, and redundancy. There’s elegance in its ‘waiting’ restraint. At times, though, that daring creates inauthentic discourse and distance. Reeves can feel beautiful and tight in his repetitive disconnection; Winter is tender in his reasoning and relatability. But the laughter that lives inside Beckett’s longing sometimes feels measured, held back behind glass. The production is a triumph of clever craftsmanship, yet one wonders whether craft alone can always bridge the chasm between spectacle and soul.
If Lloyd’s Godot lives in abstraction, Coal Mine’s lives in the gut. The Toronto production, by contrast, lets the human pulse through every crack. Their Vladimir and Estragon are less sculpted abstractions, more fiercely flawed companions you might recognize, and even love. Their laughter, desperation, and even their absurd wide-eyed physicality feel tactile, warm, and hilarious. In that smaller darkened theatre, waiting isn’t a design choice — it’s a shared moment between actor and audience that I leaned more fully into. I laughed harder there. I felt more exposed. I sat back after the curtain and carried their voices with me.
Still, I respect the delightful daring and ambition of Broadway’s Godot. Reeves’s long-awaited Broadway debut shows a dedication to Beckett’s epic challenge to find angry humor in despair. Winter, too, brings an authentic friendship & familiarity to the stage, which adds an epic layer of lived-in camaraderie that feels rare and compelling. The creative team — Gilmour, Clark, the Ringhams — all deliver work that’s visually and sonically alive. And the supporting cast, especially Lucky and Pozzo, give the production its emotional knots and lumps.
But in the final measure, Coal Mine’s version won my heart more completely. It wasn’t the stars or the spectacle — it was presence. Godot survives not just because the words are spoken, but because the waiting is felt. Between the two, Broadway dazzled; Toronto stayed.
The pointlessly profound point of En attendant Godot or Waiting for Godot, the much-admired absurdist play by Samuel Beckett (Endgame), is to explore and expand the absurdity and futility of the human condition. Beckett’s 1953 tragicomedy is both radical and wise, diving into the seemingly meaningless world that we all try our hardest to live within. In that end, both Godots left me changed in different ways. The Broadway version shines like polished stone — sharp, round edges, beautiful curved reflections, and weighty ambition. The Coal Mine version is a more wantonly, wicked, and wise waiting place, to savour with quiet, enduring delight. Both are valid. Both endure. But when you wait and listen and feel, it’s sometimes the smaller voice that echoes longest — and loudest.
