Waiting for Godot was absolutely extraordinary. Funny, poignant, cruel, hopeful and despairing in all the right ways. Goodman was an amazing Pozzo, just carrying that body around the stage. The scenes where he cannot sit down, and cannot rise from the ground were just mesmerizing. This was the Goodman from Barton Fink, and the West Wing, not Roseanne. All five actors were remarkable. I knew Nathan Lane, but not really John Irwin, though P and J recognised his face on the playbill from other things. When they took their curtain calls, I was waiting for that break in concentration, the gracious and relieved smiles that signalled the release of tension. But there was none. The little boy kept his nervous empty smile, and the others all remained just about blank in expression. Goodman, particularly, remained inscrutable, distant. A remarkable refusal to concede the theatricality of the event, to mark the boundaries between their play and our lives.
And my second weather pixie is now set for Central Park, NYC: I wish the name of the city would appear on the widget, but can't see how to program this.