One of the great dramatic works of all time is this tragic-comedy by Beckett. For those who have not read it, seen it, or do not have a half-an hour to read it, the play is about two characters Vladimir and Estragon who wait by a ditch for Godot--who never arrives. Essentially nothing happens but the two talk about a boot, have a few comic slaptsick scenes with a few clowns, and Vladimir and Estragon realize the absurdity of life: "where nothing happens, nothing can be done," according to Beckett.
Hence I ask, is Beckett correct? Is life ultimately an absurd farce, with no great revelations, no higher purpose other than the gallows humor of realizing this fact?
Hence I ask, is Beckett correct? Is life ultimately an absurd farce, with no great revelations, no higher purpose other than the gallows humor of realizing this fact?