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Still we go on pretending
Further thoughts, following on from the previous post:
The human condition could, perhaps, be summed up with one phrase: they all die in the end. It's about knowing that it ends, knowing how it ends, and being forced to watch it anyway; no, not even being allowed to merely watch it, but being forced to take centre stage, untutored in acting, unsure of our lines, without a prompt or props, improvising for our lives with little hope of a good reception from a largely indifferent audience.
Given this, I can't decide whether providing spoiler warnings for Beckett's plays is a deliciously dark irony, or simply bloody stupid.
Or whether it matters.
The human condition could, perhaps, be summed up with one phrase: they all die in the end. It's about knowing that it ends, knowing how it ends, and being forced to watch it anyway; no, not even being allowed to merely watch it, but being forced to take centre stage, untutored in acting, unsure of our lines, without a prompt or props, improvising for our lives with little hope of a good reception from a largely indifferent audience.
Given this, I can't decide whether providing spoiler warnings for Beckett's plays is a deliciously dark irony, or simply bloody stupid.
Or whether it matters.