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LEAN IN: Don Alder (left) and Grant Byington.
Blackout. The sound of marching. Then, a spotlight on a haggard man, sitting alone on a pile of rocks below a knotty tree.
Before the lights even come up at Northwest Classical Theatre Collaborative's staging of Samuel Beckett's iconic Waiting for Godot, the production is captivating. Tucked into the tiny Shoebox Theater—large enough for only 50 or so patrons—the show feels intimate and personal without requiring any painful 'audience participation' shtick. As the man struggles to take off his boots, you can see faces lean in closer from their seats, hooked.
The tragicomedy escalates with perfectly timed banter—if you can claim escalation in a play about two men endlessly waiting for an absent phantom named Godot. Don Alder's cynical Estragon and Grant Byington's childlike Vladimir parry lines with a cadence both playful and severe, and entirely engaging.
"It's so we won't think." "We have that excuse." "It's so we won't hear." "We have our reasons." And the faces in the audience shift back and forth between the two, as if watching a tennis match.
The premise and dialogue may seem simple, but timing and delivery can make or break this play. Vladimir and Estragon's frequent repartee is scattered throughout the show and arrives at peaks of emotional turmoil for the foiled pair. But Byington and Alder never miss a beat, hitting every lightning-fast cue of their characters' rapid quips.
The startling sound of a cracking whip introduces the play's other dynamic duo: the Tim Gunn-esque, flamboyant Pozzo (Todd Hermanson) and his "charge" (read: slave), who is ironically named Lucky (Steve Vanderzee). Hermanson whipping Vanderzee captures the violence of their slave-master relationship so well it's almost unbearable. At each crack of the whip, people jump in their seats, and it's enough to make you wish Hermanson weren't quite so good at his craft. While he infuses Pozzo with all the self-righteous malice of a rich slave owner, Vanderzee's Lucky steals the show. Even when pushed into a corner of the stage, you can see how his white-knuckled grip on Pozzoâs bags makes his arms shake, and his zombielike shamble across the stage is heartbreakingly realistic. Vanderzee rarely lifts his head, hiding the whites of his eyes but showing the physical and emotional torment slavery inflicts on a person.
And itâs those details that make us lean in. Beckettâs existential script is partially responsible, of course, but NWCTC deserves credit for nuanced staging. Down to the haggard manâs nasty, snaggly toenail (he is living in what seems like a desert, after all), director Pat Patton takes his time on the small things. With no real plot to speak of, or any major crises—except those pesky internal crises of faith—the show still resonates. "It's indescribable," says Vladimir. "It's like nothing. There's nothing. There's a tree." And somehow, that's exactly right.
SEE IT: Waiting for Godot is at Shoebox Theater, 2110 SE 10th Ave., 971-244-3740. 7:30 pm Thursdays-Saturdays and 2 pm Sundays, through Oct. 11. $25.
Willamette Week