Bent – not Rent, but close

I cannot stand the play Waiting for Godot. A lot of people can't understand this, but it's really very obvious when you consider the fact that I'm a middle class, privately educated, opinionated brat; if everyone likes something, I'm going to do my best to take the opposite viewpoint.

The reason I don't like Waiting for Godot is summed up by the fact that about half the audience walked out of the theatre during the first showing; it really is an extraordinarily boring play. I'm not by any means saying that it isn't a very intelligent commentry on the human condition, or that it isn't a work of genius, but it's my middle class, privately educated, brattish opinion that the purpose of theatre is either to entertain or enlighten, but that if its purpose is to enlighten, it must always be entertaining, lest the audience lose interest and so fail to be enlightened.

So let's just get one thing straight: I found this play intensely boring. Watching two men move rocks across a stage is not exciting, whichever way you cut it, and that is exactly what happened for nearly the whole of the second half. Fortunately, however (and the same goes for waiting for Godot) I don't believe 'boring' is synonymous with 'bad'. If you go to the theatre to see electric dialogue or energetic action sequences, just close your browser window now, because none of this will interest you even remotely. If, however, you go to the theatre to see actors putting themselves on the line and producing polished results, or to learn stark truths about humanity, then read on.

The play opened (contary to my comments about electric dialogue) with an entertainingly sharp exchange between Rudy (Rory Quinn) and Max (Greg Silverman), who sat in their cluttered lounge trying to piece together the night before, when a half-naked german (from the night before) walked in from the bedroom.

It was a very funny and accomplished piece of acting and that had the audience laughing right up until the point when the holocaust occurred, as a German officer walked in and completely unexpectedly and arbitrarily shot a man dead. The rest of the first act then followed Max and Rudy as they tried desperately to make their way across the border, encountering smooth scene changes and a number of brilliantly funny bit-parts on the way (both Karim and Drysdale played their parts to near-perfection), before their eventual capture and the heart-rending climax of the first act, in which Max betrays Rudy, the man whom he loved, beating him senseless in order to have his own life spared.

Rory was then shot (and we see a pattern emerging). This betrayal was made all the more affecting by the undercurrents of resentment subtly injected by Silverman into his character, the hilarious prissiness of Quinn and the wonderful chemistry these two actors had on stage.

When we were ushered out in order for the second half to be set up, I presumed the stage would be something special, and I was right. A tall, stark watchtower had been set up right at the back of the stage on which Lizzie O'Conner, who I do not envy, had to stand for nearly the entire second half, serving as an ever-present reminder of the watchful guards.

I was initially unconvinced by the barbed wire across the front of the stage. "Surely that will alienate the audience", I thought, but I then realised I was being an absolute cretin. In fact, the more I think about that barbed wire fence, the more I am convinced it is the single most insightful and brilliant stroke of theatrical genius that I have ever seen. Of course placing a fence between the audience and the actors will alienate us – that's exactly the point, we're supposed to feel distanced from the characters so we can judge the situation dispassionately. It's about the holocaust, for God's sake, if we were to become even slightly emotionally attached, most of the audience wouldn't be able to see for tears.

The playwright didn't make the characters walk back and forth between two piles of rocks because he thought it would be interesting or exciting, he did it because he wanted to convey a message. The wire fence keeps us so detached from the emotions, and the aimless wandering keeps us so detached from the story, that we can do nothing besides feel very, very bored or listen to the message of the play.

Initially, I was of the bored contingent, as we've already established, but there was still much to be praised in the second half. The quality of the acting was maintained throughout, but with Joe Leather as Horst, the new object of Max's affections. The chemistry between these two was just as strong as it had been between Quinn and Silverman, but the dynamic was completely different.

I have a wealth of respect for both Leather and Silverman who put their bodies on show and their minds on the line in pursuit of their art and produced stunning results. Charlie Warner's cold prison guard was also particularly effective. Warner could easily have resorted to shouting to illicit a cheap response from the audience, but he chose a far subtler tact instead, which gave Leather and Silverman a lot to work with and brought a sense of harrowing inevitability to the conclusion; he didn't need to shout, he simply watched Horst choose for himself between the fence and the bullet and in the end the bullet won.

So what did I think of this production? Immediately after I left, I felt bored by it; I'd appreciated the acting and the set and the striking climaxes of both halves, but I'd wanted to leave before the end, like the first audience of Waiting for Godot. The longer I left it, however, the more my ambivalence gave way to a sober appreciation of what was an undeniably strong and poignant performance and one which will likely hang in my mind for a long time.