The Walking Dead and Godot

The cinematographer of tonight's THE WALKING DEAD was undoubtedly influenced somewhere along the line by WAITING FOR GODOT. In Beckett's play, the two characters fluctuate between hope and despair in a world devoid of companionship and an existence that has become questionable. Why even exist at all? They continually contemplate suicide, but they always opt to wait for one more day.

Vladimir repeatedly asks, "Will night never come?" And it does come, rapidly, with a giant moon that ascends a blue-black sky.

THE WALKING DEAD presents a similar existential landscape, and each week the despairing characters opt to wait one more day rather than give in to their fear of a new and unnatural world.

And tonight we were presented with the silhouettes of two men against a blue-black sky, under a giant white moon. Like Beckett's Didi and Gogo, Rick and Shane have been pushed to the edge in a world they do not understand. They question meaning, and they face each other against a stark landscape in a final showdown.

Anyone else notice this parallel?

The Existential Pumpkin Patch

One of my favorite Halloween stories is that of the Great Pumpkin, created by cartoonist Charles M. Schultz. Not only is Linus Van Pelt one of the most appealing creations in all of fiction, but his sincere belief in the Great Pumpkin, who would preside over the "most sincere" Pumpkin Patch on Halloween night, was the crux of the story. Linus represented the optimism that Charlie Brown could never quite muster, and there is beauty in all of Linus's speeches that are meant to make Charlie Brown take heart.

These boys are the Didi and Gogo of cartoon world, the little philosophers who show us the distance between hope and despair. Schultz's great success, I think, lay in the fact that he never condescended with his characters. The Peanuts gang spoke with wisdom, even world-weariness, and they were appealing to all ages.

When the Great Pumpkin never appears (except in the disillusioning form of Snoopy), Linus is dejected, but it is not long before he is planning for the next Halloween, and a more gloriously sincere pumpkin patch. Linus avoids the abyss because he clings to hope; Charlie Brown has been to the abyss, which is why he seeks pyschiatric help from Lucy, who doles out not Prozac, but common sense.

The heroism of the cartoon boys is similar to that of the men who wait for Godot; they may not always have the answers, but there is always hope, there is always tomorrow. Charlie Brown might actually get mail, and Linus might see something magical.

Waiting for the Existential Punchline

Tomorrow it will be May, and graduation is fast approaching. My seniors and I just finished discussing Waiting for Godot, Beckett's masterpiece of existentialism. The girls spent most of the play looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes, as if to say, "Is it just me, or does this make no sense?" I love it, of course, because it focuses on the ultimate mystery, this existential play: should we hope, or should we despair?

On Friday I gave the girls one of my teachery sermons. There are few days left, I told them, and some of you have significant work missing. "Do not assume," said I rather pompously, "that because I am a good natured person you cannot fail senior English. It is not a matter of your teacher failing YOU, but YOU failing to do what was required." Blah blah. My yearly rant, I'm afraid, when the girls get lazy in their own existential rebellion.

Finally, looking at the zeroes on the sheet in front of me, I asked, "Seniors, I look at this missing work, and I wonder: what are you waiting for?"

Without missing a beat about five students piped, "We're Waiting for Godot!"

I had it coming, really. They actually coaxed a smile out of me. And now you know how to please an English teacher: you don't even have to READ a great work. Just say the name of it out loud to her so that she knows that you know it exists, and that might be enough to placate her for a short amount of time.

But tomorrow? It's back to sermonizing. And maybe some spouting of the poetry they're going to see on their graduation cards: Girls, two roads diverged in a wood . . .