Plague Journal, No Exit
Wait, hasn’t that title already been taken? Who could forget that Jean Paul Sartre wrote the existentialist play Huis clos in 1944? I understand the technical meaning of the term is that of a conversation behind closed doors, a private conversation. Are there not things that one does not say out loud in public, even to one’s self?
The play Endgame by Samuel Beckett is about such things. The play depicts the fragility, the precarity of the human situation. The main character is Hamm. Hamm is blind, unable to stand or walk, seated, confined to a chair. Hamm has a caretaker-employee Clov who wakes him up, prepares him for a return to sleep, and reminds Hamm when he is asked, that he is unable to give him any painkiller. (There is no painkiller left) Hamm’s parents are present, Nell and Nagg. They reside in two garbage cans. The play is an example of absurdist theater, a depiction of abject misery, utter hopelessness that evokes a dialog of dark humor. The relationship between the characters is one of co-dependency, of desperate need coupled with the impossibility of human touch, either by words or literally by a kiss.
We did not manage to transform our experience of the play into a philosophical discussion. One of our members suggested, perhaps the intent of the playwright was that the play be experienced in the enormity of its raw depiction. “This” is how bad things can get. Experiencing the play was similar to being pinned down in a no-man’s land by bursts of machine gun fire.
This segment stands out to me. Two separate exchanges take place, close together, a repetition in the dialog between Hamm and his caretaker Clov. Hamm, referring to his father who has disappeared to the bottom of his garbage bin, asks Clov, “What’s he doing?” Clov responds, “He’s crying.” Hamm observes, “Then he’s living.” Shortly after the same question is again asked by Hamm to Clov. This time Clove responds that Hamm’s father is “sucking his biscuit.” Hamm’s response, — “Life goes on.”
While there is much in the piece that is conducive to philosophical reflection, we failed to develop our discussion as we usually do. I suppose that is Ok. How does one put into words an experience meant to be life changing?
This song comes to mind. The lyric, reminiscent of Endgame, is juxtaposed by the driving beat and melody. I like to think that the Charlie Watt’s drumming back-beat is analog to the heart beat of the world. Life goes on! Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones.
Paint It Black
By the Rolling Stones
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door, I must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
Hmm, hmm, hmm…
I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Yeah!
Hmm, hmm, hmm…
Lyrics written by Mick Jagger, and Keith Richard in 1966
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, No Exit”
To be is to suffer! Is life so painful and challenging that the best we can hope for is sleep or even death to relieve us of this pain? Becket’s Endgame, strongly suggest this as our only alternative in life. His material is so dark t it almost defies description and takes away our comfort. For those of us who attempt to go through life in a positive way, Becket’s material is distasteful and uncomfortable. Becket’s presentation is as if the drapes have been drawn tightly to shield from a beautifully sunny day. For me, I was compelled to delve further into this dark art form; most interesting and thought provoking.
Many years ago I was suffering from a season of severe depression. I was in undergraduate school and working nights. The experience and pain was something that I cannot communicate to anyone who has not felt depression. A professor said to me at that time, “Would you rather feel this pain, or would you rather feel nothing?” I got the point in a flash of insight. Pain means that one is alive. Often that is preferable to death. I agree with you that Beckett asks us to contemplate our predicament.
There is no painkiller.