‘Happy Days’ Shines With Absurd Existential Drama
Image: Brett Boardman Photography
The ever-cheerful Winnie, played by the luminous Pamela Rabe, is buried up to her waist in a mound in a blasted wasteland. She is blond and plump and about 50 years old. She has her head in her arms, and when the alarm clock goes off – twice – she raises her head and looks around.
Although she is restricted in her movements, she has made sure to pack away some of life’s necessities – like her toothbrush, toothpaste and comb – into the bag that sits beside her on the mound.
Winnie also has her umbrella nearby in case of rainy days.
She takes out a handgun from her bag, but unlike Chekhov’s rifle hanging on the wall, Beckett’s weapon remains dormant.
These few items are sufficient to make Winnie feel comfortable, and she doesn’t seem to want more.
She keeps up a lively chatter – mostly to herself – making the best of what life has dealt her.
She is the centre of Beckett’s existential drama that presents the absurdity and pathos, not to mention the humour, of the human condition.
As she proceeds with the minutiae of her day, she doesn’t seem to notice how alone she is. Nor does she recognise that she wounded her husband Willie’s head when she threw away her bottle of – something – over her head.
Sitting with his back to her, Willie covers his head with a blood-stained handkerchief and a hat.
And so the play proceeds.
In the second half, Winnie is buried up to her neck, with bag, umbrella and revolver placed next to her head. It seems she has lost the opportunity to end this pointless existence.
She says, “Someone is looking at me still. Caring for me still. That is what I find so wonderful.”
Her belief in a supernatural being is clearly unfounded in this empty wilderness.
Willie groans from inside the mound and is later dressed in “top hat, morning coat, striped trousers, white gloves in hand. Very long bushy white Battle of Britain moustache”.
His last word to her is “Win”, and she does, saying, “Oh this is a happy day, this will have been another happy day! (Pause.) After all. (Pause.) So far”.
The pair of elderly ladies sitting next to me (probably Boomers) chuckled all the way through, as did I. A friend I saw later that evening, a generation younger, didn’t even find Waiting for Godot funny.
Go figure!
Happy Days is playing at the Sydney Theatre Company until June 15
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