"nothing to be done"...
so proclaims estragon to his partner vladimir, as he struggles to affix a boot to his foot. stuck in an absurdist hell; the pair never get any further, figuratively or literally, than the edge of the stage.
[are they doomed never to grasp the inherent meaning of life, by parking butt and playing silly ego games?]
so anchored deep by existentialism, that they consider suicide by the end of the play, until estragon's belt snaps, halting all action:
[ah...coincidence or a higher power?]
for beckett primarily rejects the idea that estragon and vladimir were waiting for god, as the french word for god is "dieu". rather, they were stuck in the paralyzing mud that hardens over the reality and significance of human freedom and experience.
[wahhhhh...can't someone else do it for me???]
so we must create value and honor life by affirming it. living it. but mostly, doing it.
"yes, let's go."
(they do not move)
they used a million excuses to ride the wave of co-dependency one more day: a boot that doesn't "fit", a belt that "breaks"...
time for estragon to get his butt off that rock and pull himself and vladimir off to a meeting.
and who knew a multi-media, billion-dollar corporation would nail the most evolved slogan of them all.
"just do it".
[even if all you want to do is forever plant on a rock, snap your neck with a belt and trip up the next person who comes by with your singular boot...]