Endgame concerns a pair of outcasts: the blind, wheelchair-bound Hamm and his poor, put-upon servant, Clov. They spend the whole play killing time with conversation–some of which is rich in philosophical insight, much of which seems maddeningly vague–and pointless activity. Hamm and Clov’s conversations are often far too mean-spirited (“Forgive me. I said, forgive me.” “I heard you.”) and their situation far too desperate (they seem to be the only survivors of some sort of holocaust) to be funny. Without comedy to sweeten the message, Beckett’s comments about the hopelessness of life (“You’re on earth, there’s no cure for that.”) only fill us with dread.

-Via Jack Heilberg, Chicago Reader