“A split second of sheer terror – and off we go”: Lucian Msmaty on the first night of Waiting for Godot’s Thrilling Night | stage

I Step into the wings and the state of everything amazes me. The hum of a packed and waiting crowd ready for the show. I walked slowly down the short corridor and there, standing backstage, Ben Whishaw stood like a beautiful lost tramp. It amazes me how different he looks in full costume. We close our eyes and hug. We hold each other for a few moments, trying to breathe in sync and communicate. We can feel the adrenaline pumping and rushing through each other. One last push and I turn and head back to the edge of the wings where we should enter.

My breathing is steady, but my heart is pumping. This is as close as I get to full tension. I’m not afraid though. It’s excitement; anticipation; Exciting excitement and knowledge. I know there will be a split second of absolute terror when the call comes. The moment you know you’ve passed the point of no return. This thought memory passes with the next inhalation and exhalation. It’s as if I can feel the heat emanating from the crowd even here in the wings, behind a soon-to-disappear curtain, feet away from where Vladimir and Estragon will come back to life. It’s new and familiar at the same time.

I know it’s only been a five-year absence, but my goodness, there’s nothing like this pre-show pump. This feeling had been my bread and butter for decades, and I missed it. I feel a definite lump in my throat. My breathing remains steady though. It’s funny how quickly you remember the system. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than here, right now. I glanced over my shoulder – the whole team primed and ready. Ben is next to me. We hold hands in the dark. Finally, the call from the deputy stage manager, Sophie Rubinstein: “This is a front-of-house clean-up, guys.”

Terrorism escalates at home while we are abroad. We stop briefly at the edge of the platform. One last push, and then we move on. Ben heads to the starting position under the tree; She settled on my lap. Just before I sat down, I noticed Jenny Grand, our company’s stage manager, ready and waiting to take her position to rotate the stage. I waved her a “peace sign” to indicate we were ready and “good luck.” I’m sitting. Take a breath. Then the theater gets dark.

The crowd roars from the other side of the curtain. It is a physical wave of energy like no other. The joy of seeing something for the first time. The thrill of doing something for them for the first time; Nothing quite like it. The curtain rises, the stage rotates, lights up and off we go.

Ben and I belted out our first few lines with a smackdown from the game’s seasoned pros. I can feel the cold and adrenal sweat down my back. I’m performing – I realize I’m speaking, my body is flowing with so much energy, my mind is so sharp and focused, I realize 800 bodies are cheering us on, I realize my teammate is playing next to me. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, in a kind of distorted slow motion, I was surprised by a laugh we had never seen before.

I hear Ben, like Vladimir, say the end of his line “…we should have thought of that a million years ago, in the ’90s.”

This is Estragon’s cue to say:

“Ah, stop babbling and help me with this bloody thing.”

I only get to the point of, “Oh, stop chattering…” as the crowd explodes into raucous, hysterical laughter. I was completely thrown. I never thought the line was particularly funny. But the public seems to find it that way. When the laughter reached its peak, I corrected the entire line and presented it as written and we were back on track. It’s amazing how quickly ancient theater technology took off!

Jonathan Slinger (Pozo) and Tom Eden (Lucky) make their first entrance in the first act and take the audience with them. The crowd is hysterical. I can’t help but feel a slight sense of relief when I see them; Ultimate reinforcements. As Vladimir says. I’m very aware of my breathing and the cold sweat now running down my back. I noticed the sweat on all of us.

John, John, John! Very quiet, and vocally effortless. Master at work. He even manages to get an extra laugh at the end of his line, “And the same goes for laughter.” The audience laughs naturally at the line, and then, as quietly as you want, without breaking the rhythm, when the audience laughter subsides, he points at them and murmurs only audibly, “Hmm, see?” The crowd roars hysterically again. Watch and learn, children; Watch and fucking learn.

Then Tom; Ah, Tom! You’re a flipping genius! He delivers his lucky speech like it’s nothing new. If there was ever a masterclass on how to “run it” – the right, proper and professional way – Tom Eden would be the one to deliver it. He had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. Ben takes off Lucky’s hat at the right point to stop his stream-of-consciousness speech, and the audience is enraged. But Tom doesn’t collapse right away. He waits for the moment until the madness subsides and then falls. The crowd goes wild again! I turn my head upstage slightly, breaking character a little, to hide a chuckle and a giddy smile. Don’t worry, I’m sure. All eyes are on Eden at this moment; I’ll take a break for a few seconds to break character in private and bask in the brilliance of my colleagues, thank you very much.

We pass the play. The crowd rises to its feet at curtain call. For a brief moment, as we basked in the adulation we probably didn’t really deserve but would certainly accept, I glanced out at the audience. He’s young, old, in-between, black, white, brown, and absolutely unanimously in love with us. Final bow. The house was lit, the curtain came down, and we fell into a jubilant and exhausted group hug. I burst into tears. Then the tears disappeared as quickly as they came.