What I've been watching: Summer, 2025

Shows I’ve Watched:	Shows I’ve Added:
Waiting for Godot The Power and the Glory	None

If it seems as if we haven't done one of these in awhile, you're right; the last time was in June, if my memory is correct. And there's a good reason for this: there hasn't been much of a change in my viewing habits over the summer and fall. It's been the same shows, week after week, month after month, and while they wouldn't be part of the regular rotation if they weren't fun to begin with, all good things have to end sometime. (And for some, not a moment too soon; I'm looking at you, Joe Mannix!) Following the break for sustained Christmas programming, you can expect to see a shakeup in the lineup, but in the meantime, let's take a look at a couple of notable episodes from the dramatic anthologies of the past, and see what they tell us.

l  l  l

I must admit that it's taken me far too long to watch Samuel Beckett's controversial absurdist play "Waiting for Godot," and while I'm not going to pretend for one minute that I understand it, I will say, with confidence, that my cultural experience has been enhanced by watching the edition that appeared on the 1961 NET Play of the Week production, starring Burgess Meredith and Zero Mostel as  Vladimir and Estragon, the play's protagonists, who spend a couple of hours doing—well, doing nothing. Add in Kurt Kasznar as Pozzo, and Alvin Epstein as Lucky, the slave, and you have it. What it is is, of course, up to interpretation.

I'm not going to presume to try and explain the premise of "Godot," other than to say that the titular character, Godot, never shows up. Will he? Did he ever intend to? Is there, in fact, any such person as Godot? We'll never know, and Beckett doesn't intend to help us figure out the answers to any of these questions, or anything else, for that matter. 

So what does one do when confronted with a story that one can't really describe? Describe it, naturally! Not the story per se but the production, which I enjoyed a great deal—more than many of the contemporary critics, if the reviews I've read are any indication. For one thing, it was clearly and undeniably a television adaptation; the limits of the set were apparent, the staging was minimal, and the direction clearly a product of the live TV era. I am, of course, a sucker for all of these things. Given the choice between the Metropolitan Opera's "Live in HD" series of broadcasts and the old, studio-bound operas of NBC Opera Theatre, I'll opt for the latter any time. I suppose it's a product of being a television historian, or maybe it's just misplaced nostalgia for a time that preceded my own viewing, but I do enjoy the limitations inherent in even the best of these old made-for-TV productions. And even though this wasn't a live broadcast, it well could have been, based on what we saw.

Burgess Meredith is, without question, one of those actors who elevate everything in which he appears. He's one of the most natural of actors, and here he tosses off Beckett's challenging absurdities as if they were the most natural thing in the world. Zero Mostel, on the other hand, can be a bit broad, and we see that here. Now, I didn't bring any preconceived notions or prejudices to my viewing of this, which means that I don't have a definite idea of how Estragon, Mostel's character, is usually played, or should be played. What I do know is that he and Meredith made, I thought, an effective team; more so than some of the gimmick casting that Broadway has been known to indulge in over the years. 

But here's the thing—and, as I often point out, there's always a thing:I did actually find that "Godot" made more sense than I thought it would. Now, this might be my own personal interpretation, or perhaps I'm seeing it through a more contemporary influence than others, but when you look at this Godot character, who's talked about constantly but never seen, what does he remind you of? For me, it was the endless series of promises that comprise so much of what we're fed nowadays. Politicians promise us they'll take care of what ails us, but do they? Doctors promise the latest vaccine will keep us healthy, but does it? We're always being told that we have to be more patient, more understanding, willing to come back day after day after mind-numbing day, with the promise that things might have improved by then.

You notice all the similarities here? We're always being promised something that never comes to pass, just like Godot's promises that he'll be here tomorrow, or perhaps the day after tomorrow, or possibly the day after that. Godot is, if you want to look at it, the Big Brother of absurdist theatre, unseen but influencing everything. Or, like The Prisoner, Godot could be us, only we don't see ourselves as we truly are, which only underlines our own weakness. Perhaps he's dead. Perhaps he doesn't even exist. Maybe he never did; maybe we're all just being fed a line. And yet: he continues to control our lives, and nothing ever changes.

To me, it makes perfect sense, which is to say that it makes no sense at all.

l  l  l

And now for something completely different, namely Graham Greene's magnificent novel The Power and the Glory, which was translated into a somewhat less magnificent 1961 television broadcast produced by David Susskind, starring Sir Laurence Olivier, and co-starring George C. Scott, Julie Harris, Martin Gabel, Roddy McDowall, Keenan Wynn, Patty Duke, and Cyril Cusack, among others. Like "Godot," The Power and the Glory has the feel of a television play, rather than a movie. Perhaps something from the Hallmark Hall of Fame, back in the day what one could count on quality from that series.

Unlike "Godot," which actually benefits from the claustrophic atmosphere created by the studio-bound production, The Power and the Glory is a sprawling, epic saga taking in a priest's twin journey: one that takes him through various parts of Mexico during the persecution of Catholics, in search of safety and rest; the other, a journey of self, as he discovers how, despite his many flaws and failings, the priesthood is something that fundamentally, and permanently, changes a man. He can leave the active priesthood, he can be defrocked or laicized, but the mark remains on him: he can never escape the fact that he will always be a priest.

Our whiskey priest, played by Olivier, is only too well-aware of his limitations: not only is he an alcoholic, more concerned about getting his next drink than anything else, he also fathered an illegitimate child while in the clerical state. His failings have imposed a crushing burden on him, a sense of unworthiness that is painful and heartbreaking to witness. Although Olivier has a tendency to chew the scenery, especially in the early going, the pain he exhibits is undeniable, and impossible to ignore; it is present in every syllable he utters, every motion he makes, every thought he espouses. His quest for wine to be used as a sacramental for the Mass, which ends with him drunk and held in a squalid jail cell, is typical: his inability to procure the wine is both cause and effect of his desire for drink. His drinks to forget his failures as a man, a father, a priest. His depression over his condition merely reinforces his weaknesses, his dependency on alcohol. It is a most vicious circle.

I wrote about The Power and the Glory in a TV Guide feature from a couple of weeks ago, when the production was looked upon with great anticipation. For Olivier, it was a return to the medium which had given him an Emmy for his performance in The Moon and Sixpence, and it was expected that The Power and the Glory would be equally heralded. In the event, it was not. It was good, and at times better than that; the performances, especially those by Scott as the relentless office obsessed with the priest's capture (think The Fugitive's Lieutenant Gerard, only with a Spanish accent and a persecution complex) and Martin Gabel as Scott's cynical superior, are intense. And as I say, even though the great Sir Laurence's essay on the role—broad at times, mannered at others—still conveys the sense of nobility that remains embedded in this man who finally realizes that his death may afford a dignity to his life that life itself often failed to deliver.

What these two productions do have in common, above all, is that they both exist today, a somewhat unlikely result given all of the television history that has been lost in the mists of time (or the dumpsters of various networks). That dramas such as these might show up on television today is a pretty unlikely thought. Maybe "Godot," because for all its inscrutability, it does, as I said earlier, lend itself to gimmick casting, the type that PBS is so fond of (think Steve Martin and Martin Short, for example). The Power and the Glory, however, is far less likely to show up any time soon, especially given its subject matter of religion, the third rail of American culture. And the idea that human dignity can rise above even the greatest of a man's failings and give his life (or any life, for that matter) meaning? Well, talk about absurd. TV

If you enjoy the content here and want to support my broader creative work, please consider making a donation at my Ko-fi page. Any amount you contribute helps me continue writing, researching, and sharing these articles and projects. Thank you!