Title: Happy Days is a tragic, tragic misfire
Review: I am loathe to badmouth anything that came from the great Samuel Beckett, but I can't bear it. Happy Days is the worst play I have ever read. It is a mundane, insipid melodrama of no merit whatsoever. The idea is weak to start with; Winnie is a middle-aged woman buried up to her waist in dirt. SWith only a few possessions and Willie, a mumbling gargoyle of sorts, to keep her company, she remains entrapped in her absurdist situation, delivering a dull monologue that swings between pathetic whining and annoying screeching. I can't even imagine that watching this play would be an any more pleasant experience. No one moves at all, and all that keeps this play "going" is Winnie's humdrum soliloquoy. It's hard to imagine that the talent behind Waiting for Godot and Krapp's Last Tape could have been responsible for this tripe. I'm a worse person for having read Happy Days, a book which only deserves the title when it is burned publicly.
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