It was 1988. If you wanted a ticket to the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, you basically had to win the lottery. Literally. The demand to see Steve Martin and Robin Williams share a stage was so feverish that the 299-seat venue couldn’t even open a box office to the public. All 16,000 tickets were swallowed up by subscribers before a single poster hit the street.
People were losing their minds.
They weren't just coming for Samuel Beckett. Honestly, a lot of them probably hadn't even read the play. They were coming to see the two biggest comedic forces on the planet tackle the most famous "play where nothing happens." It was the ultimate "you had to be there" moment in theater history.
But behind the hype, something weird was happening on that stage.
When Mike Nichols Met the "Bums"
The production was directed by Mike Nichols. Yeah, the guy who did The Graduate. He had this vision of "Americanizing" the play. Instead of the bleak, European existentialism that usually defines Beckett’s work, Nichols leaned into the vaudeville roots. He saw Vladimir (Steve Martin) and Estragon (Robin Williams) not just as symbols of human suffering, but as a classic comedy duo. Think Laurel and Hardy, but with more soul-crushing despair.
The cast was a murderer's row of talent:
- Steve Martin as Vladimir (Didi)
- Robin Williams as Estragon (Gogo)
- F. Murray Abraham as the overbearing Pozzo
- Bill Irwin as the tragic, luggage-carrying Lucky
- Lukas Haas as the Boy
It should have been a slam dunk. In many ways, for the audience, it was. But for the critics? That’s where things got messy.
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The Ad-Lib Problem
Here’s the thing about Robin Williams: you couldn't really "direct" him in the traditional sense. He was a live wire. During rehearsals, he apparently promised to stick to the script. Beckett’s estate is notoriously litigious and strict about every single comma and pause. If you change a word, they’ll shut you down.
Robin didn't care. Or maybe he just couldn't help himself.
During the actual performances, the "straight" acting started to crumble under the weight of his own brilliance. At one point, while Bill Irwin was delivering Lucky’s famous, incoherent monologue, Robin reportedly got "bored." He started wandering over to the front row. He grabbed a woman’s program, saw his own name in it, and started giggling.
He even threw in a joke about the 1988 election, calling Lucky a "liberal" in a nod to Michael Dukakis. The audience roared. The Beckett purists? They were horrified.
Time Magazine absolutely thrashed it. They called it a "heartwarming revue sketch about the homeless" and accused the stars of not having faith in the material. They weren't entirely wrong. When you have Steve Martin doing his "wild and crazy guy" strut and Robin Williams humming the Twilight Zone theme, the "tragic austerity" of the play kind of flies out the window.
Steve Martin's "Fake Bum" Dilemma
Steve Martin had a different challenge. While Robin was exploding like a supernova, Steve was trying to play it cool. He brought a certain "bland innocence" to Vladimir.
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The problem? He was too famous.
Critics complained that when he tried to be serious—philosophizing about the nature of existence—he just looked like a famous comedian playing dress-up. One reviewer even called him a "fake bum." It’s the classic curse of the comedic genius: the moment you try to be profound, people think you’re doing a bit.
Despite the critical sniffing, the chemistry was undeniable. There are these grainy clips floating around YouTube (most of them look like they were filmed through a jar of pickles) where you can see the two of them just vibe. They were friends. They trusted each other. In a play about two people who only have each other while they wait for a man who never comes, that real-life bond mattered.
Why You Can't Watch It (Legally)
This is the part that drives fans crazy. There is a high-quality recording of this production. It exists. But you can't buy it on 4K Blu-ray or stream it on Netflix.
Because of the insane rights issues surrounding Beckett's work and the various unions involved, the footage is locked away. If you want to see the full 1988 Steve Martin and Robin Williams Waiting for Godot performance, you have to go to the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center. You have to make an appointment. You have to sit in a booth. You can't record it.
It’s the ultimate irony. A play about waiting for someone who never shows up has a legendary film version that most of us will never see.
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What This Taught Us About Comedy
Looking back, this production changed how people saw "serious" theater. It proved that you could sell out a Beckett play like it was a rock concert. It also showed the limit of celebrity power in art.
You can have the best actors in the world, but if the "persona" is bigger than the "character," the play changes. It becomes a meta-commentary on the actors themselves. People weren't watching Didi and Gogo; they were watching Steve and Robin.
How to Experience This Legacy Today
If you're obsessed with this era of theater or just want to see these two legends at their peak, here is what you can actually do:
- Hunt the "Zapruder" Clips: Go to YouTube and search for "Waiting for Godot 1988 clips." You’ll find about 10 minutes of footage. It’s low-res, but you can see Bill Irwin’s incredible physical acting and Robin’s "Academy Award" bone bit.
- Read the Reviews: Specifically, find Frank Rich’s review in The New York Times. It’s a masterclass in how to critique a "celebrity" production without being a total hater.
- Visit the Archive: If you’re ever in NYC, book a slot at the Theatre on Film and Tape Archive (TOFT). It’s free, but you need a valid reason (research/study). Tell them you're studying "twentieth-century clowning."
- Watch the 2009 Version: If you want to see how it's done "right" (according to the purists), find the version with Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart. It’s much bleaker, which is what Beckett actually wanted.
Ultimately, the 1988 production remains a ghost. A loud, funny, chaotic ghost that reminds us that even in the face of total existential dread, Robin Williams was probably going to find a way to make a joke about it.
And honestly? That’s probably the most human way to wait for Godot anyway.
Actionable Insight: If you're a fan of Robin Williams' theatrical side, check out his 1982 "Live at the Met" performance. It’s not Beckett, but it captures that same raw, stage-bound energy that made his Godot performance so polarizing yet unforgettable.