Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot has been mired in controversy since its opening night. As the story goes, the play’s first performance in 1953 was met with jeering and anger from the audience. “This is not theatre as we know it,” remarked one critic. Another dismissively characterized Waiting for Godot as a play in which “nothing happens, twice.” Nowadays, the piece is widely regarded as a masterpiece of absurdist theatre; however, critics remain staunchly divided in what, exactly, they think the play is trying to say. Here, I want to advance a somewhat controversial perspective: I think Waiting for Godot is a kinky gay love story.

How should we distinguish between art and pornography? The question might appear frivolous at first glance; however, I would argue that this particular philosophical conundrum has acquired urgency in our current political climate, with fascism, prudishness, and moral panic on the rise around the world.