Are we at the end of time - or just before the beginning of a new beginning? A deserted landscape with an endless gray sea. And a room. In it, a clown-like duo that is stuck: Hamm, with paralyzed legs and blind, orders his servant Clov around. He can walk. But don't run away. Even if he tries again and again.

Round after round, Clov finds the door handle, round after round he threatens to say goodbye, is about to step through the door frame - only to stay. Outside some final catastrophe has taken place, inside the two remaining ones target each other again and again: witty, intelligent, with seriousness and lack of seriousness, without knowing the end of the beginning, stunned by the apparent hopelessness - and the futility of their existence.
Between 1954 and 1956, shortly after the great success with WAITING FOR GODOT, the later Nobel Prize winner Samuel Beckett (1906-1989) wrote his grandiose the "Endgame" in Paris. A year later, the one-act play was premiered at London's Royal Court Theater, began its triumphal march through the countries and decades of this world, and is today considered a classic of the absurd theater.
The grotesquely tragic story of a world with no beginning or end solidified Beckett's reputation as a pioneer in the pleasurable exploration of ritual, repetition, and cycle. In terms of content, it is about nothing less than the incomprehensibility of human existence - that absurd state of being supposed to live in the awareness that one * is falling into disrepair, that it can be over at any time, that it will be over at some point, that nothing is already waiting, has always waited. Will keep waiting.
The "Endgame" production by Kay Voges examines the razor-sharp poetics of Beckett's repetitions in a space of counter-tension: the loud and the quiet, brightness and darkness, in which two people run together lonely against their fate. The I between infinity and finitude, caught in an eternal cycle: Is there anything to understand at all - or just a lot to experience?