We've come to the end... for now

The show has closed. I sit here at home. Again, it's past midnight and I can't sleep. I am sad for a number of reasons. Endgame... well, I had the best and worst times of my life. I've had the great honour and pleasure of working with a truly excellent group of people, and I will not trade that for anything, but if ever I were asked to play Hamm again in future, I think I'd refuse.

We had a decent last show. After it, we had a Q&A with the audience. Someone asked the very good question: What moral do we, as actors (i.e. as people) take away from Endgame? At the time I'm afraid I hadn't given the question much thought, having concentrated for a long time exclusively on delivering Hamm properly, rather than bringing him (or a part of him) away with me. As a result, I gave a very asinine textbook answer and stole some ideas from Nani and Kelvin. No shame, this Chinaman. I apologise for that.

Here is what I should have said:

Playing Hamm has forced me to re-examine some very basic things in my life. Love. Absence. The utterly unspeakable pain of losing something you never knew you had until you lost it. I can say this with some clarity now because a) it's 1.30am, and b) I am a still a little tipsy from the cast party.

Maybe you'll ask how can acting a character in a play screw you up so much? Maybe you'll ask if life is so pitiably shallow and inconsequential that a mere script can change the way one lives? Moreover, what's there to guarantee that, tomorrow, one won't latch on to something else and, dammit sod, one's back to being the idiot one was all along?

These are valid questions. My answer is that one never stopped being that idiot in the first place and that, having found the Truth, or whatever you want to call it, you also realise simultaneously that it's too late to do anything about it anyway.

So, the moral is this: If you ever have something important to say, say it before you turn to dust and ashes.

Someone loves you, love them back.