May 1 (Bloomberg) -- Capped by a memorable comic performance from Nathan Lane, the Roundabout Theatre Company has solidly revived Samuel Beckett’s seminal 1953 play, “Waiting for Godot.”

The play is about two tramps -- Vladimir, nicknamed Didi, and Estragon, nicknamed Gogo -- waiting on a desolate patch of road for the mysterious Godot, who never appears. They while away days of fruitless waiting by various desperate stratagems.

A fat-cat capitalist, Pozzo, leading a wretched old slave, Lucky, by a rope around his neck, comes along, and there is some exchange of palaver. Act Two is rather more of the same, with the return of Pozzo, now blind, and Lucky even more mute than before.

At the end of each act, a boy shows up to report that Godot won’t come now, but will come tomorrow. Both times, the tramps propose moving on, but stay in place instead.

It is remarkable how much melancholy wit or comic despair Beckett manages to pack into this simple scenario. Gogo has problems with his too-tight boots, Didi, with urination. The bare solitary tree -- miraculously leafy in Act Two, perhaps to suggest a season’s passing -- elicits the tramps’ thoughts of suicide by hanging, though of this, as of other ideas, nothing comes. The byplay between them smacks of vaudeville, albeit with some fancier references.

Parody Specimens

Altogether, Didi, who seems to be a parody intellectual, has problems in the genital area. Gogo, the parody prole, has problems with his cramped feet -- mere getting about. The pair exhibit a parodic love-hate, whereas the other couple display a comedic class hatred. Deprivation and frustration reign supreme, with only illusory relief in word games, which is Beckett’s sour but grinning view of the human condition.

All of us wonder about Godot’s identity. The readiest assumption is God, which, however, Beckett steadily denied. By accentuating the first syllable of Godot -- GOD-oh -- rather than the customary second -- go-DOE -- this production may defy the author. It certainly disregards his stage directions calling for just one scrawny and bedraggled tree, by making the tree bigger and providing a rather picturesque rocky landscape all around.

Theatrical tradition, though, has always relied on spicing up things with shtick from a savvy director and expert comic actors. So Anthony Page has staged in some extra comic touches, and the actors, too, may have supplied notions of their own, but without overstepping Beckett’s text or intentions.

Lane’s Tricks

As Gogo, Lane goes through his customary repertoire of facial, vocal and somatic tricks, which fit in with surprising felicity, conveying much sad-clown hilarity. John Goodman is properly despotic and oily as Pozzo, particularly good when, unable to rise, he wallows on the ground like a beached whale.

Lucky’s part of silent masochistic servility does not allow an actor much leeway, but John Glover accredits himself valiantly, especially in Lucky’s one outburst into a long nonsense monologue, a parody of prevailing French philosophy.

My problem is with the Didi of Bill Irwin. An accomplished mime, he does well by the pantomimic aspects of this (or any) role. But here, as in other speaking parts, Irwin’s voice is too mundane and his personality colorless.

Santo Loquasto’s rocks are better than the ones currently featured in “Desire Under the Elms”; Jane Greenwood’s costumes are, except for the suitably gaudy Pozzo, as whimsically shabby as called for; and Peter Kaczorowski’s lighting is as ruthlessly illuminating as Page’s probing direction. All in all, a worthy production, yet leaving us waiting for the ideal “Godot.”

Through July 5 at Studio 54, 254 W. 54th Street. Information: +1-212-239-6200; http://www.telecharge.com. Rating: ***

‘9 to 5’

Folks yearning for an old-fashioned musical may finally get their wish as the 1980 movie “9 to 5” arrives on Broadway, starring Allison Janney and Marc Kudisch and with no little help from Dolly Parton.

What exactly is an old-fashioned musical? A silly but amusing story with lots of jokes, catchy tunes, zesty lyrics and exuberant dancing on the way to a happy ending. Attractive women and suave men don’t hurt either, but mind-lulling entertainment is the sine qua non.

As slap-happily silly as can be, “9 to 5” has abundant, often demotically tasteless gags; a goodly array of standard- issue songs; and far-flung, hard-working choreography. Also three droll women (admittedly only one sexpot) in the leads, along with one smoothly villainous leading man and an unspoken guarantee of not taxing the brain. Instead, it plunges one into a mindlessly passive euphoria.

Revenge Fantasy

The show, with songs by Parton and book by one of the movie’s co-screenwriters, Patricia Resnick, concerns three disparate but similarly oppressed female office workers who band together to tame their despotic, slave-driving, skirt-chasing boss.

It is very much a feminist daydream, every secretary’s harbored revenge on a swinish employer, which, especially during the late 70s with their burgeoning awareness, rang true. Each of the three women gets her own vengeance fantasy, brought to life here as the obligatory dream sequence of old-style musicals.

Pardon Parton

However personable as a country and western icon, Parton is not a Broadway composer-lyricist. Only for Doralee, whom she portrayed in the movie, was she able to write not generically but in character. Still, people who find Sondheim too much are apt to revel in pleasure here.

The humor is consistently crude and lowbrow, frequently located in women’s cleavage or worm’s-eye views up skirts. Boss Hart sings to Doralee, “I won’t flinch till I quench my thirst from her sweet cups.”

Allison Janney, a comelier Lily Tomlin, does nobly by Violet, the heroic office manager. Megan Hilty is equally adept as a Parton-impersonating Doralee. Only Stephanie R. Block exudes an annoying blend of smugness and benightedness in the Jane Fonda role of Judy. The always proficient Marc Kudisch is a hearty heavy as boss Hart, perhaps a shade less funny than Dabney Coleman in the movie, but surely a better singer.

Joe Mantello, doubtless aware of the material’s thinness, has directed with palliative frenzy, abetted by Scott Pask’s scenery that sprouts and sinks, as agitated as the feverishly racing humans. William Ivey Long’s costumes are surely what every office girl dreams about; Peter Nigrini and Peggy Eisenhauer’s often abstract projections are the one concession to modernity.

Probably the show’s most praiseworthy attribute is Andy Blankenbuehler’s farcically hyperactive choreography, which would truly fly -- if only it could shake the rest of the show off its wings.

At the Marquis Theatre, 1535 Broadway. Information: +1-212- 307-4100, or http://www.ticketmaster.com. Rating: **-1/2

What the Stars Mean:
****       Do Not Miss
***        Excellent
**         Average
*          Poor
(No stars) Worthless

(John Simon is the New York drama critic for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this column: John Simon in New York at jis1925@aol.com.

Last Updated: April 30, 2009 22:30 EDT