Endgame Summary & Analysis

The opening moments of any play are often difficult to track, since audience members must not only acquaint themselves with the setting, but also interpret the actions or words of characters they don’t yet know. This confusion normally subsides as the play progresses, though, since viewers quickly gain a sense of understanding. This is not necessarily the case in Endgame. In fact, Clov’s seemingly nonsensical patterns of repetition foreground the play’s lack of meaning, representing just how difficult it is to piece together why, exactly, the characters do what they do or say what they say. The only thing that Clov’s actions point toward in this moment is the fact that Beckett is interested in ceaseless repetition, though it’s not yet clear why this is the case.

Clov and Hamm’s relationship is still unclear, as is the broader context or setting of the play. However, when Clov says that “it’s nearly finished,” he calls attention to the play’s examination of time and progress—although audience members don’t know what he’s referring to in this moment, there emerges a sense that the most important events pertaining to these characters have perhaps already taken place, thereby making the rest of their actions seem rather pointless. Furthermore, when Clov talks about grain piling up, he gives an interesting account of the way time passes. Of course, one hardly registers the accumulation of small amounts of grain, but when a pile forms, one “suddenly” sees that time has elapsed. This, perhaps, is a good way to look at the way Endgame progresses: nothing in the way of plot will unfold, and then it will “suddenly” be over.

Hamm’s thoughts in this moment are worth noting, since they call attention to Beckett’s interest in misery and suffering. That Hamm wants to know if others suffer as intensely as he does suggests that he’s inclined to think of his own misery as particularly pronounced. However, he ultimately decides that every single being most likely suffers as much as is possible, thereby suggesting not only that all living things are capable of suffering, but that they are suffering. This, in turn, implies that it’s impossible to exist without experiencing agony, which is a fundamental part of life.

When Hamm talks about something ending without specifying what he’s referring to, audience members naturally reach for some kind of meaning—meaning that hasn’t been made available to them. Because almost nothing has been established except for the fact that Hamm and Clov are simply there (wherever there is), it’s impossible to extract definite meaning from what Hamm says. He could be referring to his own life ending, but he could also be metafictionally referring to the play itself, hoping that it will soon be over. When he says that he himself hesitates to end, it sounds as if he’s talking about committing suicide, but he might also be suggesting that he has the power to end the play. On another note, the relational dynamics between Clov and Hamm remain mostly unclear, though it becomes obvious here that Clov is Hamm’s caretaker. 

The lack of meaning in Endgame is interesting because it forces audience members to pay close attention to what happens in order to gain some kind of analytical understanding. And yet, Beckett toys with this very impulse, infusing the play with an utter lack of logic. This is the case when Hamm tells Clov that his eyes appear to have gone completely white, since this isn’t something he—as a blind man unable to look at anything, let alone his own eyes—would know. Similarly, Clov says that it is the same time “as usual,” thereby rendering the entire concept of time irrelevant and once more plunging the play into ambiguity. When he says that everything outside was “zero” when he last looked, he implies that nothing exists beyond the confines of this building, making it even harder to parse out the broader context of the play.

Again, it remains unclear what Hamm and Clov are talking about when they discuss whether or not “this thing” will end. In turn, the audience members are left to grasp for meaning, wondering if the characters are talking about life ending, the play ending, or something else that hasn’t yet been introduced into the narrative—and yet, there is no narrative. Or, if there is a narrative, it is nothing but this very conversation.

Although nothing about the circumstances surrounding Hamm and Clov’s relationship has become clear, it is now at least evident that Hamm depends upon Clov. After all, if he starves Clov, he himself will die, since Clov is his caretaker. In this way, they are linked to each other, especially because there is apparently “no one else,” though whether this means nobody else exists in the entire world is still unknown. In addition, it seems as if there might not even be anywhere else for other people to exist in the first place. All in all, then, Beckett has managed to slightly illuminate Hamm and Clov’s relational dynamic without clarifying the context in which that dynamic exists.

If there is any discernable plot in Endgame, it has to do with whether or not Clov will leave Hamm. This is the only tangible sense of conflict in the entire play, though even this isn’t quite as simple as it seems. After all, Clov says that he’s “trying” to leave Hamm, thereby implying that something is keeping him from doing so. In addition, viewers witness the strange dynamics at play in Hamm and Clov’s relationship, as they both seem to yearn for separation without actually knowing how to embrace it. And yet, their failure to divest themselves from each other isn’t necessarily because they feel compassion for each other, as evidenced by the fact that Hamm actively wants Clov to suffer (though, in the bizarre world of this play, this actually might be a twisted form of compassion since it would mean that at least Clov would feel something). Instead, they remain together because they seem to depend upon each other, though it’s unclear what exactly Clov gets from his relationship with Hamm.

It's interesting that Hamm wants Clov to give him a painkiller, since he has just implied that all humans must suffer and that it would be a bad thing if Clov hadn’t suffered while in his service. Now, though, Hamm seems to want to dull his own suffering by taking medication. However, Clov doesn’t let him, telling him that it isn’t yet time for him to have the painkiller, thereby forcing him to wait in the same way that he’s waiting for something—whatever it is—to end. There is, it seems, no escape from pain and misery—at least not yet. On another note, Hamm’s odd suggestion that Clov could kill him with two bicycle wheels illustrates Beckett’s penchant for nonsense, which only adds to the play’s overall lack of tangible meaning.

When Hamm alludes to a time in which Clov used to do “rounds” to check in on Hamm’s “paupers,” he gives a very small amount of background information about their relationship, suggesting that Clov hasn’t always been just his caretaker, but his employee, too. This reference also intimates that Hamm possibly used to be some kind of wealthy landlord. What’s funny about this development, though, is that it does almost nothing to add meaning to the play. Simply put, it is useless information.

It’s worth recalling that Hamm recently said that there is no one else other than him and Clov. Now, though, Nagg pops up out of trashcan, proving this to be untrue. Given Hamm’s unreliability, then, it’s difficult to know what to do with his newest assertion, which is that “it” (whatever that may be) is “death” outside of this room. In and of itself, this is already a fairly vague idea, but it’s especially hard to interpret with the knowledge that Hamm isn’t a reliable source of information. Once again, then, the audience is forced to simply focus on what’s most tangible: the relational dynamics between the characters. Accordingly, viewers note Hamm’s scorn for Nagg, as well as the fact that he angrily calls him a “progenitor,” as if Nagg should be ashamed because he is somebody from whom other people have (or could) descend. Once again, it’s unclear what to make of this, meaning that even the most tangible element of the play (the relational dynamics) is capable of completely evading interpretation.

Once more, it’s not readily apparent why Hamm is so upset by the idea that Nagg can—like any human—“fornicate” or produce offspring. The only explanation is seemingly that Hamm likes the idea that there are very few people left in the world. All the same, though, he allows Nagg to eat, but Clov feeds him “Spratt’s medium,” which is a kind of dog biscuit. What’s more, the audience receives another strange piece of information when Clov admits that he’s incapable of sitting. Since Hamm can’t stand, the two men serve as counterpoints to one another—something that might make it seem as if they are even more dependent upon each other, though a reason why Clov needs Hamm has yet to emerge. Hamm, on the other hand, has come to depend upon the mobile Clov to help him through life.

As the play progresses, it begins to seem as if something has happened to the outside world. After all, there’s no other reason Clov would suggest that nature no longer exists. Unsurprisingly, though, Beckett doesn’t give the audience much information about this, instead merely using it as a strange backdrop as Hamm and Clov go about their lives together. Once more, Hamm asks for his painkiller, implying that he wants to escape his own suffering. Clov, on the other hand, is focused on his own form of misery, which is, it seems, purely existential, as he feels as if his “light”—a possible representation of his soul or capacity to feel happiness—is dying.

Again, there’s no way to know what Hamm and Clov are talking about when they say things like, “This is not much fun.” Because there is so little for audience members to grasp, it’s reasonable to say that statements like these could be applied to the play itself, which is—aside from Hamm and Clov’s relationship—the only tangible thing that viewers could possibly analyze. In turn, Hamm might be commenting on the fact that Endgame isn’t very fun to watch, or that it isn’t fun to be in the play. At the same time, though, he relates this statement to his ideas about progression and finality, implying that all endings are miserable. More importantly, he asks Clov what’s happening, which suggests that he is just as confused as the audience members.

It’s worth noting that Nagg and Nell are insurmountably separated from one another even though their trashcans sit side by side. This is a perfect representation of the odd way that companionship functions in Endgame, a play in which no two characters ever become fully sentimental or compassionate with one another. In addition, Nell’s strange reaction to the word “yesterday” makes it seem as if she can hardly remember a time before this specific moment. In this way, all sense of time is completely destabilized and uncertain except for the present—a principle that applies to seemingly every interaction that takes place in the play.

What Nell has to say about unhappiness is worth keeping in mind as the play progresses, since it not only frames sorrow as an inherent part of being alive, but also suggests that people should view such misery in good humor. At the same time, though, she also believes that accepting misery as part of the human condition and viewing it as funny doesn’t mean that people shouldn’t take it seriously. Rather, she upholds that people should strike a balance between seriousness and lightheartedness—a balance that perhaps none of the characters in Endgame have managed to find. 

When Nell says she’s going to leave Nagg, the audience sees that Clov and Hamm aren’t the only ones in the play who are obsessed with whether or not they will remain together. Indeed, whether a person stays or leaves is the central drama of Endgame, as the characters frequently threaten to abandon one another. Furthermore, when Nagg claims that his story used to make Nell laugh so hard he thought she’d die, viewers will recall Nell’s recent assertion that nothing is funnier than unhappiness. This, perhaps, is why she doesn’t want to hear the story—it used to make her so unhappy that she nearly laughed herself to death. And yet, she says that she laughed because she was happy, effectively ruining this analytic interpretation and once more ensuring that the audience members will have virtually no chance of deriving meaning from the play.

Despite what Nagg claims, this story is not particularly funny. The only vaguely humorous thing about it is the tailor’s suggestion that the entire world is uglier and more awful than a botched pair of pants. All the same, this story touches upon the play’s interest in time and repetition, as the man comes to the tailor four times and is ultimately forced to continue waiting. In this way, then, the story relates to Hamm and Clov’s ceaseless waiting—the main difference, it seems, is that the story about the tailor actually makes sense, whereas viewers still don’t know what, exactly, Clov and Hamm are waiting for.

Once more, Hamm waits for the end of something without clarifying what that thing is. Nothing, it seems, will change as the play progresses, since even the strangest and most alarming things (like Nell having no heartbeat) hardly attract any attention at all. Instead of looking into why Nell has no pulse, Hamm focuses on the way time passes (or fails to pass), too caught up in this preoccupation to think about anything else.

Hamm’s question about “that old doctor” suggests that he’s not entirely sure whether or not other people still exist. This contrasts with his previous assertion that “there is no one else,” once again destabilizing even the smallest sense of certainty that might have crept into the otherwise abstract landscape of the play. Furthermore, when Hamm says that there is another hell on the other side of the wall, he implies that the inside of the room is hell, too, or at least some version of it. And yet, he has already proven his unreliability when it comes to making such declarations. Indeed, viewers most likely understand by this point that trying to attach meaning to Hamm’s assertions about the surrounding environment or context is quite futile, though this doesn’t mean that Beckett doesn’t want the audience to continue trying to grasp this kind of meaning. Lastly, what Clov says about killing Hamm is worth noting, since it suggests that their companionship is void of true compassion for each other. However, his statement also implies that he’s incapable of killing Hamm, perhaps because Clov depends upon Hamm, too (though it’s not apparent why this would be the case).

Although Endgame is a fairly inscrutable play, Beckett includes a number of jokes to keep the audience engaged. For example, when Clov looks at the audience with a telescope and says that he sees many people experiencing “joy,” he pauses and says that the telescope must be magnifying this image—effectively implying that any “joy” the audience is experiencing must be quite undetectable or perhaps nonexistent. This is a tongue-in-cheek way of acknowledging just how arduous it is to watch a play that purposefully evades meaning. And yet, this joke is evidence of the fact that there truly are moments of joy in Endgame, despite its bleakness. After all, according to Nell, there is nothing funnier than unhappiness, which is on prominent display seemingly at all times throughout the play.

When Clov asks, “Why this farce, day after day?” he speaks the same exact words that Nell said after she and Nagg tried and failed to kiss. This suggests that the characters share a sense of futility and fatigue, as if they are excruciatingly aware that they are characters trapped in a play and, therefore, forced to carry out the same mindless routines time after time. However, perhaps because this kind of metanarrative approach might lead audience members to think they finally understand Endgame in an analytical sense, Hamm disdainfully comments on how odd it would be for a “rational being” to observe him and Clov and superimpose meaning onto their actions—a sentiment that implies that assigning meaning to what takes place in this play is a fruitless effort. Interestingly enough, though, this very comment reinforces the value of approaching Endgame as a metanarrative work, since the audience members themselves are “rational beings” who have come to observe Hamm and Clov and interpret their behavior.

Although Hamm’s worry that humanity will start all over again because of the existence of this single flea makes no sense and is left unexplained, it once more suggests that something has happened to humanity—something, it seems, akin to extinction. Rather than wanting to regenerate humankind, Hamm wants to ensure that this doesn’t happen. This aligns with the scorn he has for “fornicators” and “progenitors,” perhaps because he sees life as full of suffering and, therefore, has disdain for anyone who forces it upon others by reproducing (though it’s still baffling why he would think this flea could possibly restart humanity).

Yet again, Hamm and Clov discuss leaving, and though at first they consider departing together, Hamm quickly decides that he’ll go on his own. Hamm then seems to take a certain amount of delight in the idea that Clov will one day become unable to move like him—a notion which underlines the impossibility of Hamm’s plan to set out on his own, since it reminds viewers that he’s incapable of moving without Clov’s help. In this way, it becomes clear once more that he depends upon Clov.

It's not evident why Clov can’t leave Hamm, nor is apparent why he couldn’t bring himself to “finish” Hamm. Even though he has spoken about wanting to kill Hamm, he now says that he could never do such a thing, implying that he feels something like compassion toward Hamm. This aligns with the idea that Hamm has acted as Clov’s father figure. Indeed, the strange bond between these two men takes on a tenderness in this moment, as it emerges that Clov is connected to Hamm, who, in turn, depends upon him.

It’s very hard to know what to make of this bizarre interlude with the stuffed dog, except to conclude that Hamm likes the idea of another being depending upon him. Because he relies so heavily upon Clov, it pleases him to think that this dog—whom he doesn’t seem to understand isn’t real—needs him. This is why Hamm wants Clov to position the dog as if he is beseeching Hamm to take him for a walk.

It’s worth remembering that Clov has already suggested that his own “light” is dying. Given that Mother Pegg’s light is no longer on, it’s reasonable to assume that light in general is tied to life and existence in Endgame, though it remains unclear why or how, exactly, Clov’s is dying. And yet, Clov’s comment about the natural process of aging serves as a possible explanation for why his light is fading, ultimately implying that there’s nothing people can do to stop time. This, he intimates, is the incontrovertible fact of life—it goes on no matter what, and people waste away regardless of what they do.

Hamm’s role as Clov’s master or superior is especially pronounced in this moment, since Clov proves himself incapable of going against the old man’s wishes. Also, Hamm finds it hard to conceptualize the meaning of the word “yesterday,” once more indicating that the characters in this play have a tenuous, strange relationship with the passage of time. Instead of trying to clear this matter up, though, Clov answers by complaining that Hamm was the one to teach him the word “yesterday” in the first place, again emphasizing the extent to which Hamm has control over him, this time suggesting that the old man has shaped his entire worldview.

At first, Hamm’s story about this “madman” might seem like evidence that the surrounding world hasn’t always been the wasteland that it is now. However, Hamm then implies that he has come to understand why the “madman” felt the way he felt, indicating that he—not the “madman”—might have been the one who was failing to recognize reality. Again, this does little to help clarify the surrounding circumstances of the play, though it at least proves that Hamm hasn’t always been the way he is now.

It's reasonable to wonder if Hamm and Clov are dead. Indeed, their strange surroundings could be part of the afterlife, perhaps someplace like purgatory. In some ways, this would align with the notion that everything smells like corpses, as death exists all around them. However, it’s unlikely that purgatory—or any other place in the afterlife—would actually smell like dead people, since the scent of rotting bodies is a very corporeal, earthly thing, something that would most likely only exist in the world of the living. Consequently, it’s impossible to conclude that Hamm and Clov are dead, though it remains an interesting possibility.

Again, whether or not Clov will leave Hamm emerges as the play’s primary source of conflict. In this moment, though, Hamm briefly worries that Clov won’t be able to leave, as if he wants the young man to depart. Setting these strange relational dynamics aside, though, their decision to use an alarm clock to announce whether Clov has left or died connects their bizarre companionship to their approach to time—in this way, they both tensely wait for the day (or moment) that the clock will finally toll out and announce the end of their connection to each other.

It isn’t until this exchange between Nagg and Hamm that viewers learn that Nagg and Nell are Hamm’s parents. This, perhaps, is why Hamm has continued to curse Nagg for being a “progenitor” and a “fornicator.” Knowing that existence is nothing but suffering, he resents his parents for giving him life in the first place. On another note, Hamm’s desire to tell a story indicates that he—like the audience members—yearns for some kind of narrative in the midst of this otherwise abstract play.

Hamm’s story is the most straightforward thing in the entire play, since he tells an actual tale, though his narrative style is still rather confusing. All the same, he relates a story about a man asking him for help, thereby giving the audience members something to latch onto as they try to follow along. Indeed, this is perhaps the only moment throughout the entire play that something like a tangible narrative emerges, even if it is only a brief interlude in an otherwise inscrutable progression of events.

As quickly as it began, Hamm’s moment of clarity all but vanishes. However, viewers might find themselves capable of piecing together one important narrative detail, which is that it’s quite possible that Clov is the young boy whose father asked Hamm to take him in. After all, Clov has already revealed that he came to Hamm when he was quite young and that he no longer remembers his real father. Even with this potential background information, though, audience members are left to grasp for meaning once more when Hamm abruptly stops his story and focuses on praying. When Clov says that God doesn’t exist “yet,” he further complicates the idea that he and the other characters are alive in the aftermath of the world’s end and human extinction, since he implies in this moment that they might actually exist before the creation of humanity. Once more, then, Beckett makes it impossible to formulate definitive analytical claims about Hamm and Clov’s surrounding circumstances.

At first, what Nagg says here might seem endearing, since he wants to return to the innocent relationship he used to have with Hamm. However, what he’s really saying is that he wants to witness his son return to the frightened and helpless agony of childhood—a sentiment that isn’t very kind. Rather than hoping to recapture the beauty of their relationship, Nagg wants to feel a sense of power over Hamm. Unfortunately for Nagg, though, he’s the one who has to call out for his son, relying upon him for food and sustenance.

When Hamm returns to his story, he once more gives the audience a chance to cling to something that actually makes sense. However, he fails once again to actually finish the tale—a failure that is emblematic of the entire play, since Hamm and Clov have seemingly been waiting in vain for Endgame to finish ever since it began.

When Hamm says that he’s fatigued from the “creative effort,” viewers get the sense that the play itself is exhausting him—an idea that once again suggests that Endgame is, in many ways, a play about itself. Moving on, though, Hamm spares no emotion upon hearing that his mother has died, thereby demonstrating how little the characters of this play care about one another, though this isn’t always the case (considering the fact that Hamm and Clov can’t bring themselves to separate from each other). Furthermore, Hamm’s statement that Nagg must be alive because he’s weeping is an obvious one, but it also underlines his belief that suffering is an integral part of existence. Any evidence of this suffering, then, is evidence that a person is alive.

While nothing happens here that clarifies the context of the play, Hamm’s nostalgic thoughts about his history with Clov suggests that—despite their frequent scorn for each other—they are quite close. The question is, of course, whether or not this connection will stop Clov from eventually leaving Hamm.

As someone interested in the passage of time, Hamm notes that Nagg quickly gets over the sorrow of losing Nell. It is perhaps because this emphasizes how little everyone cares about each other in Endgame that Hamm then asks Clov to kiss him. But because Clov is uninfluenced by this kind of sentimentality, he refuses, instead vowing to leave Hamm once and for all.

Unsurprisingly, it’s unclear who Hamm could have “helped” or “saved,” or how he would have done this—or, for that matter, why it would have been necessary. Still, that he says this indicates that he has turned people away many times before, ultimately proving how little he cares about showing others compassion. It’s possible that this makes Hamm feel guilty, which might be why he shouts out to “get out of here and love one another,” a sentiment that he himself has apparently never embraced. On another note, his assertion that “the end is in the beginning and yet you go on” aligns with the idea that everything of importance has already happened at the outset of the play, meaning that the entire production is full of nothing but waiting (or waiting for nothing).

When Hamm says that Clov would die without him, viewers see that Clov is just as dependent upon Hamm as Hamm is upon him. There is, however, no clear reason why this is the case, since Clov should ostensibly be able to take care of himself, since he’s able to take care of Hamm. Nonetheless, it becomes clear in this moment that these two characters are mutually bound to each other. In addition, Clov finally tells Hamm that he can have the long-awaited painkiller, but then immediately informs him that there aren’t any painkillers left. Consequently, Hamm must continue to experience his own misery and suffering without any relief—the natural state of existence, according to Hamm himself.

Yet again, Hamm and Clov talk about light as if it is a source of sustenance. In keeping with this, Clov reveals that Mother Pegg died “of darkness”—an important piece of information, since Clov claims that he has recently been watching his own light die. In fact, Hamm might have something to do with this, since he’s the one who denied Mother Pegg extra oil for her lamp, thereby ensuring her demise. What’s interesting, of course, is that analyzing this in this way almost makes it seem as if these notions actually make sense. When one stops to truly think about it, though, it’s evident that the screwy logic of Endgame has taken over, leading to nowhere even as audience members desperately follow along and search for meaning.

The metanarrative aspect of Endgame comes to the forefront of the play in this moment, as Hamm criticizes Clov for not understanding that he was making an “aside,” which is a term in the theater for when a character makes a remark that is intended to be heard by the audience but not by the other characters. In this sense, Hamm acknowledges that he exists in a play, while Clov actively defies the conventional rules of the theater. Nonetheless, Hamm insists upon focusing on his role as a character in the theater, saying that he is warming up for his “last soliloquy.” In turn, viewers get the sense that Endgame really is a play about a play, though it’s worth remembering that there are other moments in which this interpretation fails to explain what’s happening onstage.  

When Hamm hopes that Clov hasn’t seen an “underplot” approaching them from outside, he doubles down on his metanarrative approach to what’s happening. This time, he worries that some new element will emerge that will ultimately delay the end of the play, for which he has been waiting since the very beginning. Clov, for his part, focuses on the fact that he has spied a small boy on the horizon—a vision that contradicts Hamm’s previous assertion that there is nobody else left in the world. What’s funny about this development, of course, is that if the boy is real, then he actually will be an “underplot,” since introducing him to the play will change the circumstances and possibly clarify what it’s like beyond the confines of Hamm and Clov’s immediate environment.

It’s noteworthy that neither Hamm nor Clov say anything else about the boy Clov spotted out the window. As a result, Beckett once more dismisses a possible way of interpreting the play, letting go of the idea that Endgame is a play about a play and that the boy is an “underplot.” Instead of following this thread, Beckett embraces an utter lack of meaning, which Clov exemplifies when he delivers his strange speech, the details of which barely cohere even though he touches upon the play’s central concerns—compassion, suffering, and the possibility of departure or separation from Hamm.

The ending of Endgame provides nothing in the way of conclusion, except for the fact that it mirrors the beginning. When Hamm wipes his glasses, puts them on again, and then puts the handkerchief over his face, he reverses the same routine he went through when he first woke up. And though it might seem like things are about to change because Clov has dressed himself to leave, he hasn’t set the alarm clock, thereby indicating that he’s not actually about to strike out on his own. Consequently, almost nothing (except Nell’s death, which hardly affects Hamm and Clov) has really changed throughout the course of the entire play, making it hard to know what Beckett hopes viewers will take away from the experience of watching it unfold. Above all, then, this is a play about the absence of meaning, which ultimately forces audience members to simply experience the play as it is, accepting the meaninglessness in the same way that people must accept the fact that the meaning of life itself is inscrutable.