The Hunger Artists' production of Samuel Beckett's starkly brilliant mid-20th-Century masterpiece, directed by Glendele Way-Agle, was a very pleasant surprise: entertaining, insightful and a masterful blend of lowbrow comedy and highbrow erudition. And, like any Waiting for Godot, it had to rise—or fall—on the strength of the two actors portraying the vagabonds at its center. And while Ponzer Berkman efficiently captured the more manic, physically oriented Estragon, it was Greg Ungar's Vladimir who truly exemplified the dichotomy of Beckett's piece. Paralyzed by the need to believe in something, Ungar's Vladimir possessed intellectual acuity bound by a deep, unfathomable sorrow. He was also delightfully funny, particularly in the intricately detailed dance he engaged in with his bowler hat. Rarely has this grand prince of clowns felt so keenly alive.