When one walks into the third-floor theater of the Institute of Contemporary Arts in Boston, two things are immediately noticeable. First is the music that pierces through the average-sized theater, bright and expressive jazz with high-flying trumpet solos dominating all other sounds. A passionate New Orleans selection, the regional sound is fitting since this particular production of Waiting for Godot, directed by Christopher McElroen in a touring production by the Classical Theatre of Harlem, was inspired by the horrors and despair rampant during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.The second unavoidably striking feature is that the stage is a complete and horrifying mess. It is New Orleans, a snapshot of the videos that played on CNN in September 2005. But just like the carefully organized angles and lines of the exterior of the theater and the building, this chaos is also premeditated. And maybe that's why the atmosphere doesn't feel existential outright. Existential works of art are associated with bleakness and of nothingness; there is nothing orderly or sensible in the world. But in this case, the metaphysical despair is portrayed through the sheer excessiveness of disaster rather than the destitution of the staging.

The backdrop lights up. The characters step out. And they are charming. Their performances are markedly honest and sincere. Vladimir's character is wholly embraced by Billy Eugene Jones, and he captures the despair of that man so well. Estragon, played by J. Kyle Manzay, is charismatic and funny, and Lucky, played by Glenn Gordon, is endearing in a drooling, creepy way. But of a cast of four characters, the above-mentioned three are portrayed by black actors: Only one, the pompous and unsavory slave driver Pozzo, played by Christian Rummel, is white. The commentary on racism here is quite perceptible, almost to the point of being uncomfortably frank. But since there is no attempt at veiling the subtext, the raw intensity of the black actors is electrifying, and they are more engaging when Pozzo is onstage.

A notable aspect of the actors' performances was that there was almost no New Orleans flavor in their acting-no attempt at an accent or at fudging the lines to resemble a regional slang. The dialogue remained as it always had been: an anachronistic high-brow English translated from an anachronistic high-brow French. The only connection to New Orleans was the disaster-zone stage and a little machine in the back of the mind making connections between the aftermath of Katrina and the events unfolding on the ground. Perhaps it was the director's intention to keep the classical and contemporary apart so neither version is bastardized, but the formal diction in such an informal setting was off-putting.

But though the spoken words sometimes felt awkward, the long stretches of silence in between created a tense beauty in the aural parts of the play. The silence, during the audience didn't dare to make a sound, was laden with what makes this play so emotionally heavy. They are waiting. Absurdly waiting for a man called Godot. Waiting unrelentingly for someone who might not even show up.

Along with exquisite aural composition, there were striking visual snapshots, as well. The masterfully arranged images on stage were perfectly balanced and breathtakingly beautiful. The simple gray and horizonless backdrop provided a sense of uncertainty and suggested storms ahead or storms past. The illusion of endlessness and continuousness plays well into the existential theme. And when it is night and the streetlamp is on, the images created by the actors and the light are indescribably sad yet stunning.

This interpretation of Waiting for Godot had a few faults but on the whole was an incredible experience, unable to be found anywhere else. Is it reasonable to ask for a finely wrought play with incredibly talented actors filling each scene up with their talents and ask for them to incorporate black jokes, white jokes, penis jokes, slapstick, audience participation, beatboxing, rapping and a five-minute Michael Jackson tribute at the same time? I think it is, and The Classical Theatre of Harlem provides and provides it with gusto.