Deborah Shaw and David Agro in ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’, Photo by Neil Gibb
“George and Martha. Sad. Sad. Sad.”
This lament comes late in the game, one of many blazing, iconic moments in Edward Albee’s brutal, hilarious and devastating classic. And they are, of course, but they are also exhilarating to behold. George and Martha are very special to me and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? has been, for many years, one of my all-time favourite plays. I’ve seen the Mike Nichol’s film over a dozen times, read it during three different decades of my life and found it increasingly resonant as I age, yet this excessively cramped and cozy presentation by zippysaid productions is only the second time I’ve seen it live.
Overhearing a member of the company before the show, I learned that the team had to quickly adapt their staging after discovering that the Red Sandcastle Theatre no longer provides the lengthwise configuration. Cramming the four characters and all their action into half the space ratchets up the awkwardness and tension—key aspects of the play—and makes for a very strange, intense phenomenon.
And I loved it.
It’s the early 1960s. A middle-aged couple—George (David Agro) and Martha (Deborah Shaw)—come stumbling into their den. We think we have them pegged. She’s domineering, loud and vulgar; he’s overly indulgent, acquiescent and haggard. But oh, we will learn that things aren’t so simple. George, a history professor, and Martha, the daughter of the college president, are a spectacularly hot mess. At 2am, they’re already quite drunk, but guests are due!—a new teacher at the college and his wife. Nick (Josh Palmer) and Honey (Chloe Matamoros) are a sweet couple. As a model of youth and marital bliss, they seem a perfect foil for George and Martha. Oh, we will learn so much about them too.
Let the alcohol flow and the games begin!
Academic politics, vengeful seductions, scathing banter and some well-integrated satire of mid-century, American social mores—this tender and harrowing story has all the things.
As they toss barbs, snarl and sneer, Agro (who also directed) and Shaw’s George and Martha are a deliciously toxic portrait of domestic cruelty and dysfunction—equally heartbreaking, off-putting and comical. Martha has fashioned herself into a grotesque caricature of sensual, earthy womanhood and Shaw lands on each of her crass gambits in such a way as to hint at the essential vulnerability that will, eventually, punch us in the gut. Agro is a little self-aware with his sly glances and hammy asides, yet those very qualities are also inherently George. Agro’s posturing clarifies his affectations, shows us a man trapped in a drawing room melodrama he helped concoct.
As George and Martha’s bickering escalates into emotional and physical violence, they also pry at Nick and Honey’s facade. Palmer and Matamoros give rich and nuanced portrayals. They hold their own, drawing our attention even while their counterparts are letting off such luridly dazzling fireworks. Palmer offers up seething little flashes of Nick’s ambition and his resentment towards both Honey and their eccentric hosts. I was especially fascinated by Matamoros, my eyes often drifting to her during scenes in which she’s almost entirely without dialogue. Her face, as it rises and falls, not only reveals Honey, but makes her a sort of audience surrogate, drunkenly echoing our own awful realizations.
The set is rather crude. A sofa, for example, is a couple of chairs pushed together with a throw rug. At first, this is somewhat alienating as it doesn’t convey the naturalistic sense of place, of upper middle class existence, that frames the play. Very quickly though, as the honest and persuasive performances bring Albee’s searing text to life, this shortcoming fades from consciousness.
By contrast, the costumes are spot on, telling us how each of these people see themselves and, more importantly, how they embody their fragile masks of gentility. Martha’s flippant remark about a Bette Davis’ “fright wig” (from one of her early films) gets a cleverly motivic nod here, one that has a truly poignant payoff. The booze—a constant presence throughout—feels legit and that gaudy, candy-coloured glassware is an inspired choice.
George and Martha’s enthusiastically vicious hacking away at each other is practiced and routine, but the crucial event of this play is that each of them, in their own way, goes too far. Though even their “son,” that precious coping mechanism, can’t help them anymore; the aching, bittersweet truth is that George and Martha love each other deeply and do, we know, have each other’s backs. Nick and Honey? I doubt it; their bond isn’t strong enough to withstand the harsh, ugly reality George and Martha force them to acknowledge.
I care about all of them, though, whatever their chances. This rough around the edges yet emotionally solid production, above all else, reminded me just how much I care.
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
running April 24 to 28, 2024
Red Sandcastle Theatre (922 Queen St. East)
running time: 2 hours, 30 minutes (with intermission)
Deborah Shaw, Josh Palmer, Chloe Matamoros and David Agro in ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’, Photo by Neil Gibb