On any short list of the 20th Century’s greatest American plays one often sees “Long Day’s Journey into Night,” “A Streetcar Named Desire,” “Death of a Salesman,” “Angels in America,” and Edward Albee’s searing, unforgettable “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” It opened on Broadway in 1962.
Theatrical Outfit is presenting this lacerating, dark comedy-drama in their 200-seat theatre (every seat is a good seat), directed by Artistic Director Matt Torney; the three hour play (two intermissions) is running through June 9. I shall say up front that if you love great theatre, you must see this show.
I am personally grateful to Theatrical Outfit for doing “Virginia Woolf”: My longtime familiarity with the piece is due to the landmark 1966 film directed by Mike Nichols, with Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Sandy Dennis, and George Segal. I saw it first as a teenager and can hardly recall a time when it was not part of my consciousness.
But upon viewing the Outfit’s production, I was struck again by the power of live theatre; to experience these actors (and they are superb; they have to be) as live flesh-and-blood people right in front of me was almost shocking. And one is struck anew by the enormity of Albee’s achievement.
We’re in a comfortable house on a New England college campus. The house belongs to George and Martha, a middle-aged couple. George (Steve Coulter) is an associate professor of history; Martha (Tess Malis Kincaid) is his wife and the daughter of the college president, whom we never meet. They are returning home at midnight after a faculty party given by Martha’s father; unbeknownst to George, a young couple is about to join them for a nightcap.
They are Nick (Justin Walker), a 28-year-old biology professor and his wife Honey (Devon Hales). They are about to descend into the maelstrom, to paraphrase Poe. For George and Martha play games. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live,” Joan Didion famously said. They deal in “truth and illusion, George; you don’t know the difference.” George: “No, but we must carry on as though we did.” And so they do.
Nick and Honey realize that they have walked into a hotbed of contentiousness; at first they’re embarrassed, and then enmeshed. Nick: “You and your wife seem to be having some sort of a–” George cuts him off: “Martha and I are having nothing. Martha and I are merely exercising, that’s all. Don’t pay any attention to it.” Nick: “I don’t like to become involved in other people’s affairs.” George: “You’ll get over that…musical beds is the faculty sport around here.”
So Honey and Nick stay, of their own free will. Nobody forces them. Much alcohol is consumed over the course of the long evening—as in tons.
It occurs to me that I must be quite elliptical about the play and the plot. I cannot rob those who’ve never seen it the power and revelation and catharsis possible in a first viewing.
Neither George nor Martha is very happy with their lives or their marriage. Yet—and this is the important, wrenching truth—there is love there. There is the comfort of familiarity. Yet each has settled; as Martha says about George: “Whom I will not forgive for having come to rest; for having seen me and having said, yes, this will do; who has made the hideous, the hurtful, the insulting mistake of loving me and must be punished for it. George and Martha: sad, sad, sad.”
The role of Martha is a personal triumph for Tess Malis Kincaid. She is perhaps Atlanta’s most lauded actress; with three Best Actress Suzi Bass Awards, among other accolades, it is easy to see why. Her presence in a show automatically raises the level of her fellow actors; I’ve had actors tell me this. Her Martha is subtle, defiant, fierce, funny and vulnerable. Her last few minutes in Act III moves one to tears.
Steve Coulter’s George is yet another complex, wrenching performance. George is cursed with the intelligence to understand precisely just how much he’s settled for, playing second fiddle in the history department of the college. Yet Mr. Coulter reveals a self-mocking humor in George that is fascinating to watch. It’s an outstanding performance.
The roles of Nick and Honey can be overpowered by George and Martha in the wrong hands. But Devon Hales’ Honey is a revelation; she can seem vulnerable and even silly, but as the frustration and pain in her past are revealed, she becomes fascinating. Ms. Hales is a major talent.
Justin Walker brings strength and tenacity and vulnerability to Nick. He could easily be swallowed up in Martha and George’s spider webs, but Mr. Walker’s Nick emerges as a decent, intelligent young man who’s suddenly swimming in deeper waters than he anticipated.
Director Matt Torney performs minor miracles with Albee’s masterwork, which shows us “the nature of truth and illusion and the compromises we make to live our lives,” as Mr. Torney says.
Major kudos to master scenic designers Isabel and Moriah Curley-Clay; the set is beautiful and perfect.
There is much in theatre (and movies) these days that is mediocre, at best. Why not treat yourself to an evening of powerhouse theatre—and remind yourself of how electrifying live theatre can be?
For tickets and information, visit theatricaloutfit.org.