Almost There, but Not Quite

A Review of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”

By James Spica

It is considerably difficult to find good local art. By local art one means visual art in small town galleries; performances in hole-in-the-wall theatres on Main St; art made for locals by locals. Most of the difficulty comes of lack of true culture—many towns are far away from the established cultural influence of large cities such as Chicago or New York. Budgets are smaller, as the size of classic fine arts grants dwindles along with public appreciation. The Whole-Art Theatre’s production of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” is a great example of bad local art.

This play is a rather long piece (at 3 hours or so), with absurdist, almost existentialist undertones. The hopelessness of the situation of the older couple (George (played by Richard Philpot ) and Martha (played by Martie Philpot ) spend most of their time bickering with each other, jabbing at each other with names like “snake” and “monkey” in a belittling but childish manner) is reminiscent of Samuel Beckett plays. Many of Beckett’s works are set in single rooms, in which two or four people spend the entire play saying absolutely nothing (they speak, but their conversation goes nowhere). Do not for a moment assume that this play or the performance thereof is in any other way like Beckett, who is quite clever with language. The message does remain similar, though—the absurdity of everyday life is constant.

The acting in this piece left a great deal to be desired—the performances of the younger couple (played by Carol Zombro and Trevor Maher) especially. They overacted their parts in a way that suggested a combination of overexcitement at being cast in a non-school play and inexperience. The girl, in her shrieking and weaving was too goofy for believable intoxication, and the boy, in his drunken bravado and intellectuality, were both rather painful to watch. Also, the pair fell into the trend of budding actors to raise their voices more frequently. This piece was rife with this—too frequently for feigning-drunk to allow.

The older couple, though comparatively adequate actors, were rather boring. This is probably attributable to the play itself—the characters are meant to be very boring people. All the same, during the first act, George was a delight to watch–he did a great job of portraying a man driven to the brink of insanity by a dreadful woman (and a little help from a Mr. Johnny Walker). During the second and third acts, by contrast, he just seemed to drone on incessantly. Again, the play may be at fault here. Whether or not that is the case, the impression doesn’t change.

In short, the performance was brought down in part by the play itself and in part by the actor and actress playing the younger couple. It is not the type of play that leaves a lasting impression—it lacks depth and good acting in a way that deprives one of the desire to see it again. This, unfortunately, is the usual situation with local art.