When the RSC staged Edward Albee’s play in 1969 the critics and the public thought it elusive and difficult; but in 1996, when it was revived in New York, it was found to be totally accessible and hailed as one of Albee’s best plays, fit to stand alongside his Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and his Three Tall Women. However, when it came to London in an inferior production the following year, it didn’t seem that good. 14 years on it comes across, unmistakably, as a modern classic and certainly looks all set to transfer to the West End.
The balance between sanity and insanity is delicate; so is the balance between husband and wife, sister and sister, parent and child, friend and friend. Agnes and Tobias share their home with Agnes’s alcoholic sister. They are joined first by their 36-year-old daughter, who is running away from her fourth marriage, and then by their best friends, who have been frightened by some unnamed terror and seek refuge. They do not ask if they can stay, they demand it as their right, testing the friendship to the very limit, a test it does not survive.
The balance between actor and actor, and actor and audience, is crucial and James Macdonald, with a fine cast and a fine set by Laura Hopkins, gets it absolutely right. Penelope Wilton is the matriarch trying to keep the family from falling apart whilst worrying about losing her mind. Tim Piggott-Smith is the weak-willed husband who killed his cat when he found his cat no longer loved him. Imelda Staunton is the sister-in-law with the strange wig. “I’m not an alcoholic,” she declares. I’m a drunk.” Albee’s artificial dialogue is elegantly and eloquently constructed and the acid exchanges between the sisters are unfailingly bitter and vicious.