The Goat.
Theatre
The bleat generation
by Natasha Hay
The Goat begins like any family drama. Lights switch on abruptly and there, under the canopy of harsh white light, are handsome husband and wife Stevie and Martin, the perfect couple. All around their affluent Manhattan living-room (a John Verryt set) are the tasteful trappings of success. Clearly, their domestic bliss is about to be shattered.
But what unfolds is no ordinary marital meltdown. The same week that Martin turns 50, wins a major architectural prize and commission, he confides in his friend Ross that he’s deeply in love … with a goat named Sylvia.
Edward Albee’s play deals with Martin having to explain to his friend, wife and teenage son the nature of his transgression, and is not so much about a mid-life crisis, nor a discourse on bestiality, but how they each confront the betrayal. It’s a devastating piece of theatre, displaying Albee’s verbal pyrotechnics and intense theatricality.
Yet the most challenging aspect of Albee’s play is the tonal shifts, as he finds awful humour in the darkest things, throwing out one-liners that neutralise the horror. One moment you snigger at the preposterousness of the situation, the next you are grimly transfixed, awaiting inevitable tragedy.
Michael Hurst and Jennifer Ward-Lea-land play Martin and Stevie – two brilliant roles – brilliantly. They spar off each other like verbal volleyball. Smart and witty, the characters compliment each other whenever one fires off a clever quip. Hurst infuses his Martin with a quiet dignity and frenetic distractedness – his mix of pedantry and inarticulate despair is pure tragi-comedy.
When Stevie finds out about Martin’s liaison, Ward-Lealand is formidable. As she unleashes primal howls, her depth of pain and rage is terrifying. And at this mid-point, emphasising both the absurdity and tragic undercurrent, while revealing the intense passion between the couple, director Oliver Driver builds the chaotic momentum to crescendos of crashing furniture and flying vases. Even then, you know that worse is to come …
Completing the excellent cast are Paul Barrett as Ross, vulgar and pompous as he claims the high moral ground, and Kip Chapman as son Billy, a volcano of emotions.
The goat itself has such metaphorical power that it defies definitive interpretation. But “who is Sylvia?” is the question that Albee wants us to wrestle with, mischievously testing our own limits of tolerance and leaving us emotionally exhausted.
Fully deserving its controversial label, as it concerns betrayal on a scale most people wouldn’t conceive of, The Goat is outstanding, provocative and original theatre. This production is a must-see.
THE GOAT or WHO IS SYLVIA?, by Edward Albee; directed by Oliver Driver, Silo, Auckland (until October 15).
