“Is there anything anyone doesn’t get off on, whether we admit it or not?” In this pithy question the protagonist of Edward Albee’s The Goat, or Who is Sylvia? expresses the play’s central dilemma: what do we tolerate, what is taboo? Martin, the superstar architect at the pinnacle of his trade, sits in the living room, his life in tatters; a suitable ending to what Albee subtitles “Notes towards a definition of tragedy”.The opening scene introduces us to Martin (Will Robertson) and his wife Stevie (Sarah Nerger). The pair launches into a convincing, provocative performance, and we are quickly drawn into the world of the ever-so-slightly bohemian denizens of the East Coast bourgeoisie. Those familiar with the somewhat surreal patina of Albee’s 1962 masterpiece, Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? will recognise the style. Yet here the very premise is an absurdity: Martin is having an affair with a goat named Sylvia. As the play unfolds this is revealed to the audience, his friend Ross (Max Seddon), his wife and his gay son Billy (Tom Coates). Add to the concoction simmering discord and dysfunctional communication, and the result is a Kafkaesque collapse of the superficially harmonious world which we are presented at the outset.
A short way into the play, Ross is distracted by the churning, rushing sounds of the dishwasher. “It’s probably the Eumenides” Martin replies wryly. Indeed, where these mythical deities enforced the prevailing moral order upon the heroes of yore, in Albee’s modern tragedy it is this paradigm of modern domesticity that looms over Martin’s nemesis. But Aristotle would be mighty content with the plot structure. Dramatic unity, a fall from glory, circumstances beyond control, and a suitably cathartic dénouement – the play has it all. Albee creates what the Director Guy Levin describes as “a truly modern tragedy”, suited to our atomised, atheist society through its exploration of where we place the boundaries on love; and bestiality, paedophilia, incest and rape are all touched on.
Edward Albee, on the purpose of theatre
Launching on Broadway in 2002, the play reached British audiences in 2004 at Islington’s Almeida Theatre (starring Jonathan Pryce), and in its Oxford première Levin does the work full justice. In the first act Robertson’s dry tone offsets excellently the vitality of both the polished, authoritative but affectionate wife, and of Seddon as the superbly charismatic television presenter Ross. He has a quizzical air, raising an eyebrow in his continual cross-purpose questioning, clearly troubled, even alienated. As Ross, camera rolling, introduces his friend on interview, there is a brilliant discord between Martin’s expression of undisguised tedium, lip curled, and Ross’s self-important ramblings (“Some people, I guess, are, well...more extraordinary than others.” he contemplates, gazing into middle-distance).
With the revelation of Martin’s capriphilic dalliances, Nerger comes into her own, lurching manically from incandescent ranting to superior, sarcastic barbs. Meanwhile Coates does well as the slightly affected Billy; between uncomprehending outbursts at his parents he speechlessly grasps at his hair. Robertson tends to be more deadpan than frenetic, more wry than fraught, and arguably occasionally underplays his role. Whether this trace of the understated sardonicism of his fantastic Berthold Brecht in Tales from Hollywood slightly restricts the sense of the neuroticism and inner sadness of the character is debateable, but in any case he puts in a fine portrayal of the protagonist.
In all, this is a first-rate set of performances, credible but with subtle hints of caricature that well suit the supercharged reality of the world of the play. It has great success in balancing the absurdity and comic word play with Martin’s tragic inability to reconcile genuine love with absolute social orthodoxy, and as such leaves us wary of taking the validity of such convention for granted.
Photos: Flickr, OFS Studio
