Edward Albee’s play The Goat, or Who is Sylvia (2002) is full of cathartic pivots, as first friend, then wife, then son discover the dark secret love that stalks the hero of this Greek inspired comic tragedy.
The unfettered love and desire that Martin Gray (Nathan Page) feels for the goat he keeps tethered as his mistress on his upstate property is still capable of engendering both shock and awe.
Given the smorgasbord of peccadilloes that inhabit the intranet of everything, this means that the course of bestiality, like paedophilia, still bloats into abhorrence.
In this production, directed by Mitchel Butel for the Sydney Theatre Company, the laugh out loud parts of the comic mode are vigorously pursued. Albee’s language and comic timing produce a rich ore, that is vigorously mined by director and cast. The laughter across the audience was loud and true, though sometimes buffered by shock.
The tragedy component of the work is less rigorously pursued. Claudia Karvan, as the picture postcard wife (Stevie) – lover, playful friend, fellow language enthusiast – manages to stake out all the tranches of discovery and betrayal that Albee has set for her.
The ache, pain, and disbelief at the heart of her journey was played on a clear trajectory, but the voice and sometimes the body did not bite into the anguish that Albee layers across her role. The brittle opening – a la Coward - with a variable American accent, high voice, and oversize gestures, lingers far too long into the evening. It was not always easy to believe in the deep simpatico between Stevie and Martin - while the lack of an extended vocal variance meant we sometimes stepped back from engaging with her journey – the heartache sometimes lacked authenticity. The varied cadences that Albee gives her character were not always in play.
To be fair, she did manage some tremendous cathartic moments, towards the end of the play, as in the wail that invokes the pity of the gods, and flows into her steely determination to destroy Martin, the inevitable doggedness that now ensures the evisceration of her husband’s other love.
This brittleness was echoed by Yazeed Daher as the 17-year-old son, Billy. Pouting petulance is certainly one aspect of this character, who truly launches the tragedy when he shouts out loud: “My dad is fucking a goat! But, again, the lack of any vocal range left this as a one note harpy, seizing on the crack jokes, but unable to register the deep bewilderment of the boy – though his swirling hormones were nicely instantiated in the passionate kiss of his daddy, which pivotally enforces the thought that there are moments of living that overwhelm us, when raw desire invades our bodies.
Martin’s oldest friend, Ross Tuttle (Mark Saturno) added to this trio of brittle performances, but his four-square American masculinity supported this assumption. His limited understanding of human emotions and sexuality, his shock and horror were an effective pivot in the unfolding narrative. He was both courtier and chorus in the Greek substrata that informs this work. He is the key trigger in exposing the tragic kink - writing his pompous missive to Stevie, totally unaware of its ramifications. He is like a brash Polonius full of daft regard for an established masculine order that his oldest friend has subverted by surrendering to the kind of desire that should never even be contemplated!
Nathan Page as Martin often finds the yardstick of tragedy that flows across this play. His bewilderment of the ecstasy he feels towards his goat love, the pain of being outside scripted norms, his comprehension of the evil he has done to the women he loves were portrayed with believable pathos and dark humour – swirling through the pedantry of good grammar and the delicious conceits of language. The sadness and brilliance that glowed from his forbidden desire was tellingly enacted.
The final sacrifice at the end of the play – the slaughter of the fabled goat - was swift and dramatic in its climax and left us with a stark tableau: a man destroyed, a women revenged and depleted, a family in ruins. We, like Ross, are observers of the horror that has engulfed them all.
“Notes towards a definition of tragedy” is certainly an apt subscript for this layered exploration of familial destruction. Under Butel’s guidance, the broad comic intent was easily realised, while the darker vein of harsher comedy was fitfully achieved.
The sleek expensive architectural design of the Gray’s house was crisply realised by Jeremy Allen (set design) as a framework for a spectacular domestic urban fight scene with a plethora of middle-class signage planted amongst the ruins. The smashing of many artful objects was both well-choreographed and viscerally thrilling.
The costuming (Ailsa Patterson) was apposite, the prep school tie joke drolly amusing. The lighting (Nigel Levings) - particularly the night-time ambience as the deed of revenge is unfolding - was well pitched.
This is in many ways a thrilling play.
Sydney Theatre Company, Ros Packer Theatre, Sydney, March 14, 2023
Gar Jones
The unfettered love and desire that Martin Gray (Nathan Page) feels for the goat he keeps tethered as his mistress on his upstate property is still capable of engendering both shock and awe.
Given the smorgasbord of peccadilloes that inhabit the intranet of everything, this means that the course of bestiality, like paedophilia, still bloats into abhorrence.
In this production, directed by Mitchel Butel for the Sydney Theatre Company, the laugh out loud parts of the comic mode are vigorously pursued. Albee’s language and comic timing produce a rich ore, that is vigorously mined by director and cast. The laughter across the audience was loud and true, though sometimes buffered by shock.
The tragedy component of the work is less rigorously pursued. Claudia Karvan, as the picture postcard wife (Stevie) – lover, playful friend, fellow language enthusiast – manages to stake out all the tranches of discovery and betrayal that Albee has set for her.
The ache, pain, and disbelief at the heart of her journey was played on a clear trajectory, but the voice and sometimes the body did not bite into the anguish that Albee layers across her role. The brittle opening – a la Coward - with a variable American accent, high voice, and oversize gestures, lingers far too long into the evening. It was not always easy to believe in the deep simpatico between Stevie and Martin - while the lack of an extended vocal variance meant we sometimes stepped back from engaging with her journey – the heartache sometimes lacked authenticity. The varied cadences that Albee gives her character were not always in play.
To be fair, she did manage some tremendous cathartic moments, towards the end of the play, as in the wail that invokes the pity of the gods, and flows into her steely determination to destroy Martin, the inevitable doggedness that now ensures the evisceration of her husband’s other love.
This brittleness was echoed by Yazeed Daher as the 17-year-old son, Billy. Pouting petulance is certainly one aspect of this character, who truly launches the tragedy when he shouts out loud: “My dad is fucking a goat! But, again, the lack of any vocal range left this as a one note harpy, seizing on the crack jokes, but unable to register the deep bewilderment of the boy – though his swirling hormones were nicely instantiated in the passionate kiss of his daddy, which pivotally enforces the thought that there are moments of living that overwhelm us, when raw desire invades our bodies.
Martin’s oldest friend, Ross Tuttle (Mark Saturno) added to this trio of brittle performances, but his four-square American masculinity supported this assumption. His limited understanding of human emotions and sexuality, his shock and horror were an effective pivot in the unfolding narrative. He was both courtier and chorus in the Greek substrata that informs this work. He is the key trigger in exposing the tragic kink - writing his pompous missive to Stevie, totally unaware of its ramifications. He is like a brash Polonius full of daft regard for an established masculine order that his oldest friend has subverted by surrendering to the kind of desire that should never even be contemplated!
Nathan Page as Martin often finds the yardstick of tragedy that flows across this play. His bewilderment of the ecstasy he feels towards his goat love, the pain of being outside scripted norms, his comprehension of the evil he has done to the women he loves were portrayed with believable pathos and dark humour – swirling through the pedantry of good grammar and the delicious conceits of language. The sadness and brilliance that glowed from his forbidden desire was tellingly enacted.
The final sacrifice at the end of the play – the slaughter of the fabled goat - was swift and dramatic in its climax and left us with a stark tableau: a man destroyed, a women revenged and depleted, a family in ruins. We, like Ross, are observers of the horror that has engulfed them all.
“Notes towards a definition of tragedy” is certainly an apt subscript for this layered exploration of familial destruction. Under Butel’s guidance, the broad comic intent was easily realised, while the darker vein of harsher comedy was fitfully achieved.
The sleek expensive architectural design of the Gray’s house was crisply realised by Jeremy Allen (set design) as a framework for a spectacular domestic urban fight scene with a plethora of middle-class signage planted amongst the ruins. The smashing of many artful objects was both well-choreographed and viscerally thrilling.
The costuming (Ailsa Patterson) was apposite, the prep school tie joke drolly amusing. The lighting (Nigel Levings) - particularly the night-time ambience as the deed of revenge is unfolding - was well pitched.
This is in many ways a thrilling play.
Sydney Theatre Company, Ros Packer Theatre, Sydney, March 14, 2023
Gar Jones