Edward Albee’s hilariously funny plays are full of witty dialogue and fascinating characters. Indeed, they are irresistible. But, with few exceptions, they don’t seem to make much sense. They parallel normal reality, but they don’t depict it so much as warp it in weird, unexpected, disturbing ways.
Albee, you see, is known as one of the leading proponents of the “theatre of the absurd.” This phrase was coined in 1960 by the critic Martin Esslin, who was trying to make sense of the likes of Samuel Beckett (“Waiting for Godot”) and Eugene Ionesco (“The Chairs”). Okay, probably too much information, but if you really want to get your brain around a play like “The Goat,” it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes with Wikipedia in order to get the lay of the land.
Anyway, “theatre of the absurd” tries to reflect the human tragedy which is simultaneously deeply moving, and, as far as many of us can tell, utterly without meaning. We care deeply but for no discernible reason. That is our tragedy: to care about this absurd world as if it mattered. This realization is horrifying, and yet we laugh.
What loving wife in a presumably successful marriage would not be upset to receive a note from a family friend that informs her that her husband is having an affair? This is the stuff of tears. The absurdity arises from the fact that the man’s mistress is a goat. Not figuratively. Literally. He has fallen in love with a furry, clover-eating, masticating, poop-covered, cloven-hoofed, smelly goat. Named Sylvia. Stevie’s beloved husband, Martin, father of their son, Billy, is a goatfucker. How, she wonders, can she possibly compete when she has only two breasts? Accepting Billy’s gay identity was hard enough, but this? It seems to be beyond the pale.
And yet, her husband begs for understanding and acceptance. He says he can’t help himself. The first time he accidentally looked into those amazingly, shockingly large brown eyes, he saw Sylvia’s soul and there was no turning back. He pleads for understanding. He assures Stevie that he is trying to understand his condition. He has even joined a support group for men involved in bestiality. A sort of goatfucker’s anonymous.
Stevie responds by tearing the house apart.
“The Goat,” obviously, is a very funny play. Even in 2026, it retains the ability to shock, as attested by the audible gasps emitted by various members of the audience during the performance. The play doesn’t exactly tickle you with clever word play (although there’s plenty of that); it shoves its cloven hoof down your throat and yanks the laughs out of you. Albee batters his audience, and people seem to like it, since he is the winner of multiple Pulitzers (one for this very play) and is widely admired.
A play like this requires expert handling from the director, and Kevin Clarke provides it. He has cut the production details to the core, working with a bare stage so that the audience has to rely on imagination to visualize the destruction wrought by Stevie in her mad fury. Costume designer Sang Peng is smart to dress Stevie and Martin all in white, conjuring up a feeling of religious ritual.
The actors fully commit to the absurd situation, playing the emotions with absolute realism, although the language they speak is heightened by word play and sophisticated allusions.
But you don’t need to be a scholar to appreciate “The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia?” The bottom line: It’s really funny. It will make you laugh till you scream!
But, Albee pulls off an amazing trick. When the play is over, and you have some time to reflect on its implications, it is not the laugh that remains.
It’s the scream.
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Rating: ****1/2 (For an explanation of TheatreStorm’s rating system, click here.)
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“The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia” by Edward Albee. Produced by Shotgun Players. Director Kevin Clarke. Scenic and Props Designer: Liliana Duque Piñeiro. Lighting Designer: Sophia Craven. Sound Designer: Matt Stines. Costume Designer: Sharon Peng. Fight Choreographer: Raisa Donato. Movement Coach: Soren Santos. Intimacy Choreographer Jeunée Simon.
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