Last week I attended a performance of one of my favourite plays (and, as we shall discover, films) of all time. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee.
I first discovered Albee's scintillating play through the 1966 film, which I recorded on a VHS tape from the old TVC channel on Sky, starring Elizabeth Taylor as Martha, and Richard Burton as George. I knew I was in for a treat with it starring those two colossal figures of the acting world, but it blew my already high expectations out of the water. Taylor is astounding as Martha, the brash, caustic, yet deeply wounded wife of George, who is conjured by Burton with a gravitas beyond most actor's wildest dreams.
The film is infinitely quotable:
and I have watched it (or, listened, to be precise) so many times that I can practically quote the entire film, line-by line.
With all this in mind, my mindset going into the wonderful Playhouse auditorium was one of great anticipation, but also slight trepidation. Will it live up to its immensely illustrious predecessor, was my principal enquiry.
First things first. There were many aspects of this production that were very interesting. The first thing I was reminded of is just how many cuts were made in the film version, and hearing these extra lines from Albee's incredibly talented pen was a rare delight. Ben Hall as Nick, and Leah Haile as Honey were excellent as the sidekicks that are at the receiving end of a thousand barbed quips from their hosts, George and Martha. The set was perfect, with the books lining the walls (George is a history professor) apparently loaned from the Blackwells's store in Oxford, which I thought was a very pleasing touch, although the lack of a grotesque painting for one of the play's most famous scenes was glaringly absent, and I was surprised at this directorial choice.
But what this production really brought home to me was just how impossible it is for any actors to follow Taylor and Burton from the film version. Katy Stevens as Martha was believable, and she clearly savoured saying the lines that any actor would dream to be able to work with. But, I'm afraid, it was Matthew Pidgeon playing the character of George where this production fell flat for me. I have no doubt Pidgeon is a fine actor, and I am not suggesting otherwise. But his casting as George in this production completely mystifies me. Richard Burton's George is a fascinating character. It is clear that Martha is no ordinary woman and has larger than life, wild romantic dreams and enormous ambitions for her husband. Burton's George attempts to rise to this challenge. You can see why she loves him, even though he doesn't (and probably never could) meet her demands and wishes. And yet, it is very clear why this couple, who bicker and bitch at each other for all they're worth, and who carry so much pain from each other's wounds, are actually deeply in love and inseparable. It saddens me to say, but I just couldn't see the Earth Mother that is Martha falling so deeply in love with the George of this production. Again, this is not the actor's fault, my quibbling would be aimed at the casting director's choice. Burton has a physicality that matches his intellect and voice, but Pidgeon's George resembled a physically brittle old man, and not someone who could match the sheer desire and ferocity of Taylor's Martha.
I am still glad I went to see this production, however, but, as my wife said as we discussed the show over coffee after the performance, for us personally, it is almost an impossible play for us to watch. Because, whoever is cast, they won't be Taylor or Burton. Each line that was delivered by the cast came with a strange haunting echo in my mind, the echo of the same line being delivered by Taylor or Burton. It was as if their disembodied presence was on the stage with the other actors (and seeing that Taylor and Burton performed on that very stage their ghosts may well have been prowling the theatre). I suppose sometimes a work of art achieves its pinnacle, which in this instant is the film version of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and any other version will inevitably fall flat when compared with it. In a similar way to the reality that no matter how many people sing Freddie Mercury's songs, no one will ever top Freddie singing them himself.
So, all in all, a very interesting evening, but one that brought home a clear message that I already suspected, even as far back as when we purchased the tickets: nobody comes close to Burton and Taylor.
Until next time, I remain, etc, etc...
