For a play with only four characters and basically one setting, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" covers a lot of ground. It mostly depends on the performances and the acidic dialog because, when you get right down to it, the Big Reveal isn't too big although it's plenty bizarre.
George (Burton) is an associate professor of history at a small college. He doesn't have much in the way of ambition, we gather, because his shrewish and vulgar wife Martha (Taylor) keeps twitting him about it. Taylor is magnificently slatternly. She'd played Cleopatra a few years earlier but age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite vulgarity.
George and Martha have two late-night guests, a newly arrived professor of biology (Segal) and his naive wife (Dennis). The evening begins with the four of them sitting around the living room with nothing special to say. But the booze flows like Niagara and they all loosen up -- not that Martha requires much loosening.
Albee's dialog is cynical, bitter, and exploitative. Cutting insults keep the viewer awake as do the sometimes embarrassing revelations, like Sandy Dennis's hysterical pregnancies and frequent vomiting. When Albee latches on to what he feels is a good turn of phrase, it gets repeated until it becomes laughable per se. "It's good that you're a biologist," Taylor tells Segal, "because you're right in the MEAT of things." She comes up with this again and again until Burton cuts her off with the observation that she's obsessed with the phrase and that it's vulgar.
The comparison of Taylor's father, who is president of the college, to a big white mouse is repeated as well. And Taylor refers to her husband as, variously, a swamp, a bog, and a fen.
Insults fly in all directions. One person may reveal a secret to another, who then runs over and trumpets the information to the others. They play what Burton calls "games", such as Humiliate the Host and Hump the Hostess. People make things up as they go along or present fantasies as historical fact. At one point, Segal knocks Burton to the floor. The exception to most of this verbal and physical violence is Sandy Dennis, who is too dumb to know what's going on much of the time.
The party lasts all night and peters out at dawn, with Segal and Dennis leaving the house in a state of shock, and Burton and Taylor exhausted by their strenuous conflict.
It's directed in a straightforward manner by Mike Nichols who doesn't pull any stylistic tricks. No flashbacks, no slow motion, no wobbling camera. That kind of razzle dazzle isn't really needed. How can you possibly pep up a volcano? I rather enjoy it. I get a kick out of its malice. Albee is gay and perhaps it takes a gay man or a straight woman to coax ignominy into such polished form. Maybe not. I don't know. I just know I like it when Burton accuses Taylor of "braying" and there follows a sharp argument over whether she "brays" or not, with Taylor sounding exactly like a mule.
George (Burton) is an associate professor of history at a small college. He doesn't have much in the way of ambition, we gather, because his shrewish and vulgar wife Martha (Taylor) keeps twitting him about it. Taylor is magnificently slatternly. She'd played Cleopatra a few years earlier but age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite vulgarity.
George and Martha have two late-night guests, a newly arrived professor of biology (Segal) and his naive wife (Dennis). The evening begins with the four of them sitting around the living room with nothing special to say. But the booze flows like Niagara and they all loosen up -- not that Martha requires much loosening.
Albee's dialog is cynical, bitter, and exploitative. Cutting insults keep the viewer awake as do the sometimes embarrassing revelations, like Sandy Dennis's hysterical pregnancies and frequent vomiting. When Albee latches on to what he feels is a good turn of phrase, it gets repeated until it becomes laughable per se. "It's good that you're a biologist," Taylor tells Segal, "because you're right in the MEAT of things." She comes up with this again and again until Burton cuts her off with the observation that she's obsessed with the phrase and that it's vulgar.
The comparison of Taylor's father, who is president of the college, to a big white mouse is repeated as well. And Taylor refers to her husband as, variously, a swamp, a bog, and a fen.
Insults fly in all directions. One person may reveal a secret to another, who then runs over and trumpets the information to the others. They play what Burton calls "games", such as Humiliate the Host and Hump the Hostess. People make things up as they go along or present fantasies as historical fact. At one point, Segal knocks Burton to the floor. The exception to most of this verbal and physical violence is Sandy Dennis, who is too dumb to know what's going on much of the time.
The party lasts all night and peters out at dawn, with Segal and Dennis leaving the house in a state of shock, and Burton and Taylor exhausted by their strenuous conflict.
It's directed in a straightforward manner by Mike Nichols who doesn't pull any stylistic tricks. No flashbacks, no slow motion, no wobbling camera. That kind of razzle dazzle isn't really needed. How can you possibly pep up a volcano? I rather enjoy it. I get a kick out of its malice. Albee is gay and perhaps it takes a gay man or a straight woman to coax ignominy into such polished form. Maybe not. I don't know. I just know I like it when Burton accuses Taylor of "braying" and there follows a sharp argument over whether she "brays" or not, with Taylor sounding exactly like a mule.