If you have any interest at all in seeing “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” while it’s in Chicago, drop everything and go. You will not see the likes of the performances in that show within your lifetime. My ever-lovin’ wife and I went last night, and it was a dang treat. Kathleen Turner was perfect as the venom-spewing Martha, all the years of booze and cigarettes nearly clogging her ability to speak. It’s hard to imagine any actress from the Hollywood system–you know, the type that signs on to a Broadway show because she has a break in her schedule and really misses the restaurants in the Village–throwing herself so completely into an awful character.
Better than that was Bill Irwin, who won the Tony for his role in 2005. This morning the Tribune compared his portrayal to an “overachieving, Beckettian hamster,” and the reviewer meant it as a compliment. The clown had such control of every inch of his body, his slightest hunch displayed his years of torture living with his wife. He had such control, I watched his FOOTWORK! His FOOTWORK conveyed more emotion than most actors’ complete performances. And this was in a play where almost the entire action consisted of swilling drinks and sitting on the couch.
This isn’t a review. If you want a review, go to the Tribune or the Sun-Times. (And if you read the S-T review, explain to me why our exposure to the mundane garbage on “Jerry Springer” numbs us to the fireworks in this play.) This is an exhortation. If you want to see what theater is really capable of, buy tickets for this play and go. You won’t see anything this superb in a long time.