I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed an evening of theatre as much. I am indebted to my niece, Lucy, who’d seen August: Osage County at the National Theatre in London and told me not to miss this touring production of the play originally devised by Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre Company. An epic work of art staged with the help of Seattle Rep, the three and a half hours of heartbreak and hilarity are as big as the whole outdoors; tours de force of acting, writing and set design. Estelle Parsons plays Violet Weston, the matriarch of a rural Oklahoman family whose clan gathers around her when her alcoholic husband goes walkabout. The action takes place on one set, the Westons’ three story Victorian home.
Amusement and empathy are wrung out in disparate measure in Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer-winning story of small-town American dysfunctional folks. The lines are excruciatingly honest and despite the specific locale, evocative of every family, anywhere. Verbal violence, secrets, lies, manipulation, shame, addiction, repression, passive aggression - the full bhuna of delights that make family life so rich and rewarding - are all masterfully portrayed or teased from the script by the thirteen talented cast members, some direct from the Broadway production. The laughter generated is as much the sort needed to cover up the discomfort of recognition of the too familiar pain being administered by parents on children and vice versa as a response to the repartee in the dialog.
Whenever I go to the theatre, generally to some grim but perversely uplifting Irish play, I have a tendency to say ‘that was the best thing ever’ and resolve to go more often and then fail to follow up. August: Osage County is the best thing ever, again. It is so good, so brutally and funnily true, that everybody, at least anybody from a dysfunctional family with half a brain, should see it. Beat a path to the box office. It’s only in town for another four days.