GETTING ALBEE'S GOAT: 'Notes toward a Definition of Tragedy'

Winning three Pulitzers (1966: A Delicate Balance, 1974: Seascape, and 1994: Three Tall Women), Edward Albee has seen three of his most substantial tragedies passed over for that particular prize. The ruling committee decided controversially against Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in 1963, perhaps puzzled about Tiny Alice in 1965 and maybe thought enough's enough when it came to The Goat in 2002. Bagsful of Tony, Critics Circle and Drama Desk awards won by these three plays must nevertheless comfort Edward Albee in his Outcast' state as he periodically characterizes himself as the scapegoat for American theater critics.

In the Playbill for the opening of The Goat, or Who is Sylvia? on March 10, 2002, Albee announced a second subtitle coming for the published script: "(Notes toward a definition of tragedy)" Copyrighted in 2000, The Goat wore its promised subtitle when finally published in 2003. "Whatever resonance or metaphors there are," he told Jerry Tallmer, "everything's clearly embedded in fact;" it is what Albee calls "naturalistic" [Playbill, 6-7]. After the first performance, was there anyone who didn't attend the play already knowing that the beloved Sylvia is a goat? So much for surprise and suspense, as in Oedipus. Straight-on, no evasions, and no vengeance by a neglected Aphrodite as in Hippolytus, for Martin has worshipped at and gloried in Love's grotto for 21 years since knowing his wife Stevie, and for six months since knowing Sylvia. Love is, of course, the problem. I want to address Albee's artistry in weaving his "naturalistic" story line, in its often comic and nuanced levels, with his deliberate movement "toward a definition of tragedy" in its many dimensions. Aristotle speculates that tragedy as a form may have originated in rustically satiric vineyard verses and satyr-dances [Ch. 4]. Perhaps those early 'tragedians' won a prize goat (or wine-filled goatskin) for the best 'tragedy', from tragos, literally "goatsong." Albee, who teaches and writes 'dramatic literature', has aimed for the tragic effect for his plays since his The Zoo Story in 1959-60. Albee's definition of tragedy reaches an intricate fullness in The Goat.

The individual tragedy of The Goat is that of the 'hero' Martin Gray. he has reached a "pinnacle" in his accomplished maturity. Trying to tape a tv-show, his best friend Ross Turtle characterizes Martin as one of those "people [who] matter in extraordinary ways, affect [our] lives, ... enrich [and] inform them" [i; 24]. A contemporary hero, at fifty he is the youngest recipient of the Pulitzer-like Pritzker Prize for Architecture, and as an artist he has been enabled to design The World City with the commercial blessing and value of $200-billion (up from $27 billion in the program note). he is politically liberal, financially and intellectually independent- but also loving. His domestic success seems remarkable as well. His teenage son Billy describes Martin (before today) as a "great good Dad" [iii; 101], he says he and his wife have "always been good together," in bed and out, "honest" and "considerate" [i; 35], and Stevie remarks in its passing, "You'd never imagine a marriage could be so perfect." [ii; 75]. In a delicate paraphrase and the rhythm of Mary Tyrone's final line in O'Neill's great tragedy, she summarizes what they have had: "I've married the man I loved ... and I've been ... so happy" [ii.77]. For a time, yes? Their rich literacy and allusive language sometimes spill over disruptively, humorously, revealingly in conversation. Often these 'interruptions' glance down at the dark abyss that, at first, Martin alone is struggling to cross as a distracted but uncontrollable "semanticist" [iii; 94]. he is doing so when he sabotages Ross's attempt "to boost your ego" [i; 33] and tape their interview [i; 26]: Ross: You're at the . . . pinnacle of your success, Martin.

MARTIN: (Considers that) You mean it's all downhill from here?

This instant revision, both teasing and self-destructive, adds the downslope to Ross's ego-enhancing reference to the top of the hill (or heap): "Pinnacle." Martin's life has in fact crested, and his fall begins with his confession to Ross. But a more mysterious, perhaps sinister note is being generated around this highpoint. Twice -to his friend Ross [i; 41] and to his wife Stevie [ii; 79]-Martin describes the moment, the time and place, in which he first saw and fell for his Sylvia. he uses the same words to both, and both friend and wife 'correct' him by interjecting the single word "Crest." Albee emphasizes this exactly parallel phrasing that is unexplainable at the 'naturalistic' level: "... and I stopped at the top of a hill ..." "Crest." "What!?" a startled Martin asks Stevie; "Who are you!?" [ii.79] The wave trembles there the moment before it comes crashing down. Something mysteriously beyond the natural has signaled its presence.

Calamity couples with heroic achievement in a tragedy, and as Bill Pullman played Martin Gray, depression is knocking on the door with dark, unexplained conversational pauses from the first; he seems "preoccupied" and distracted as well as forgetful. When in the silliness of their opening gambit [i; 7-19] Martin wonders what's wrong with him, Stevie (Mercedes Ruehl) ventures, "The old foreboding? The sense that everything going right is a sure sign that everything's going wrong, of all the awful to come? all that?" [i; 1O]. Soon, during his sound-check [i; 22], Ross Turtle (Stephen Rowe), then Martin and the audience hear