Theater
Remembering Edward Albee
Irascible playwright was towering figure in American theater
Edward Albee with Kathleen Turner, who played Martha in his play ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ on Broadway and at the Kennedy Center, in Washington in March, 2011. Albee said Turner brought a gravitas to the role he hadn’t sensed since the late Uta Hagen originated it on the stage. (Washington Blade file photo by Michael Key)
When playwright Edward Albee was honored by the annual Lambda Literary Awards in 2011, he told the audience, “A writer who happens to be gay or lesbian must be able to transcend self. I am not a gay writer. I am a writer who happens to be gay.” He added “Any definition that limits us is deplorable.”
Because the Lambda Awards celebrates writing from a queer perspective, his words weren’t exactly what his hosts and the gathered crowd wanted to hear. But that was Albee. He spoke his mind, sometimes ruffled feathers and wrote great plays.
On Sept. 16, Albee, the towering mainstay of American theater who gave us “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,” died after a short illness at home in Montauk, N.Y., the beach town on the tip of Long Island. He was 88.
Albee’s long career which garnered three Pulitzer Prizes and three Tony Awards (two for best play and one for lifetime achievement) began in earnest in 1958 when he was 30 with “The Zoo Story,” a one act about two very different and unacquainted men who uncomfortably meet on a park bench. Albee followed up this off-Broadway success with absurdist one-act plays “The Sandbox” and “The American Dream,” and a more traditional drama concerning racism “The Death of Bessie Smith.”
Next, he achieved big Broadway success with “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” in 1962. Five years later he scored big with his drawing room alienation drama “A Delicate Balance.” And in 1975, “Seascape,” an expressionist fantasy in which two couples (one human and the other, a pair of anthropomorphic lizards) meet on the beach to talk about love, relationships and the evolutionary process.
Throughout the following years he wrote many plays, allowed remounts of early works both with varying degrees of success before making a sort of a comeback in 1994 with “Three Tall Women,” an autobiographical work describing a mother who can’t handle her son being gay. In 2002 he enjoyed great success winning the Tony for “The Goat, or, Who is Sylvia,” (2002) the story of a successful Manhattan architect who has an affair with a farm animal.
Though not a Pulitzer winner, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” is considered the playwright’s masterpiece. Set in a small college town, the action unfolds over one late night of booze-fueled misbehavior and psychic combat. Awash in booze, middle-aged hosts George, a swampy professor, and his louche wife Martha welcome the college’s new fit young professor and his mousy wife Honey with drinks and an array of unnerving party games that keep the older couple both at odds and glued together and the younger pair on edge. Still, the play’s brilliant dialogue with its nonstop onslaught of unmatchable searing repartee and heartfelt words has proved a favorite of gay audiences of a certain age.
“Virginia Woolf” was adapted to the screen in a successful 1967 film starring then-real life raucous couple Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor as George and Martha, and the younger couple was played by George Siegel and Sandy Dennis. Taylor and Dennis both won Academy Awards for their efforts.
Some critics averred that Albee was in fact portraying two gay couples in “Virginia Woolf.” Substituting straight for gay relationships was a claim sometimes thrown at gay writers. Albee patently rejected the idea, and while he may have benefitted by retreating to the closet, he was out his entire career. Albee counted famed playwright Terrance McNally among his early lovers and sculptor Jonathan Thomas was his partner from 1971 until Thomas’ death in 2005 at 57.
Born in Washington, D.C. in 1928 to an unmarried woman, Albee was quickly adopted by wealthy New York couple Reed Albee, a vaudeville theater chain heir, and socialite Frances Cotter Albee. Rebellious from early on, Albee was expelled from a prep school and a military academy before graduating from the prestigious Choate School. His formal education ended when he was expelled from Trinity College in Connecticut. After leaving college, he lived in Greenwich Village where he wrote, did odd jobs and got by on trust fund payouts. More than once Albee told reporters that his parents didn’t know how to parent and he didn’t know how to be son.
Ford’s Theatre Artistic Director Paul Tetreault is saddened by the loss of his friend. Prior to taking the helm at Ford’s, Tetreault produced six or seven Albee plays at Houston’s Alley Theatre where Albee was often present and sometimes directed the productions. He describes Albee, who was known in theater circles as short tempered and difficult, as a bit misunderstood.
“Underneath the gruff exterior, he was a teddy bear,” Tetreault says. “And he believed in helping young theater artists and fine artists and would do almost anything for them. His commitment and dedication to young people was extraordinary. Eight years ago when Albee was 80, I heard him speak at Dickinson College. He spoke for an hour without notes, and took questions from the students for 45 minutes, standing the entire time. It was remarkable.”
Ever since arriving at Ford’s in 2004 with the intention of producing American classics, Tetreault wanted to do an Albee play. And now he’s realizing the goal with a winter production of “Virginia Woolf” staged by Aaron Posner and featuring a local cast including out actor Holly Twyford as Martha.
“We scheduled this long before we knew he wasn’t going to make it,” Tetreault says. “The play is one of the greatest ever written. It has comedy, drama, tragedy and pathos. As Martha, Holly will stretch every muscle she has as an actress. I think she’s going to be a complete revelation. I’m sorry Edward is going to miss it.”
Over the years, numerous Albee plays have been produced in the Washington area by both big and little theaters. D.C. likes Albee, and Tetreault explains why: “Albee has a layer and depth and intelligence that I think this city wants to embrace or believes they’re smart enough to watch. When people used to ask Albee what ‘Virginia Woolf’ was all about, he’d reply, ‘It’s about three-and-a-half hours long.’ He didn’t want to be whittled down to a sound bite. His work is complicated and nuanced and layered. He was a real genius and will be missed.”
Indeed.
Theater
World premiere of ‘Everything, Devoured’ oozes queer energy
Nonbinary playwright Katherine Gwynn delivers ferocious ghost story
‘Everything, Devoured’
Through May 10
Nu Sass Productions
Sitar Arts Center
1724 Kalorama Road, N.W.
$25 (general admission)
Nusass.com
As if the world weren’t already hideous enough, Kore, the trans woman protagonist in nonbinary playwright Katherine Gwynn’s “Everything, Devoured,” wants to summon a demon to her humble Chicago apartment. While her friends think it’s just a bit of afterwork fun akin to reading horoscopes or Tarot cards, Kansas born Kore is dead serious.
Nu Sass Productions’ world premiere of Gwynn’s play oozes queer energy. Messages come across as if delivered by blow horn. It’s not afraid of expository dialogue or padding a singular moment of queer joy.
In a truly intimate black box at Sitar Arts Centers in Adams Morgan just down the block from Harris Teeter, scenic designer Simone Schneeberg deftly creates the generic flat whose ordinariness is only overshadowed by some weak attempts at individuality, but that’s all about to change.
Plans have been made, and Kore (June Dickson-Burke) has invited her nearest and dearest to her place.
Her nonbinary lesbian partner Julian (Tristan Evans) has cheap red wine and weed on the ready. Dinner is in the oven. Soon, lively trans masc bestie Dante (Selena Gill) arrives bearing a hostess gift – it’s the specially requested bag of pig blood, integral to the evening’s fun. In little time, the twentysomething friends will have painted a pentagram circled with salt in the middle of the living room floor. Candles are lit. Sacred words are spoken.
Shifts in light and sound by designers Vida Huang and Di Carey, respectively, signal contact with the beyond. Much to the friends’ surprise, they’ve successfully summoned a demon and it’s a real doozy: Ronald Reagan as demon drag queen.
Costumed in a corseted pinstripe suit adorned with a few Gaultier cones, the pronoun-less guest star from the underworld makes quite an entrance – a full-on lip sync to Madonna’s “Vogue” replete with huge flashing eyes, an evil smile and darting tongue.
Spectacularly played by O’Malley Steuerman (“actor, DRAGster, playwright, and producer from Baltimore”) Ronald Reagan as demon drag queen is lewd, taunting, and reads with the kind of sharp wit that puts other queens in the shade.
The entertainment doesn’t stop there. Soon, the demon is juggling provocative props (fleshy dildo, a baby doll, and a copy of Marx) or performing sock puppetry to a 1982 recording of journalist Lester Kinsolving asking about the “gay plague” to which Reagan’s Press Secretary Larry Speakes charmingly replies, “I don’t have it … do you?” That proved a real knee slapper in the pressroom.
Throughout the play’s early scenes, a young man sits unnoticed at Kore’s kitchen counter. Now and then, he comments with a disapproving harrumph or a distinctly gay one-liner. He’s privy to all, but the lady of the house is unaware of him until he joins the party. His name is Michael (Christian Harris). He died in 1989 and has been hanging around ever since.
Wry and undeniably spectral, Michael is the play’s link to queer past. He remembers the hurts and horrors of the AIDS epidemic, but not so much about the emergence of ‘genderqueer’ as an identity label, reflecting a shift toward a broader gender spectrum. That came later.
Without doubt, the uniformly queer cast is committed. They play their queer characters with authenticity, lending a realness to queer people’s valid concerns and fears in the current atmosphere. (For instance, anarchist/barista Dante accuses Julian of hiding out in their safe role of social worker at a nice nonprofit; and Kore speaks about the fear surrounding the Kansas bill making it illegal for transgender people to display their gender on a driver’s license.)
Based in Chicago, Gwynn has written a queer play with a punch; and prior to ever being staged, this new work was prestigiously named both a 2025 O’Neill Semi-Finalist as well as 2025 Bay Area Playwrights Festival Finalist.
Billed as a ferocious queer ghost story, “Everything, Devoured” doesn’t disappoint. In the hands of queer co-directors Tracey Erbacher and Ileana Blustein, Gwynn’s fevered yet thoughtful and quick paced but penetrating piece unfolds compellingly.
Intuitive staging and chemistry among players, especially two hander scenes involving Kore, display a quiet intensity that feels true to life. Other scenes bring out the anger, protectiveness and some divisiveness among the friends. Gwynn’s informed and powerful writing is brought to the fore.
Nu Sass Productions has been uplifting women and marginalized genders in all aspects of theater since 2009. The company’s two-part name stems from “Nu” (Chinese for woman) and “Sass” (sassy).
Its latest offering fits the bill and then some.
Theater
Rorschach stages ‘Dragon Play’ in unlikely, raw space
Out sound designer Madeline ‘Mo’ Oslejsek notes ‘sound is my bag’
‘Dragon Play’
Through May 17
Rorschach Theatre
The Stacks @ Buzzard Point
101 V St., S.W.
$50 ($35 for students and seniors)
Rorschachtheatre.org
Celebrated for its site-specific, immersive productions, Rorschach Theatre puts on plays all over town. The unlikely spots have included greenhouses, church vestibules, closed retail spaces (including a vacant downtown big and tall men’s store) and historic locales like Rock Creek Cemetery’s Adams Memorial.
For its current offering “Dragon Play” (through May 17), a tale of love and longing, Rorschach is using a raw space in The Stacks at Buzzard Point, a new mixed-use neighborhood situated where the Anacostia and Potomac rivers meet.
Out sound designer Madeline ‘Mo’ Oslejsek considers all sites – whether traditional theatrical spaces or not – specific, particularly in terms of sound. She says, “Part of my practice is if you’re creating a soundscape for a theatrical production you’re also working with sound that already exists with the space.”
For instance, The Stacks space comes with its own unique qualities. It’s a large cement room that has a different reverberation, an echo.
“Some sounds (a car, dog bark) are planted or they might just happen. What starts as a live sound might be heard again as something recorded.”
Whip smart with a ready laugh, Oslejsek never set out to be a sound designer. She was going to direct. And now, the 2025 Helen Hayes Award nominee for Outstanding Sound Design (“Astro Boy and the God of Comics” at Flying V,) says, “Sound is my bag. Sometimes it seems that I’m the only one in the room thinking about it.”
As an undergrad studying theater at Ohio Wesleyan University, she was first exposed to sound design, but it didn’t make a big impression.
In grad school at Royal Central School of Speech and Drama, University of London, she was interested in direction. But when students were offered a choice of three more specific tracks to choose from (performance, composition, and scenography, which includes sound design), Oslejsek was swayed.
“An introduction to scenography by the department head radically changed the course of my life,” she says.
What struck her most about sound was the subjectivity: “The core of my practice is that sound has no meaning until it’s experienced. All sound is noise. It’s just a pitch, active, or vocalization. It becomes real when you hear it and apply meaning to it. That’s very exciting to me.”
Today, Oslejsek and partner Caitlyn Hooper, an actor and intimacy choreographer, are based in Baltimore but work primarily in D.C.
“It feels good to be in a place where art and queerness in art are celebrated. It’s not like that everywhere, and making that kind of work down the street from this White House where that’s not the vibe, is real resistance. That feels really meaningful.”
Also important to Oslejsek (who identifies alternately as queer and lesbian) is “queer as a practice,” a concept suggesting that a queer identity or practice does not seek to replace other identities but to encompass and bridge them.
“I’m queer because I like women, but the work is more about making room for what everyone in the room hears,” she says. “Never do I want to come into a space thinking I have all the answers. That’s no fun.”
As its title might suggest, Jenny Connell Davis’ play directed by Rorschach’s Randy Baker is filled with magic. “Dragon Play,” blurs the past and present; one world bleeds into the next; and, of course, there are dragons. At 80 minutes with no intermission, the play moves in and out of different timelines; increasingly things start to overlap.
And it’s also about the magic of relationships – all kinds. There’s a line where the dragon girl asks a Texas boy what he dreams about and he replies “you, always you.”
Oslejsek, 30, is touched by those words: “In my little gay heart, I cried. It makes me think of my partner. This play is about the idea of people who strike a match in your heart that never really goes away.”
In creating a layered soundscape, she brings her own brand of magic to the production. Her big goal was “not to play with how we think a dragon might sound, but rather with how does the world sound to a dragon.”
Sometimes sound design takes the lead, but in some productions, sound is purposely subtle or secondary, she says. Either way, sound can be monumental in shaping theater.
Theater
Minimal version of ‘Streetcar Named Desire’ heading to Dupont Underground
Director Nick Westrate on this traveling take on Williams’s masterwork
‘A Streetcar Named Desire’
Produced by The Streetcar Project
April 20-May 4
Dupont Underground
19 Dupont Circle, N.W.
Tickets start at $85.
Dupontunderground.org
An aggressively minimal version of Tennessee Williams’s “A Streetcar Named Desire” is poised to run at Dupont Underground (April 20-May 4), the nonprofit cultural space located in a repurposed, abandoned 1949 streetcar station beneath Dupont Circle.
The Streetcar Project’s production performs in site-specific spaces. It’s almost entirely without design elements. There is no steamy, cramped Vieux Carré apartment. You won’t see Blanche’s battered trunk exploding with cheap finery, faded love letters, and demands for back property taxes, or the familiar costumes.
Co-created by Lucy Owen (who stars as Blanche DuBois) and out director Nick Westrate in 2023, this traveling spare take on Williams’s masterwork about a fragile woman on the margins in conflict with her brutish brother-in-law seems a reaction to necessity. It’s also an exploration of whether, like Shakespeare’s “Henry V,” it can subsist on language alone.
With little distractions (even Blanche’s cultivated southern belle accent has been daringly stripped away), the spotlight shines almost solely on text. “This play holds that,” says Westrate, 42. “I remind the actors that the while there is plenty of movement, language is really the only game in town.”
New York-based Westrate, who’s best known as an esteemed actor with New York and regional credits including Prior Walter in János Szász’s production of “Angels in America” at Arena Stage, describes “Streetcar” as “the most perfect play on earth” but not one he thinks of acting in (“I’m not right for Stanley Kowalski or Mitch”) though he agreed to direct.
“These days if you’re not a not a movie star or an established director, you’re not likely to do “Streetcar.” So, for us, we have to be able to do it with almost nothing, on the New York subway if necessary. And that’s kind of how we built it.”
Westrate first experienced Dupont Underground while attending a staged reading. He was so obsessed with the space as a prospective place to take the production, he found it hard to concentrate. He says, “With its long, curved track and tunnel, Dupont Underground is a terrifying, beautiful room that carries so much metaphorical weight, so much possibility for our production.”
WASHINGTON BLADE: Is finding the right space for this “Streetcar” part of the thrill?
NICK WESTRATE: Whenever I enter a weird room or pass by an abandoned CVS, I try to figure out how we might do the show there, especially places that are dilapidated, architecturally odd, or possibly haunted. And each space we use, lends something to the production. The Rachel Comey store in Soho was a very Blanche coded space. And an artist’s workshop on Venice Beach in California with its huge saws and metal hooks lent raw imagery. The scenes between Blanche and Stanley near the end were absolutely terrifying.
BLADE: More recently that same bare bones production has played in more traditional spaces like the Wheeler Opera House in Aspen and San Francisco’s A.C.T. Is it hard to now go to Dupont Underground?
WESTRATE: Each time we do this we have to crack open the play again because the staging is entirely new, but we’re used to performing in unusual spaces and Dupont Underground rather takes us back to form. As a former streetcar station, it’s the most appropriate space we’ve had yet.
The cast will literally act on streetcar tracks and go without dressing rooms but they’re game, and because they have history and authorship over the work, the sacrifice is more meaningful than if they were just some hired guns.
BLADE: Audiences have an expectation, especially with a work they’re likely to know. How do they react seeing such an unadorned take on Williams’s American classic?
WESTRATE: For the first 10 or 15 minutes, they’re unsure. Then, you can pretty much see the audience members’ brains click in and their imaginations turn on. It’s like they’re scratching an itch that they didn’t even know they had.
BLADE: Did you and Lucy foresee gaining this kind of momentum behind your vision?
WESTRATE: Absolutely not. Lucy had a philosophy that we’ll just walk through open doors. Early on, we were given spaces and artists filled the seats, and increasingly we’ve begun to rent some spaces and attract more regular theatergoers.
We basically sell tickets in order to pay a living wage to artists involved. There isn’t some big institution or commercial producer who’s getting a lot of money from this. Audiences of all types seem to respond to this mode of making theater.
BLADE: In presenting “Streetcar” intermittently, usually with the same cast over three years in wildly varying venues, have you learned more about a piece that you already loved?
WESTRATE: Mostly I’ve come to realize that Blanche is the smartest character I’ve ever read in a play. She’s like Hamlet – tormented by dreams and terrified of death. She’s skilled at wordplay and always ahead of everyone else in the room. Also like Hamlet, people think she’s insane and she uses that to her advantage.
Blanche is certainly the Everest of roles for actresses and watching Lucy sort of break it apart in a different way than you’ve ever seen, and knowing that I’ve helped to facilitate this performance has been one of the great joys of my career.
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Calendar: April 24-30
