"Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" (1966)

Truth and illusion: This is Part 2 of a 2-part series, reviewing two movies that examine the theme of truth vs. illusion, fact vs. fantasy. This theme is pertinent today, as we hear conflicting stories about the pandemic that is gripping the world with renewed force.  Some of us are desperate for life-saving truths, while others of us defiantly cling to the comfort of illusion. Some may succumb to the barrage of opposing media messages, or live their lives in a state of self-imposed delusion, or finally abandon the lies in order to live more authentic lives.  Each film reflects our current confusion, and examines this theme with cutting humor and high drama.

“WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?”

“Truth and illusion, George; you don’t know the difference.”

“No, but we must carry on as though we did.”

“Amen.”  

 -- Burton and Taylor as George and Martha, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

One of the great works of American theater, Edward Albee’s 1962 play “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”,  is a mind-spinning, densely written four-character drama about the lies and delusions that we build like walls around us; and how those illusions, that we struggle to maintain, could eventually destroy us.  The film version, released in 1966, caused a major sensation in Hollywood, and changed movies forever. 

It pushed the boundaries of acceptable screen material, and featured shocking (for the time) adult language.  It was the first American movie to restrict attendance to those under 18 unless accompanied by a parent.  (Thus, the MPAA rating system was born two years later.) 

Another film that explored truth vs. illusion, “Network” (reviewed in the previous post) examined the role of television in creating a sustained fantasy-world for a complacent culture.  “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”  looks at how otherwise intelligent people willingly trap themselves inside their own self-made delusions, until the line between reality and fantasy disappears. The film dramatizes this idea and takes it to extreme emotional levels.

Hollywood superstars and glamor icons Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton are cast against type as George and Martha, an unglamorous, boozed-up middle-aged couple who annihilate one another during one fateful evening.  Taylor and Burton’s high-profile, sometimes stormy marriage was the stuff of media attention for years, and their casting in this film created eager anticipation even as the film was being made.

George, a seemingly meek and resigned English professor, is married to Martha, a loud, vulgar ego-buster, and daughter of the college president.  Martha appears overbearing and frustrated; she constantly picks on George as he tries gamely to deflect and ignore her verbal abuse. We see small glimpses of the affection that might have been there once.  We also see tiny flickers of George’s anger, and wonder if he is as weak and unassuming as he at first appeared. These flickers eventually become a blast furnace worthy of Martha’s brutality. The movie is billed as “fun and games”.  It is considerably more dangerous.

Something is happening between George and Martha that is hidden from us, but revealed slowly, almost inadvertently by the two characters.  There is something between them that must remain unspoken, something vague about their grown son, who is about to celebrate his birthday.  These teasing revelations give the film a sense of mystery and foreboding.

As the movie begins, after George and Martha return home at 2am from a campus cocktail party, tipsy, haggard and bleary under the harsh lights of their cluttered house, Martha announces that they are having guests.  In the middle of an ugly argument, in which Martha hollers the first of a string of crude remarks, the guests arrive:  Nick, a young, handsome--and deviously ambitious—biology professor, caught in the middle of his hosts’ tug-of-war; and Honey, Nick's wife, a plain, good-natured, nervous young woman with a weak stomach, whose efforts to remain pleasant and polite slowly drown in alcohol and regret.

The evening escalates into a series of back-and-forth, no-holds-barred tirades, exposed weaknesses, mounting resentments and cruel secrets, as the protective layers of deception are peeled away, and shocking revelations about both marriages come to light.  By the time the party ends, and the film draws to a close, the final exchange between Martha and George has the hushed, almost wordless quality of a funeral. 

There is a sense of mourning for a fundamental deception that has been forever killed.  The title “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” is used several times, first as part of a private party joke, and then as a meditation on an empty life.  It may refer, in a pretentious, English-professor kind of way, to the fear of living without falsehoods and illusions.

It would be unfair to reveal any more of the plot.  It is enough to say that the drama builds to an outcome that is never fully explained, but revealed like a blurry image slowly coming into focus.  Many clues are provided throughout, which become more obvious after repeated viewings.   Most of all, beneath the shouting and double-dealing, the drunken monologues and the tragic betrayals, the film gives us a portrait of four of the most complex characters that ever appeared on the screen.

To cut through the lies and live more honestly, George and Martha have to literally destroy their old narrative, and in the process, destroy a part of themselves.  They have to face the fear of the unknown, and begin again, if they can.  

That’s also true in our culture, in today’s volatile era during of a fearful pandemic (and an explosion of protest against racist traditions). 

For example, there are those who cling to the distortions of a certain media outlet or a political ideology. They buy into wild claims and conspiracy theories that are passed off as truth, which justify a misguided point of view.  

They might resist health policies in a pandemic, like wearing a mask to contain a disease, claiming it infringes on their freedom.  Within their sphere, this denial of truth is not only accepted, but vehemently defended.

However, when their illusions are discussed outside of their sphere, it's threatening, and exposes the fragility of their argument.  Even the reality of a pandemic isn't enough to change their minds unless it confronts them personally.  

This dynamic is also at work between George and Martha, in a more intimate way.  They might have survived with their illusions intact; but they broke their own rule against discussing it with outsiders.  Revealing their “secret” to Nick and Honey precipitated an all-out battle between them and a life-changing turn of events for George and Martha.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” is a film marked by emotional violence.  The attacks leveled against each other are amusing at times but more often are unsettling and painful.   Honey is the only character who does not lash out, but she is subject to heartbreaking accusations which turn out to be true.  The verbal blows are as hurtful as physical violence.  

The finale, as night turns to dawn, is terribly sad, even with glimmers of hope for a new beginning.  By that point in the film, I am so shaken by what has come before, that I am never able to cry.

This was Mike Nichols’ first film as a director.  He deserves much praise for guiding the powerhouse cast to stunning performances.  He is also innovative with camera movement and lighting, aided by the great Haskell Wexler’s cinematography, and Sam O’Steen’s subtle choices in editing.  Nichols was rightly lauded for his work here, and showed he was not a fluke when he directed another controversial American classic the following year, “The Graduate”, for which he won an Oscar as Best Director.

Elizabeth Taylor gives an aggressively physical, verbally shrill performance as Martha.  It is an amazingly disciplined feat of acting, considering Martha's uninhibited language and carnal force.  We are shocked and repelled at first by her behavior and bravado, and her open betrayals of George. Yet Taylor finds Martha’s vulnerability, holding the camera in closeups in which she expertly reveals a side of Martha which the other characters don’t see.  This was arguably Taylor's last great role, and won her a second Oscar.

Richard Burton is amusingly quick and witty as he delivers a breathtaking amount of  high-flown dialog. One monologue in particular, the “bergin” speech, is done with masterful calm, in one take.  George's emotional breakdown, when he realizes what he must do, is a sound of pure desolation torn from within him.  Burton is such a strong presence, and with such precise diction, that it takes some time to accept him as a milquetoast.  An actor with a less commanding persona might have worked better in the early scenes; but toward the end, Burton’s ferocity is perfect for the powerful third act.

George Segal looks great as Nick, a stud trapped in a loveless marriage who engages in mutual seduction with Martha. He dances awkwardly in the Roadhouse scene in the second act, although that's partly the fault of the choreographer who staged it.  He mostly holds his own, especially in his extended scenes with Burton.

Sandy Dennis uses her mannered delivery and rabbit-like expression to full effect as Honey.  It is a fearless performance, and I am amazed at how well she maintains her growing level of quirky intensity throughout.  Dennis received a Supporting Actress Oscar for her unforgettable work.

Alex North’s quiet, sparse score, played on a guitar with gentle accompaniment, is almost reverent, like you can hum “Ave Maria” over it.   It sets up a mood of sorrow and compassion. The dramatic scenes use no background music, save for a sequence involving George and a shotgun, where the music creates unbearable tension.

George and Martha are a bizarre and pathetic parental unit.  I have sometimes reflected on the choice of their names:  George and Martha, the same as the Father of our Country and his wife, George and Martha Washington.  The film constantly refers to George and Martha’s roles as parents:  George refers to his offspring as his “Sonny Jim”; Martha declares herself “the Earth Mother”.  It’s possible that their characters represent something even more tragic in American culture:  they are the metaphorical “parents” of an American way of life that is merely an illusion, one that exists only in our collective imagination, through stories and images that are handed down over time.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” and its thematic companion-piece, “Network”, use extreme  subject matter to paint unusual but plausible portraits of a culture lost in denial and fear.  Alone or together, they provide mature, entertaining, emotional food for thought.