Sometimes revivals of plays can feel like museum pieces, but sometimes they still feel relevant or find a new meaning. So it is with this 38-year-old Sam Shepard piece. First time around there was the US oil crisis, deindustrialisation and stagflation. Now its all those things that have created the disenfranchised and disillusioned American working class who think Donald Trump provides the solution.
Dodge spends his whole life on the sofa, watching TV, drinking alcohol, smoking and taking a vast quantity of medication. His sprightly wife Halie befriends the church minister, well more than befriends it seems. Their sons Tilden & Bradley are a big disappointment and both more than a bit unhinged. Halie worships deceased son Ansel, an all-American boy who has taken on a near mythical status in her eyes; she and the minister are planning a statue. Then there’s the titular buried child…….
When Tilden’s son Vince arrives with his girlfriend Shelly, he doesn’t get the welcome he expects. When he goes out for drink for his granddad, he goes AWOL, leaving his girl with the mad men. When he and his grandma return the following day it all kicks off. The most dysfunctional of families.
You have to pick your way through the metaphors, symbolism and surrealism to find a story of disaffection and the demise of the American dream. The first act is too slow, but then it takes off on its grotesque, absurd ride through the rural mid-West. I found it much darker but more resonant than the last time I saw it in Matthew Warchus’ production at the NT 12 years ago, with another American film actor, M Emmett Walsh, as Dodge. Though Ed Harris and his wife Amy Madigan are the real draw (both excellent) it’s a uniformly excellent cast, including relative newcomer Jeremy Irvine as Vince and an impressive West End debut from Charlotte Hope as Shelley.
I was glad I overcame my reluctance to see it again so soon.
Gareth's Culture and Travel Blog 
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