Who’s
Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (Mike Nichols) 1966
Though
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was originally written for the stage by
Edward Albee where the action was restricted to one room, Mike Nichols’
conversion of the play to the screen (in his debut film) is often excitingly
cinematic. After an impressively photographed title sequence that shows the
beleaguered couple George and Martha (Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton) as
stumble drunkenly home after a party, the film begins properly when with their
arrival. For the next two hours, most of our time is spent stuck with these two
in this setting as they snipe at each other and two guests that drop by.
Martha’s first words upon entering her home are, “What a dump!” which she
reveals as a quote from an old Betty Davis vehicle, which she describes as
“some goddamn Warner Brothers epic,” in her typically larger than life
manner. This is a terribly crass thing to say, especially considering Virginia
Woolf? is itself a Warners’ epic, but its release signified something of a
milestone in Hollywood history. Its vulgar language set a precedent for a
Hollywood raciness, and on one occasion when Martha bellows, “Goddamn,”
everything seems to pause for a moment, so the word can attain its proper
resonance.
The
film’s title refers to be the punch line of a joke that’s carried on far past
the point where it could still consider it funny (almost a metaphor for the
movie, but there’s no denying the humor here), but every time it’s brought
up, the characters still laugh at it, desperate for some levity. This isn’t
surprising considering the circumstances. The tone of the movie is bad at its
start, and it rarely brightens as the film proceeds. It seems impossible that
this mood could be sustained for an entire movie until you realize that George
and Martha have managed to do just that for years. Nichols occasionally offers
us a moment of silence by pulling us out of the action, but it only keeps us
from being numbed, since he invariably thrusts us back into the fray. The barbs
that the characters throw at one another are at once hilarious and harrowing.
There’s something riotous about a movie from this era thinking this material
is fodder for humor. There are great dynamics between the each of the
characters, and as the night progresses and laundry is aired, each of them takes
turn in the role of aggravator, wounded victim, and aloof observer.
Nichols’
camera is never an aloof observer, though. It’s almost always stuck in the
middle of the emotional battlefield, and it’s usually far too close for
comfort. Even when they finally leave the claustrophobic confines of their
living room, the film’s settings are still constraining. There are moments
that could be mistaken for quiet respite after each of the evening’s climaxes,
but we soon realize that they are only setups for further revelations. The
single night that the movie takes place over feels interminable and endless, but
it earns the hell that it puts us through by never compromising its vision of
it. It’s no small consolation when a surprising amount of tenderness is
revealed to be lurking underneath all of the bile.
Though
the film is seemingly focused on the marital ambivalence of its characters, it
has as much to say about parental oppression, even if it does so in a less overt
manner. Blaming family problems for personal psychoses was something of a fad in
the 50’s, and Albee’s play, could easily be interpreted as a comedy
underneath all of its tragic pinnings that pumps those notions up until they
burst apart. Unearthing the sins of the father and the skeletons in the closet
becomes a parlor trick here. George is only observable as such a massive failure
because Martha ceaselessly compares him to the unseen specter of her father. The
relationship between the couple and their own child is key to understanding how
the two of them function.
The
performances are uniformly stellar. The early reference to Bette Davis is
appropriate since Taylor exudes the same mix of sensuality and authority here
that made Davis a star, but with an undercurrent of alcoholic desperation that
deepens it. Resigned, but not so much that he’s lost his cynicism, Burton’s
George might be even more vividly realized. He uses his intelligence to guard
himself from the world, and twists logic to make a mockery of it. George Segal
and Sandy Dennis round out the cast admirably, and it’s no great surprise that
Woolf was the first film to receive an
Oscar nomination for each of its credited cast members (Taylor and Dennis went
on to win). It’s a suitable honor for what is easily one of the best Hollywood
films of the ‘60s.
