Pittsburgh Public Theater bares its teeth with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

An old smoker’s laugh rattled as Broadway veterans Daniel Jenkins and Tasha Lawrence entered the mid-century, lamplit living room set on the stage of the O’Reilly Theater. In their Pittsburgh Public Theater debuts, the formidable duo initiated the 3.5-hour-long tug-of-war in Edward Albee’s iconic play Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Armed with a myriad of scathing insults and decades of perceived faults, the production follows longtime married couple Martha and George through a long night of degradation, manipulation, and cerebral torture as the two square off in front of new acquaintances Honey (Claire Sabatine) and Nick (Dylan Marquis Meyers).

The set design by Jason Simm feels posh and elevated yet lived in, with subtle, yet noticeable signs of life tucked into the set: a half-done puzzle, stacks of glossed-over magazines, and an unorganized pile of records. It’s so intimate, that it verges on the voyeuristic, leaving the audience feeling like a fellow unwanted guest in George and Martha’s living room.

While Albee’s seminal play is enjoyable for a general audience, it verges on the convoluted for those outside the theatrical beltway.

Albee’s work is traditionally brimming with dialogue and limited in action, and his genius is often lauded for his absurdist tendency to force bizarre characters into the depths of conversation to the point where words lose meaning. Across his catalog, Albee’s characters frequently talk past each other without a second thought, further highlighting the rare moments of genuine connection in his plays. From the opening scene, audiences see this on display as George and Martha enter their New England home together only to partake in two separate conversations. George repeats his fatigue after a faculty party as Martha rattles on about a film of which she cannot remember the name, an obvious sign of discord and disinterest between the couple.

From there, director Pamela Berlin treats the play as a muted, glitterless psychological WWE match, with George and Martha as a pair of detestable heels and Nick and Honey as unassuming babyfaces. The audience watches in horror and titillation as the duos battle for dominance and control of the proverbial ring all while grappling with shattering consequences of breaking kayfabe.

Pairing two Broadway veterans with two local, fresh faces helps recreate the increasingly combustible dynamic between the fictional couples. Jenkins and Lawrence as George and Martha are sharp, biting, cunning, and calculated. The pair initiate a high-stakes psychological chess match from their first entrance, while Mayers and Sabatine as Nick and Honey attempt a game of checkers in response. The experience gap between the two sets of actors is palpable, but not inherently detrimental to the production.

Jenkins is a sight for sore eyes as George. His loose-kneed walk about the stage physically conveys the juxtaposition of George’s enormous pride and inevitable emasculation. He weaves between levels of dominance and submission at a breakneck pace, in line with the ever-shifting power dynamics of the show. At his most vulnerable and weak, Jenkins’ George is utterly pathetic and cowers like a whipped dog. At his most powerful, he is a horrifying ringleader of the perverted circus unfolding in his own home.

While Albee’s play is meant to sting like a dry martini, the Public’s production feels watered down. The first act has a noticeable pacing issue, as the troupe struggles to sink into a unified rhythm until well into the second act. Instead of a simmering dramatic build with a definitive release, this production unfolds like a leaky balloon with emotions slowly escaping, bursting momentarily, and then returning to a thin stream of venom. While the four actors display immense talent in their craft, the emotional arc of the production tends to plateau, with emotional highs being exhausted by the time the climax rolls around.

To those with a penchant for an early bedtime, an 8 p.m. start to a 3.5-hour-long production may seem like a protestation to sleep, but the scheduling provides an unintended element of immersion to the show. As the play dragged into the late evening hours, the audience grew restless, irritable, and increasingly drunk, chattering incessantly and frequently shifting about in their seats. While such behavior would typically be an annoyance, it electrified the playing space with a renewed sense of agitation and simmering vitriol — perfectly befitting the final act of this iconic play.

This article appears in Mar 19-25, 2025.