As every schoolchild knows, the term "tragedy" comes from ancient Greek roots and means "goat song." It has something to do with satyr-plays, parodying tragic myths, tied up with the origins of Hellenic drama. Then there's the matter of the "scapegoat," as well as Atellan laughter echoing through the ages about what capers goatherds may have got up to with their charges. Future graduate students in Edward Albee Studies may compose theses relating this 2002 drama to such 1st century Fabula comedy hits as The She-Goat. But present-day theatregoers are left to figure out what to make of a play about a modern man having a romance with a nanny goat. Ought we to laugh or cry?
Albee scholars might categorize this play with his surreal/absurdist ones, which feature talking iguanas on the beach or grandma in a sandbox. Martin (Doug Roberts), an eminent architect celebrating his 50th birthday, jovially hints to his wife, Stevie (Deborah Van Valkenburgh), and then admits to his best friend Ross (Ralph Elias) that he has fallen in love and is having what might be called an "affair" with a goat named Sylvia. Martin describes his initial glimpse of Sylvia in terms similar to Dante's when he first saw Beatrice (or, perhaps closer, J.R. Ackerley meeting his dog, Tulip). This may seem a bit bizarre, but such cases occur, and the DSM-IV no longer even classifies zoophilia as a pathology.
Albee gets amazing mileage from his unusual theme, at first with much arch banter, to which the whole family is inclined. Wife Stevie claims, "Women in deep woe often mix their metaphors," and gay son Billy (Joel Rieck) avers that his heart is breaking "in twain."
Normally friends and family would feel natural pity and seek psychiatric help for such a case. But, after first getting through all potential quips, Albee turns mythopoeic. Martin begins to seem like one made mad by the gods, his pal Ross starts to rant like a righteous high priest, and Stevie vows vengeance in Medea mode. Inevitably the slaughtered carcass of Sylvia is displayed as on a Greek ekkyklema. Can catharsis be far behind? Well, not necessarily. Sam Woodhouse has directed smoothly and skillfully, but the transition from absurd to mock-tragic is a tough one. The actors' swift decompression from brittle wisecracks to howling rage and grief could give one the theatrical bends.
It's an applaudable stunt, but it's hard to locate emotional truth behind it all. The good-looking production has costumes by Jennifer Brawn Gittings, lighting by M. Scott Grabau, and sound by George Ye. Nick Fouch's sophisticated, antique-appointed apartment setting provides the guiltiest pleasure of the show, as the furious wife smashes the place up.
"The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia?" presented by the San Diego Repertory Theatre at the Lyceum Space, 79 Horton Plaza, San Diego. Tue. 7 p.m., Wed.-Sat. 8 p.m., Sun. 7 p.m. (2 p.m., Sat. Nov. 6) Oct. 29-Nov. 21. $26.50-$41.50. (619) 544-1000.