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ejreadswords 's review for:
Buried Child
by Sam Shepard
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“We can’t not believe in something. We can’t stop believing. We just end up dying if we stop. Just end up dead.”
Within the first five pages of reading this, I already thought to myself, “where has Sam Shepard been my whole life?” Thank you again to my acting technique teacher Josh for recommending Shepard to me. True West was brilliant, and Buried Child, which won the Pulitzer for Drama in 1979, was just as amazing.
Gobsmacked with the writing in this beautiful play, with such subtle brutality. I thought to myself, “man, every play I’m reading is the same,” but it’s just poetic that I decided to pick three plays to read in recent months that are soul siblings — Long Day’s Journey Into Night by O’Neill, Death of a Salesman by Miller, and now Buried Child by Shepard. Three essential American plays, and with themes and characters that’ll stay with me forever, and that will inform all future art! Because everything does come back to family, to dreams.
“He’s not my flesh and blood! My flesh and blood’s buried in the backyard!”
That ending! Holy cow. I was a tad confused, but I got the soul of what was communicated. I absolutely respect how subtle the writing is; the words do so much, and with all the dialogue in the play, there are a few pointed, crucial lines that change EVERYTHING. The last couple pages, I had to stop and just visualize what I think the stage would look like with everything happening. Who’s being acknowledged, who’s not being acknowledged. How much of this… is real? There’s a casual surrealism that is quite lovely (and scary) that I’m curious how it’d be staged.
“I don’t want to talk!”
“You don’t wanna die do you?”
“No, I don’t wanna die either.”
“Well, you gotta talk or you’ll die.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s what I know. I found that out in New Mexico. I thought I was dying but I just lost my voice.”
Maybe watching the play would actually make it a little less vague. Because there’s a huge event that I didn’t immediately pick up on until finishing and reflecting and reading some takes on the play. I knew that the “buried child” was important to a couple characters (and why they were resented or loved), but the big, uh, twist or reveal. It was beyond me. I still was quite shaken by the play without realizing, but fuck, man. Heavy stuff.
Thinking of Vince, Shelly, Dodge, Tilden, Halie, Bradley… six characters with such rich backgrounds and objectives that they’re each after. They all dreamed of something. And none of them are getting it. You may think it’s the hope or dream that kills you, but hope most importantly sustains (as The Iceman Cometh emphasized). You gotta dream. You gotta have something to look forward to.
Loving Sam Shepard. I have a book of seven plays by him, and I’ll just keep at it! They were organized like this for a reason.
Within the first five pages of reading this, I already thought to myself, “where has Sam Shepard been my whole life?” Thank you again to my acting technique teacher Josh for recommending Shepard to me. True West was brilliant, and Buried Child, which won the Pulitzer for Drama in 1979, was just as amazing.
Gobsmacked with the writing in this beautiful play, with such subtle brutality. I thought to myself, “man, every play I’m reading is the same,” but it’s just poetic that I decided to pick three plays to read in recent months that are soul siblings — Long Day’s Journey Into Night by O’Neill, Death of a Salesman by Miller, and now Buried Child by Shepard. Three essential American plays, and with themes and characters that’ll stay with me forever, and that will inform all future art! Because everything does come back to family, to dreams.
“He’s not my flesh and blood! My flesh and blood’s buried in the backyard!”
That ending! Holy cow. I was a tad confused, but I got the soul of what was communicated. I absolutely respect how subtle the writing is; the words do so much, and with all the dialogue in the play, there are a few pointed, crucial lines that change EVERYTHING. The last couple pages, I had to stop and just visualize what I think the stage would look like with everything happening. Who’s being acknowledged, who’s not being acknowledged. How much of this… is real? There’s a casual surrealism that is quite lovely (and scary) that I’m curious how it’d be staged.
“I don’t want to talk!”
“You don’t wanna die do you?”
“No, I don’t wanna die either.”
“Well, you gotta talk or you’ll die.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s what I know. I found that out in New Mexico. I thought I was dying but I just lost my voice.”
Maybe watching the play would actually make it a little less vague. Because there’s a huge event that I didn’t immediately pick up on until finishing and reflecting and reading some takes on the play. I knew that the “buried child” was important to a couple characters (and why they were resented or loved), but the big, uh, twist or reveal. It was beyond me. I still was quite shaken by the play without realizing, but fuck, man. Heavy stuff.
Thinking of Vince, Shelly, Dodge, Tilden, Halie, Bradley… six characters with such rich backgrounds and objectives that they’re each after. They all dreamed of something. And none of them are getting it. You may think it’s the hope or dream that kills you, but hope most importantly sustains (as The Iceman Cometh emphasized). You gotta dream. You gotta have something to look forward to.
Loving Sam Shepard. I have a book of seven plays by him, and I’ll just keep at it! They were organized like this for a reason.