Sam Shepard: True West

This is a play I've been meaning to read for years and years, and it turns out to be a beauty. Shepard's Buried Child was staged in San Francisco when I lived there, and although it packed a wallop, I came away shaking my head and muttering about Tennessee Williams. Buried Child won the Pulitzer Prize, so what do I know about it?

At any rate, True West, first staged in 1980, has the reputation of being one of the Great American Plays, and with some relief I find that it lives up to its reputation. Boys will be boys, and brothers, brothers. Men will be boys, as well. One is a working screenwriter, the other a destitute thief who has been hanging out in the desert. They are staying in their mother's house, while she is away on a trip, and they proceed to get under each other's skins and into each other's psyches.

Sibling tensions, manipulations, and diplomacy shape the first act, and everything gets turned topsy-turvy in the second act when the brother who appears to be in control of his life falls apart in the face of adversity, while his brother, the bum, enjoys some success at his brother's expense and takes the upper hand. Rivalry, competition for dominance, love, annoyance, dismay--these are serious matters, but True West is also a very funny play. I was surprised by the humor, after seeing Buried Child. All of this, and there are coyotes yapping in the background, too. Shepard is not very shy in his rather broad commentary about the writing process: writing as work, writing as business, and writing as art. Writing as a weapon. Bad writing as a joke. Writing as a contest. Writing as a will to power. Writing as a dysfunctional relationship. This is great stuff.

True West is one I will go out of my way to see on stage if the opportunity ever arises. Now I understand why Shepard's artistic reputation is well-deserved, and it would probably be a good idea for me to revisit Buried Child, this time in print.