Sam Shepard will have to engage in a fierce competition with Lanford Wilson for the title of Best American Playwright of the last quarter of the 20th Century.

Regardless of the result, Shepard is in the running due to his remarkable ability to depict the different levels of obscene psychic cruelty that family members can inflict on each other. He presents this on the stage in a way that is not only tangible but also captivating and even humorous, without ever lessening our understanding of the horrors being committed.

I have no clue whether Shepard's plays fulfill the definition of "tragedy" (and thank goodness I don't have to take a stance on that). However, one thing I am certain of is that whenever I watch, read, or listen to one of his plays, I experience a severe case of almost euphoric Catharsis. This, I assume, is what keeps drawing me back to his works time and time again.

This month, the literary gem that emerged from the reading group I'm part of (The Dive Bar Book Club OC) is the play Buried Child by the late actor/playwright Sam Shepard. First staged at the Magic Theatre in San Francisco on June 27, 1978, and later in New York City at the Theatre for the New City that same year, an off-Broadway production in 2016 starred Ed Harris as Dodge, an aging man wasting away on a sofa while his nagging wife Halie (played by Harris' wife Amy Madigan in that production) attempts to hide a secret that could tear the remaining family apart when they receive an unexpected visitor.

This is the first non-Shakespeare play I've delved into, but I followed my method of streaming a staging of the play and then reading it. Reading scripts without seeing the play or film is like reading a car's owner's manual without taking it for a test drive. Over time, this has proven to be a great system for studying Shakespeare as well as buying cars. My aim in reading Sam Shepard was to forget that I was reading a Sam Shepard play. Everyone seems to agree that he was a great American playwright, and I wanted to appreciate his drama, having been an admirer of his stoic character work in classic films like Days of Heaven, Resurrection, and The Right Stuff.

There were aspects of the play that I did enjoy. Set in present-day Illinois, where anywhere outside of Chicago or its suburbs might be considered "country," the story focuses on the heartland and a farming family whose fortunes took a turn for the worse at some point in the past and is now rotting from the core. Its dying patriarch, Dodge, is laid up on the sofa, smoking cigarettes or sneaking sips of whiskey from a hidden bottle, while his God-fearing wife Halie leaves for a night out with her priest, leaving Dodge in the care of their oldest surviving son, Tilden, a man in his forties who has moved back home, unable to function independently. Tilden seems fixated on picking vegetables.

DODGE: You go and take that corn back to wherever you got it from!

TILDEN: (After a pause, staring at DODGE) It's picked. I picked it all in the rain. Once it's picked you can't put it back.

DODGE: I haven't had trouble with neighbors here for fifty-seven years. I don't even know who the neighbors are! And I don't wanna know! Now go and put that corn back where it came from!

TILDEN stares at DODGE then walks slowly over to him and dumps all the corn on DODGE's lap and steps back. DODGE stares at the corn then back to TILDEN. Long pause.

DODGE: Are you having trouble here, Tilden? Are you in some kind of trouble?

TILDEN: I'm not in any trouble.

DODGE: You can tell me if you are. I'm still your father.

TILDEN: I know you're my father.

DODGE: I know you had a little trouble back in New Mexico. That's why you came out here.

Out of the rain, Dodge receives visitors: a boy named Vince and his girlfriend Shelly. Vince is on his way to New Mexico and has insisted on stopping at all the places of his youth, including the home of his grandparents, whom he, like the rest of his family, hasn't seen in six years. Dodge doesn't seem to recognize his grandson, while Tilden clearly doesn't associate the familiar face with anyone whose father he might be when he enters. Shelly begins to wonder if Vince has the right house. Eager to be accepted by his family, Vince agrees to make a run to the liquor store for Dodge, leaving Shelly alone with his grandfather and father.

They're soon joined by Dodge's other broken, surviving son, Bradley, whose leg has been amputated and who can function physically only as well as Tilden can emotionally. Before his brother can confide a secret to Shelly, Bradley chases him away and menaces his nephew's girlfriend physically. When Vince fails to return, she spends the night. In the morning, Dodge assures Shelly that Bradley is harmless once you take his leg away. She fixes the old man a cup of beef bullion in an attempt to boost his spirits. Halie ultimately returns with Father Dewis and won't tolerate Shelly in the house, asking questions. Dodge finally decides to confront a family secret.

SHELLY: I'm not sure I want to find out now.

DODGE (laughing to himself) Listen to her! Now she's runnin' scared!

SHELLY: I'm not scared!

DODGE stops laughing, long pause. DODGE stares at her.

DODGE: You're not huh? Well, that's good. Because I'm not either. See, we were a well-established family once. Well established. All the boys were grown. That farm was producing enough milk to fill Lake Michigan twice over. Me and Halie here were pointed toward what looked like the middle part of our life. Everything was settled with us. All we had to do was ride it out. Then Halie got pregnant again. Outa' the middle of nowhere, she got pregnant. We weren't planning on havin' any more boys. We had enough boys already. In fact, we hadn't been sleepin' in the same bed for about six years.

HALIE: (moving toward the stairs) I'm not listening to this! I don't have to listen to this!

DODGE: (stops HALIE). Where are you going! Upstairs! You'll just be listenin' to it upstairs! You go outside, you'll be listenin' to it outside. Might as well stay here and listen to it.

HALIE stays by the stairs.

BRADLEY: If I had my leg you wouldn't be saying this. You'd never get away with it if I had my leg.

DODGE: (pointing to SHELLY) She's got your leg. (laughs) She's gonna keep your leg too. (to SHELLY) She wants to hear this. Don't you?

SHELLY: I don't know.

In addition to the rural setting of Buried Child, I liked Shepard's robust blend of tragedy and some comedy, piousness and sin, sobriety and drunkenness, self-restraint and lust. It wasn't anything that blew me away, but I did find Dodge to be a captivating character who ends up in a place where many people find themselves in their final days, bitter at being dependent on others but not wanting to be left alone either. Besides the family secret, which is hinted at by the play's title, there was nothing particularly outstanding about the dialogue, but it held my interest to a certain extent. The final scene, however, went a bit too far for me and didn't really have much of an impact.

Sam Shepard's play presents itself as naturalistic, yet it wears those trappings rather loosely, and at times, not at all. This loose fit makes it challenging, on occasion, to fully immerse oneself in the undeniably powerful action unfolding on stage.

It is a truth that almost any play, or work of art for that matter, operates on multiple levels. However, in this particular case, for me, it proves to be rather distracting.

The myth-making being challenged within the play is both true and real, while the reality that the characters are grappling with is equally painful. Nevertheless, there are instances where the characters act more like symbolic figures rather than genuine humans, which undermines all the efforts made to define them. Simultaneously, the need to ground them in a naturalistic setting seems to clip the wings of the absurd.

This delicate balance between emotional and intellectual engagement is a thin line and is more personal than anything else. When it strikes the right chord, it works wonders. But when it misses the mark, there is an uncanny valley effect that creates a sense of distance and detachment.

This is some truly scary, completely crazy, and absolutely awesome sh*t.

It's the kind of thing that makes your heart race and your eyes widen in shock.

The kind of experience that you'll never forget, no matter how hard you try.

It's like a wild ride on a roller coaster that never stops, taking you on a journey through the most intense emotions.

You don't know what's coming next, but you can't help but be excited and scared at the same time.

It's a feeling that's both terrifying and thrilling, and it's something that you just have to experience for yourself to truly understand.

So, if you're looking for an adventure that will push you to your limits and leave you breathless, then this is definitely the sh*t for you.

We simply cannot choose not to believe in something. The act of ceasing to believe is not an option. If we were to stop believing, we would essentially be sentencing ourselves to a kind of death. We would end up just being dead, both figuratively and perhaps even literally.

Buried Child is a profound and tragic play composed of three acts. It delves deep into themes such as lost dreams and desires, the overwhelming sense of dismay, the shattering of illusions, and the chaos and unreliability that can exist within a family.

This play tells a story about the gradual dissolution and disintegration of the very structure of the so-called 'traditional family', as well as the erosion of religious and moral values.

Buried Child has the power to confound you. It may toy with your emotions, making you question your own sanity and potentially leading you down a path towards darkness and despair. It often creates more questions than it provides answers.

However, this very complexity and ambiguity may also compel you to read it again, in an attempt to gain a better understanding of its profound and multi-layered meaning.

The topic of the exhibition is related to American life and a closely-knit family.

The writer has very skillfully depicted the space of this family, their problems, and the confusion of their personalities.

The exhibition offers a unique perspective into the daily lives and experiences of an American family. It shows the various aspects of their lives, including the joys and sorrows, the challenges they face, and the ways in which they interact with each other and with the outside world.

Through the detailed and vivid descriptions by the writer, viewers can gain a deeper understanding of the family's dynamics and the complex emotions that drive their actions. The exhibition also serves as a reminder of the universality of family experiences, regardless of cultural or social background. It shows that families everywhere face similar challenges and that the love and support within a family can help them overcome even the most difficult of times.

This play will haunt you.

It has the power to linger in your mind long after the final curtain has fallen. The vivid characters and the intense plot will stay with you, leaving an indelible mark.

This play will excite you.

From the moment the lights dim and the action begins, you will be on the edge of your seat. The unexpected twists and turns, the passionate performances, will keep you engaged and thrilled throughout.

This play will change you.

It has the potential to touch your heart, open your eyes, and make you see the world in a different light. It may challenge your beliefs, inspire you to take action, or simply make you a more empathetic person.

This play is not just entertainment; it is an experience that will stay with you forever.

Painfully beautiful,

beautifully realistic,

realistically awkward.

Shepard has an extraordinary talent for writing about regular American family life.

He portrays it in a way that makes it seem like a surrealistic painting.

Through the use of classic symbolism,

he shows how this dysfunctional family passes from one generation to the next in just a few strange moments.

It's as if he is able to capture the essence of family life in all its complexity and contradiction.

The characters in his stories are vivid and relatable,

and the situations they find themselves in are both humorous and heartbreaking.

Shepard's writing is a masterful exploration of the human condition,

and a reminder that even in the most ordinary of families,

there is always something extraordinary going on.

Reader: "Book? Hey, book?"

Book: *dozing on the couch* *waking up* "Huh? Who are you? Why are you in my house?"

Reader: "YOUR house? Book, you are in my house."

Book: "Who are you? What're ya doing here?"

Reader: "Oh, stop fooling around already."

Book: "You're the one who's fooling. Where are ya from?"

Reader: "Hamburg, as you well know."

Book: "Dumb country."

Reader: "It's a city..."

Book: "Even dumber."

Reader: "Book, where's your bookmark?"

Book: "Bookmark? What bookmark? What's it to you?"

Reader: "I'm your reader, that's what it's to me."

Book: "Reader? I ain't got no reader."

Reader: "You're a book. You always have a reader."

Book: "Where's this useless cover gone to again? Have you seen it? Tell it to come back! It promised to buy me booze!"

Reader: "Book, you can't drink!"

Book: "Course I can drink! I drink all day if I goddamn want to! Where's my booze?!"

Reader: "Not here, it seems."

Book: "Well then, go where it is and bring it here."

Reader: "Book, don't you recognise me?"

Book: "Why? Never seen you in my life. Who are you?"

Reader: "Your! Reader!"

Book: "I ain't got no reader!"

Reader: "You're a book, you need a reader!"

Book: "I don't goddamn need a reader! I ate the last one! Drowned it in my own pages, I tell ya!"

Reader: "Well, I'm obviously still alive, aren't I?"

Book: "Alive? Who? Who are you?"

Reader: "Oh, fuck it..." *shakes head and trots off of stage*

Book: "Booze! There's my booze!" *takes up a bottle hidden under the couch and drinks it* *drowns*

(Curtain)

A dark story unfolds, delving into the decline of an American way of life and a family that has been left adrift in the changing times. The family finds themselves caught in a web of treachery, self-denial, and retribution. Each generation seems to be affected, with the consequences threatening to extend both backward and forward in time.

The once-thriving American way of life that the family was a part of is now fading away. They struggle to adapt to the new realities, but instead, they become lost in a blur of confusion and turmoil. Treachery rears its ugly head within the family, as members betray one another for personal gain or out of a sense of desperation.

Self-denial further compounds their problems, as they refuse to face the truth about themselves and their situation. They continue to make choices that lead them deeper into the abyss, ignoring the warning signs and the consequences that are sure to follow. And retribution looms large, as the past comes back to haunt them, threatening to destroy everything they hold dear.

This is a story of a family and a way of life that are on the brink of destruction, a cautionary tale about the perils of change and the importance of staying true to oneself and one's values.

Such ugly beauty,
It seems like a paradox that confounds the mind.
So subtle is the confusion it brings,
Leaving us in a state of uncertainty.
There is such damage,
Both physical and emotional,
That tears at the fabric of our lives.
And such sadness,
That weighs heavy on our hearts.

Such unreliability,
It makes us question everything we thought we knew.
Like a field of corn,
And carrot,
And baby,
So full of life and potential,
Yet so easily destroyed.

Such beautiful ugliness,
It has a strange allure that draws us in.
The tremors of possibility,
Make our hearts race with anticipation.
But there is also such pain,
And such betrayal,
That shatters our illusions.

Such existence,
And non-existence,
And debt,
It all seems so overwhelming at times.
The terror,
The loss,
The flooding,
It all combines to create a twisted remembrance.
And it is such a reflection of us,
And you,
And me.

**Expanded Article**

You can't force a thing to grow. You can't interfere with it. It's all hidden. It's all unseen. You just gotta wait til it pops up out of the ground. Tiny little shoot. Tiny little white shoot. All hairy and fragile. Strong enough. Strong enough to break the earth even. It's a miracle.
Buried Child ~~ Sam Shepard

I recently had the opportunity to reread "Buried Child" for the first time in many years. I had assigned it to some of my acting students for a script analysis class, as I wanted to revisit this powerful work. Revisiting it as an adult was an entirely different and deeply moving experience. It touched a nerve within me that had remained hidden during my youth.

"Buried Child" is a darkly comic portrayal of a family that has been brought to its knees by a web of incest, betrayal, adultery, and murder. Shepard skillfully draws us into a surreal farmland home, where this dysfunctional family resides. This family could almost be seen as the bastard children of Antonin Artaud and Luis Buñuel, existing in a world far removed from the idyllic America of Norman Rockwell.

We are introduced to a diverse cast of characters. There is a bible-beating yet philandering matriarch, an incapacitated but smart-mouthed patriarch, a traumatized eldest son who has just returned home from a mysteriously diabolical escapade in New Mexico, and a youngest son with both a superiority complex and a wooden leg. These characters are gradually unveiled as mere shadows of their former selves during a visitation by a long lost grandson and his girlfriend. None of them escapes Shepard's grotesque world without being deeply scarred.

Clever and witty, Shepard crafts a sharp dissection of heritage and family. We learn in the most horrific way that the idea that "the past is passed" is far from the truth. Nearly 40 years later, Shepard's tale remains disturbingly relevant to all those who feel confined by the constraints and expectations of family. In the end, we are left pondering the profound question: who is the buried child?