B'way Review: Bug

Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in Bug.
Credit: Matthew Murphy

Since its London premiere in 1996, Tracey Letts’ riveting psycho-thriller Bug has become more relevant and therefore even scarier. Currently revived in a forceful production from Steppenwolf Theater Company and director David Cromer, presented on Broadway by Manhattan Theater Club, Bug explores the paranoid fantasies of a conspiracy theorist and how his fear of phantom big-government forces destroy his life and that of everyone around him. In the years since its London opening and Obie-winning Off-Broadway run in 2004, our national fever dreams have intensified, fed by the ravings of our unhinged president and the unrestrained avalanche of disinformation spewing out of the Internet. Twenty years ago, this was a crackling good horror story. Now it’s all too real. 

Set in a grubby Oklahoma motel room (memorably shoddy set design by Takeshi Kata), the plot focuses on two pathetic loners, beset by tragedy, filling up their empty souls and rationalizing their misery with insane convictions of Big-Brother mind control. Agnes (a magnificently tortured Carrie Coon, Letts’ spouse) is scraping by as a cocktail waitress, contending with an abusive ex-husband just out of stir who wants back in her life. She meets Peter (a haunted and numb Namir Smallwood), a seemingly sympathetic drifter who gradually reveals a dangerous belief system. A persistent toothache and an insect sighting are early warning signs that all is not right with Peter. As Peter draws Agnes into his maze of misconceptions, she abandons all reason and joins him in a demented nightmarescape (Kata’s increasingly spooky set, Heather Gilbert’s unsettling lighting and Josh Schmidt’s eerie sound design complete the Twilight Zone-like environment.)

Carrie Coon in Bug.
Credit: Matthew Murphy

Director Cromer builds the suspense skillfully, beginning with Agnes standing silently in the dark, getting high. The phone rings. She picks it up, no one answers. She curses at the other party and hangs up. The action proceeds slowly from this point as Peter enters the scene, introduced by Agnes’ lesbian pal R.C. (flinty Jennifer Engstrom). At first it seems Peter is a possible sweet savior, comforting the distraught Agnes and stepping in between her and her bullying ex, Jerry (appropriately asshole-ish Steve Key). But it’s soon revealed Agnes has leapt from the frying pan into the fire as Peter’s bizarre obsessions with insects and the military-industrial complex surface. Letts weaves a web of intrigue and fear so subtly that we don’t even know we’re caught in it until it’s too late. Cromer’s clever staging accelerates until a devastating conclusion.

Carrie Coon, Jennifer Engstrom, Steve Key
and Namir Smallwood in Bug.
Credit: Matthew Murphy

The 2004 production was dominated by Michael Shannon’s hollowed-out menace as an enigmatic Peter. His mysterious, vacant eyes hid a rage ready to unload at any time. Here, the center of attention is Coon as Agnes. Playing the polar opposite of the in-control and dominating Bertha Russell, the regal role she plays on HBO’s The Gilded Age, her Agnes is a walking wound, a gaping maw of need, ready to cling to the equally damaged Peter. The actress steps out of the tight Gilded Age corsets and gowns, revealing Agnes’ naked soul—sometime literally (audience members are required to lock their cell-phones away because of the extended nude scenes.) She intensely conveys Agnes’ desperate, almost feral longing for connection, even at the cost of the character’s sanity. Smallwood’s Peter is a haunted ghost, ravaged by inner demons and desperately seeking a reason for his emptiness. Engstrom and Key offer fully fleshed-out characterizations as does Randall Arney as Peter’s understanding doctor who attempts to bring sanity to his crazed situation.

In the two decades since Bug’s premiere, conspiracy theories have grabbed many Americans by the throat. Insane explanations about big pharma, vaccinations, immigrants dining on pets, pedophile rings in pizza parlors, and numerous other quackeries have offered solace to those baffled by the uncertainties and inequities in our society. Letts’ prescient thriller delivers a frightening and sobering examination of this phenomenon. What’s really frightening is the reality happening outside the theater across the country. 

Jan. 8—Feb. 22. Manhattan Theater Club at Samuel J. Freidman Theater, 261 W. 47th St., NYC. Running time: two hours including intermission. telecharge.com.