A Study in Terror and Alienation

Bug – Steppenwolf Theatre

As the pandemic gradually releases its stranglehold on Chicago, allowing live theatre to return for audiences who are fully vaccinated and masked, audiences are being treated to a remount of Steppenwolf’s last brilliant production before the shutdown. In early 2020, Anna D. Shapiro called this play “a study in terror and alienation.” She had no idea then how prophetic her description was at that time. Tracy Letts’ searing drama is another case of Art imitating life. Now, almost two years later, we find ourselves sloshing through a crazy world of constant lying, disputes with scientific fact, riotous assaults on the Capitol, bizarre QAnon conspiracy theories and a political party that’s sold its soul to every hate-filled, Right-wing group in America. It’s a frightening scenario that keeps some of us up late at night, provoking distrust of almost everything and everyone. Tracy Letts couldn’t have had a clearer crystal ball when he wrote this play. 

In a tacky, tiny Oklahoma motel room, two lost souls find one another. But that’s only the beginning. Agnes lives here while she works at the nearby bar. The phone rings and rings, but Agnes refuses to answer it because she’s fairly certain that someone’s watching her. And that someone is probably Jerry, her violent ex-husband, who was sent to prison, but may have finagled his way out in an early release. But there are others watching the occupants of this grimy little motel room.

Agnes’ lesbian buddy, R.C., shows up with a new acquaintance, a former young military man named Peter. Before heading out to a nearby party, the three enjoy some booze, cocaine and a bit of awkward conversation. But shy, reticent Peter, who becomes far more mysterious and cautious as the evening wears on, says that instead of attending the party, he’d rather just stay in the motel room and talk. So Agnes agrees to let him stay the night with her, and soon these two lonesome losers end up caring deeply for each other.

Then the horror begins. During the night, Peter begins seeing bugs crawling around the bed. He believes they’ve burrowed into his skin and have infested the entire room. And this isn’t the first time he’s seen these insects, as indicated by the bites all over his body, as well as the wounds where Peter’s tried to dig their eggs out of his flesh. Soon the young man’s neurosis has spread to Agnes and together they begin battling the bugs. Peter convinces Agnes that these invasive parasites were planted inside of him by the Army, as an experiment in stealthy surveillance, and they have been passed on to her by sleeping together. But the bugs aren’t just insects; they’re a means of spying on Peter, and now Agnes. But is Peter correct in his theory? Is he a hapless victim? Or is he genuinely psychotic? 

Tracy Letts’ creepy, violent, haunting horror story premiered in London in 1996, having rehearsed at Chicago’s Red Orchid Theatre. After the play made its American debut in Washington D.C., “Bug” opened back in Chicago at Red Orchid in 2001. This remount of Steppenwolf’s 2020 production, beautifully directed with sensitivity and drive, by Chicago’s own David Cromer, reunites Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in their bravado performances as Agnes and Peter.

Ms. Coon proves once again that she is an accomplished actor. Her brilliant portrayal of Agnes is a portrait of helplessness,  sorrow and despair. There’s nothing in her life except a thankless, low-paying job that pays for bottles of booze and copious hard drugs. When Peter enters her life, it’s like a ray of bright sunshine in her dark, stagnant world. She’ll soon discover that he’s quite different from the quiet, almost childlike man she initially met, but Agnes will eventually buy into Peter’s story, with gusto. 

As Peter, Mr. Smallwood, who wowed audiences in Steppenwolf’s “True West,” “BLKS” and “Monster,” is simply mesmerizing. His character’s journey is a meticulous transformation from a soft-spoken, homeless waif into a raging, take-charge maniac. Peter becomes a fanatic, reckless and filled with desperation. His conspiracy theories and violent actions build as the tension ramps up. Mr. Smallwood’s Peter believes he’s become a helpless victim of a callous System, and his alteration is astounding.

The supporting cast, also back for a second go-around, is excellent as well. Steve Key is a monstrous, thug-like Jerry; Jennifer Engstrom, as R.C., was last seen at Steppenwolf before the pandemic in “Lindiwe,” and is delightfully bawdy and an absolute force of nature; and Randall Arney brings a welcome aura of calm and concern as the mysterious stranger, Dr. Sweet. The scenic design, meticulously rendered by Takeshi Kata, is extraordinary. The hotel room, and the transformation it undergoes, is like another character in this play. Josh Schmidt’s insistent, omnipresent sound design drives the madness of the story, while Heather Gilbert’s moodily expressive lighting incorporates a fine contrast of darkness and shadow, subtle illumination and intense glare. And special kudos go to Rylee Nicole, as the play’s Special Effects Consultant.

David Cromer’s sensational remount of Tracy Letts’ almost prescient horror story is absolutely magnificent, and a must-see. His production focuses on two lonely outcasts from society, brought together by their mutual need for each other. The drama joins Agnes and Peter together in a story of love, desperation and survival, set amidst a background of drugs, violence, paranoia, psychotic delusions, supposed secret government experiments and conspiracy theories. Slowly Agnes sinks into the morass of madness with Peter, as she totally gives herself over to the man she’s come to love.

Highly Recommended

Reviewed by Colin Douglas   

Presented November 11-December 12 by the Steppenwolf Theatre Co., 1650 N. Halsted St., Chicago.

Tickets are available in person at the box office, by calling audience services at 312-335-1650 or by going to www.steppenwolf.org.

Additional information about this and other area productions can be found by going to www.theatreinchicago.com.