Just a few short days ago, one of the most prolific and profoundly affecting playwrights of our time passed away. I could say that he was my favorite playwright, I could tell you about the time I saw Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on Broadway in 2013, when I left the theatre weeping and confused and utterly changed. But I think I’d prefer to let him – and his work – do the talking.
Much of the fuss around Albee pertains to the tremendous hold he seemed to have over his own work; the authority he asserted in a working environment put many in the business off. Perhaps he was keenly aware that after his death, all we would have to rely on, to interpret, to attempt to understand both him and the worlds he created, would be the text of his plays. In an interview in 2012, Albee said:
I’ll give him the last word.
“I can think of nothing worse than getting to the end of your life and figuring out that you hadn’t participated in it, that you hadn’t really lived it. I think people should live dangerously. I think people should live at the precipice.” – Edward Albee (New York Times)