In "Equus," which took critics and public alike by storm and has gone on to become a modern classic, Peter Shaffer depicts the story of a deranged youth who blinds six horses with a spike. Through a psychiatrist's analysis of the events, Shaffer creates a chilling portrait of how materialism and convenience have killed our capacity for worship and passion and, consequently, our capacity for pain. Rarely has a playwrite created an atmosphere and situation that so harshly pinpoint the spiritual and mental decay of modern man.
Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor. It cannot be created. Equus ~~ Peter Shaffer
I first read Peter Shaffer's Equus in high school. I gave a book report on it my junior year, and was not allowed to give book reports in front of the class the rest of the semester. I found Equus to be brilliant piece of theatre then, and thru the years, my admiration of Equus has only grown with repeated readings. The subject matter is both fascinating and disturbing.
I’ve seen several productions of Equus ~~ none of them good ~~ mostly due to the production’s director not trusting his source material, or because the director was too afraid of the themes and nudity to explore them fully.
Sadly, when Daniel Radcliffe starred in a staging of Equus back in 2007, the press and public were obsessed with the fact that Harry Potter would be naked on stage. Equus is about much more than a horse and a naked, disturbed, young man, Alan Strang, on stage for three hours. It’s unfortunate that this was completely missed ~~ a victim of Pottermania.
At the center of Equus is not Alan Strang, but rather Doctor Martin Dysart, a psychiatrist. Most of Equus is told in a series of flashbacks; Dysart’s job here is to unravel the mystery as to why Alan, committed an incomprehensible act of violence against six prized horses and to dissect Alan’s mind along the way.
One great thing about being in the adjustment business: you’re never short of customers. The world keeps sending Dysart customers ~~ the children he’s come to see as being damaged by that world, because it judges them as damaging to it. One more dented little face. One more adolescent freak. The usual unusual. .
Religion is the foundation of Equus ~~ Dysart’s fascination with the primitive rites of ancient Greece, his revulsion at the Christian deity of the modern world; then there is Alan’s mother, Dora Strang’s Christian faith and tutoring of her son against the wishes of her equally devout atheist husband. Gods exert their powerful pull as mortals continually recreate them.
But it’s passion that’s the real heart of Equus ~~ buried and beating in Alan, exposed and dying in Dysart. Experience, suffering, desire ~~ all the spiritual essence, conventional and secular religious forms that inhibit and incite passions in their different ways. Alan has swallowed and rejected both his mother’s faith and his father’s lack of faith.
From all this, and from vivid, dreamlike, childhood memories, Alan has created his own vital, ritualistic worship of his secret God, Equus ~~ kneeling to the picture of a horse framed above his bed; slowly brushing the horses in the stables; secretly taking night-time rides on them. Riding is a worship to be offered raw, and alone under the darkness of night, ~~ human and animal both naked.
As Dysart probes more deeply, Alan is cured. But that cure is presented as a spiritual death, with Alan lying flat under a blanket while Dysart addresses a farewell speech to him. Throughout the play, Dysart questions not only his ability to cure the boy, but his right to cure him, to take away his pain. The more efficient the cure, the more he doubts his right. By the end of Equus the focus has moved entirely away from Alan to Dysart, who is now imprisoned by his vision of the God, Equus. Like Alan, Dysart now stands, open in the dark with a pick in my hand striking at my heads! There is now in my mouth, the sharp chain. And it never comes out. That chain is the dictates of normality. He is left with no choice but to do whatever he is supposed to do as a psychiatrist. My desire might be to make this boy an ardent husband, a caring citizen, a worshiper of abstract and unifying God. My achievement, however, is more likely to make a ghost! Finally he strips Alan of what he himself so desires in the boy.
In the end, Dysart robs Alan of his pain, passion and worship, he also destroys Alan’s spiritual life; the awakening of Dysart's own pain and his self-realization send a clear message ~~ in the world of normality, in the modern age of science and technology ~~ dominated by the rational man ~~ society is interested only in making its deviance conform to its norms. To preserve itself, it cuts the soul out of the body, eliminating passion and worship, and leaving a mechanized being whose only purpose is societal usefulness.
i am a little sad that the play was recast with daniel radcliffe, as i feel that everyone now associates this brilliant, brilliant work with naked harry potter and a horse.
this is so much more than that. this is one of the greatest works of drama (and psychology) i think ever written. we read this my senior year of high school, in my ap lit course, with mr. hackling (one of my favorite teachers ever). and we read it in conjunction with our philosophy of religion course, so that we had four-times-a-week postings to a board that was shared with my ap lit section, and the philosophy of religion section (they were all in standard english due to scheduling), in an attempt to try to integrate the courses a little more.
it was stunning. this is a play about religion and the creation of deities, and the failures of those deities, and how our mind works to make things fit, to, in its most basest form - cope. we had so many discussions about how christianity was portrayed in the play, how this related to freud's thinking, to feuerbach and jung and kirkegaard and stoppard and woolf, and everything we had read up to that point, and it was somehow one of the most brilliant things i have ever participated in. there is SO MUCH to this play, the role of a therapist, the role of a god, the role of a boy, of a child, of a man, the relationship between man and woman, between man and god, between man and horse, between man and his therapist. i could go on and on, but dysart's last monologue remains one of the most haunting and poignant things i have ever read in a play.
(and come on, this was an all-girls catholic school, reading outloud graphic masturbation/sex scenes between alan and jill, and alan and nugget, and. if we could do it, and we could get away with it, there has to be something more than harry potter naked, right?)
El asunto central de esta obra de teatro siempre me ha parecido terrorífico y virtualmente alienante: un muchacho, de 17 años de edad, desnudo y completamente fuera de sus cabales, toma un punzón y arremete contra los ojos de seis caballos en el establo donde trabaja. Si The Royal Hunt of the Sun trataba de la hermandad casi a lo Caín y Abel entre Pizarro y Atahualpa, y en Amadeus son Mozart y Salieri figuras opuestas del espectro de la naturaleza humana, Equus ofrece el tema conflictivo de las ciegas pasiones individuales embridadas por una sociedad hipócrita y mezquina en las figuras de un psiquiatra y su paciente --figuras que no por ser menos espectaculares a priori que sus contrapartes en las piezas mencionadas resultan mucho menos reveladoras e iluminadoras del alma de sus espectadores/lectores.
Peter Shaffer desarrolla su argumento con astucia detectivesca. Al lado del Dr. Dysart se nos permite, progresivamente, descubrir el sórdido evento que ha llevado a Alan Strang a su consultorio en todos sus detalles objetivos y subjetivos, los de la realidad material o física y los de la misteriosa condición mental y espiritual del joven criminal. Finalmente, y de manera similar a Amadeus, también es Equus una reflexión acerca de nuestra relación con lo divino y los significados ocultos detrás de nuestros respectivos destinos. La puesta en escena, prolijamente sugerida por el autor, es elaboradamente abstracta, combinando lo específicamente teatral con los símbolos y expresiones propios del caso clínico y su historia. Especialmente magistral es el estilo resultante, como de flujo del inconsciente, en que Shaffer atrapa la atención para dirigirla, con intensidad y suspenso crecientes, hacia el desenlace. Equus fue estrenada en 1973, en el Royal National Theatre de Londres, con la dirección de John Dexter (que en 1964 se había hecho cargo de The Royal Hunt of the Sun) y el protagonismo de Alec McCowen en el rol de Martin Dysart y Peter Firth como Alan.
This is a play I read when an actor friend landed the role of the deranged youth ( hint — friend’s name is not Daniel Radcliffe).
The play is powerful and disturbing. Like all works of art it is multifaceted. I didn’t see my friend’s production, but I know he enjoyed cavorting with the horses — strapping young men in masks. The play lends itself to many readings, and homoerotic horses, unspoken of course, is just one of them.
This is one of the most terrific plays I have read. I first saw the movie version, which I enjoyed - but reading the play, I think the stage version would be infinitely better. I would love to see it performed one day.
A boy commits a bizarre act of random cruelty. The play is an exploration of the "why". As the psychoanalysis unfolds, we are not sure whether the patient is getting cured or the doctor is getting sick.
Shaffer starts the play by offering the readers and audiences alike, a character to dislike - even hate. As the play progresses, the psychologist takes the audience into the minds of the troubled young teen who blinded six horses. Very early on the psychologist makes a note of Alan's reciprocity during his sessions; the unabashed effort being covert or being blatantly verbally abusive to his doctor only showed the extent of devolution of his mind. Alan's mind warps God, horses, religion and its iconography into a garbled mush that makes his actions and reactions extreme.
Shaffer doesn't hold back on the observations Alan makes during the course of the play. The graphic nature of Alan's actions and the route his passions (and obsession) take. When reasons being to unfold, it becomes difficult to pin point an exact event that shaped Alan the way he is. Shaffer twists every possible influencing factor that aids in mental development of a child thus making Alan's final act almost an inevitable response. Shaffer delivers the final monologue with subdued aggression and gentle hopelessness. The closing statement is what makes the play standout from its contemporaries.
Equus is a study of disappointments, archetypes, iconography, contradictions, relationships, parenting, religion, passion, love, sex and then some. One of those few plays that one can enjoy reading as much as when it is on stage.
Uzeh ovo da me malo drmne od dugih knjiga koje sam naredjao. Malo je predobro uradilo posao (ili, što bi srboenglezi rekli: drmnulo me, it did). Provlači se ovde svašta, osvrti na materijalizam (iako se duboko ne slažem da je to kritika, već samo portret jedne ličnosti), mentalnu bolest, licemerje, ali ona suštinska tema jeste religija. Ili makar verovanje, obožavanje, obogotvorenje. I kako se u srži te potpune vere uvek može naći jedna skrivena, skrovita mržnja prema tom istom božanstvu. Jer ko želi da bude uplašen? Ko želi da obožava personifikovanog konja? Ponekad je samo lakše. I taj sentiment je snažan.
p.s. na sve to, Šaferove direkcije potpuno oživljavaju štivo. U glavi sam konstantno zamišljao jedan jedinstven amalgam pozornice i filma, sa sve upečatljivom i jezivom horskom muzikom konja u topotu.
I hardly ever read plays; I know little about drama, and even less about its technicalities. So I wasn't supposed to ever come across this 1973 pièce by P. Shaffer, an author I had never heard about. That cover though... it's gorgeous, isn't it? And the Latin one-word title that kept echoing in my mind. And, yes, the price (1.17 € for the Penguin edition). Well, I wasn't disappointed at all.
The subject is loosely based on a true act of violence that took place somewhere in England - a teenage boy blinded six horses with a spike, for no apparent reason (hard to find a rational reason indeed, unless one calls reason itself into question). The anonymous youth becomes Alan Strang in Shaffer's work, and Dr Dysart is the psychiatrist who's assigned the task of analysing such a depraved, monstrous mind and lay bare its obsessions. Unfortunately for him his notions of Normality, Sanity, Right and Wrong collapse when he realises that the mind to be dissected on the slab of such notions is his own. Because by entering the maze of Alan's madness he ends up lost in the labyrinth of his own failures and fears.
Who is 'Alan', though? A boy who can barely read, with no talent nor ambition, narcotised by television and commercial jingles, raised by an atheist asshole and a puritan cow; in short, a product of Pop culture and consumerism doomed to absorb only the worst of both worlds - that of worship and that of its opposite. Alan's soul is destroyed by the inadequacy of institutionalised religion as much as by the lack of religiosity (as a mental and spiritual form of expression). Thus he lives in the void between the two, a void echoing with frustrated desires and shapeless ghosts. He's tortured by the knowledge of something he can't figure out, since he is prevented from even starting to explore a reality in which he doesn't belong anyway. There's no way out, no choice but to create his own deity: Equus, the Horse, the archetypal beast that releases his devouring lust for life. But deities feed on sacrifice. And once you run out of victims, you either offer yourself or slaughter your deity on its own altar. He does both. And so will Dr Dysart.
Now, if "religion is the opium of the people", then the loss of it is the cheap skag that's finishing them off. As a matter of fact, a large part of the western society got rid of religiosity a hundred years ago. Please note that I'm talking about religiosity, not religion - the tacky paraphernalia we're all well acquainted with, whatever church, sect, orthodoxy or heresy we were taught to call True. That's just décor; it always were and always will be. What went missing is the consciousness of a need and the external references that allow us to feed such need in the first place, and then satisfy it as best we can. Either we call it nihilism, modernism, secularism, consumerism - an inner drive has wiped away the Holy Terror/Terror-of-the-Holy complex that kept man bridled but also taught him to look beyond himself for... how long? A million years? Ever since our ancestors, for whatever reason, felt superior to the other shit-stinking apes and met their well-deserved doom out of Eden. What's left in its place?
An immense void. A cemetery of the living that all sorts of jackals and hyenas have been plundering and then filling with dung all throughout the glorious, tormented, heroic, miserable 20th century. Ideological, political, pseudo-religious dung, a grande fête that culminated in a series of blasts and fires we barely managed to survive - by losing much, though. By becoming empty shells. By bartering the burden of worship for the weightlessness of inner misery.
We all keep blinding our horses, day after day. And still we pretend it might be worth it, in the long run.
A child is born into a world of phenomena all equal in their power to enslave and since Dysart can’t account for this power he is forced to question his whole profession, even his whole existence. Shaffer was inspired to write Equus when he first became aware of a crime involving a 17-year-old boy who blinded six horses in a small town near Suffolk. He then set out to construct a fictional account of what might have caused the incident, without knowing any of the details of the crime. The character Alan Strang is actually written not as a person but almost as if he’s an answer to a question. The plays action becoming something of a case study rather than a drama, involving the attempts of the child psychiatrist Dr. Martin Dysart to understand the cause of the boy's actions. Dysart is tasked with treating Alan because he is believed to be suffering from some sort of deep psychological disturbance. But Dysart argues that the cause of this disturbance might not be entirely unwanted, which sets up a major theme of the play. Removing this disturbance comes with a price, as this disturbance is a product of Alan's extreme passion. To remove the disturbance would be to remove the passion as well, and without this passion, Alan would have very little left of himself. Dysart is even jealous of Alan's disturbance, since he feels that he has none of this kind of passion in his own life. Shaffer's story is loaded with Freudian and mythological trappings and the play itself was actually written in the shadow of the then voguish theories of R. D. Laing, which championed the creative beauty within madness while fixing blame on the repressiveness of the conventional family. So what Equus argues then is that normal is not always ideal, and that madness is constructed by society. Most important however are the religious themes featured in the play, and the manner in which the character Alan Strang constructs a personal theology involving the horses and the supreme godhead, "Equus". Alan sees the horses as representative of God but confuses his adoration of his "God" with sexual attraction. His personal identification with horses becomes a focus for his own, as well as his mother's, fascination with the passion of Christ, his deep seated masochism, and his latent homosexuality. However the play only suggests his sexual orientation in a flashback to his childhood encounter with the horse and its rider, who are cast in specifically sexual terms. Alan’s masturbatory fantasies elaborate on his obsessions. And when he gets a job in a stable, he takes the horses out at night and stands for hours next to them, naked, sharing their presence. Later when a girl at the stable becomes attracted to him, she offers herself to him. But he is impotent and ends up blinding the horses in a fury of self-hatred. While Dysart can acknowledge that what Alan has done is unspeakable. He also realizes that he can see, after shining a light into the recesses of the boy’s mind, the landscape of a self-made, chthonic religion. For Dysart, a man in a sterile marriage who has measured out his life in patients’ files and annual holidays in Greece, Alan’s inner existence takes on the mythic grandeur of Homer’s Olympus. In any case, this is a play about someone who sees and feels more deeply than ordinary folk and the idea that such depth is to be envied even if it prohibits its possessors from fully belonging to human society.
I don't care if it took Harry Potter to disrobe for people to finally see this masterwork. This is without a doubt my favorite play from one of my favorite playwrights. Like most great works, it conflates several dichotomies without leaning too heavily on any of them. Adolescene v. adulthood? Check. Urban v. Rural? Check. Rationalism v. Romanticism? Check. A teenage boy blinding six horses in a fit of psychosexual mania? Check.
There's whispers the London production's coming stateside. If so, I don't care how much it costs, I'll be there. Ever since reading this for a summer research project in 2003 I've wanted to see it produced. Here's hoping.
Genialiai parašyta pjesė, kuri paviršutiniškai vartojama, gali sukelti atmestinę reakciją. Shafferis meta iššūkį kapstytis jo tekste, lygiai taip pat, kaip jo personažai kapstosi vieni kitų ir savo pasąmonėje. Kas esu aš? Ką čia veikiu? Ką reiškia gyventi? Iš tiesų gyventi? Kas yra laisvė?
Ar mes esame Dievai ir valdovai dalykų, kuriuos garbiname? Ar jie iš tiesų paklūsta mums? Galbūt, kaip tik, tai kas iš pažiūros tėra mūsų tarnai, iš tikro pavergia mus? Ar mūsų sielos laisvos, iš tikrųjų laisvos?
Ar mokslas, terapija, psichoanalizė gali išgydyti sielą? Išgydyti ir išvaryti Dievą?
I finished this a couple of days ago but had ro let it sit for sometime. I went into this because of a raving review from a book tuber I highly enjoy and like most books she recommends. However I was sure I wasn't going to like this and be more disturbed by this. But instead it turned into the the play I've been most invested in and the best play I've read so far. (I haven't yet read that many). It definitely has its disturbing moments bit it's more than just a play to shock and disturb the reader/audience. Don't know how to form my thoughts but a definitely a surprise reading experience
This was incredible to watch live last year, and holds its own as a script as well. A disturbing plot that focuses around the psychology of a young man's actions. The relationship between Alan and Dysart is fascinating to read and so intricately woven that everything comes together perfectly at the end.
I really don't appreciate the idea of a know it all psychologist. Descriptions are too explicit, too much monologue and little space left for contemplation.
I was given this play by a dear friend of mine. Once I set sail through its pages, I got addicted to it. Now it's 6:00 AM and I have been reading it all through the night. What I like most about it is that it is psychological. The plot is well built. I also like the part where Alan and Dysart mutually investigate the matter of each other's dreams to find out that it was the shrink's dream is more related to illnesses the dream being the doctor practicing the ritual of sacrificing hundreds of children by carving up the chests down to the navel then throw the guts and study the pattern they make up ( terrifying, really). I like the name Trojan for a horse but why do psychologists always refer to Greek mythology?? Why not Assyrian or Incan?!! That's one of the critics to Freudism. There is a chunk of the dialogue between the shrink & Hesther whereby they discussed being psychologically normal. How can you define that? psychologically normal!!? We are all psychologically abnormal in a way or another. A Human being is a pile of complexities. The description of Alan's religion and imitating Christian creed is fascinating. Equus as a God with lineage. Was this "distortion" the fault of Alan's godless father, or his overly religious mother?
I became interested in this play years ago when I heard Daniel Radcliffe was starring in it, but I never got around to reading it. Recently I found it at a charity book sale and snapped it up. I was not disappointed. The antagonist's relationship with his horse and his twisted sexuality lead the reader down a trail of serious personal interpretation.
On re-reading 12/10/18: Been teaching it for years now, but haven't actually read it cover-to-cover in a while (2016, it seems). Anyway, I finally decided to read the copy that the students buy and update page numbers in questions and stuff. Just gotta say, play is still amazing! I'd love to see it performed.
On re-reading 3/20/16: I've re-read this numerous times since my junior year of high school; however, the last time was probably about a decade ago. Now, in revising my ENG 102 class and realizing that I can assign any play I want, it seemed obvious to revisit my favorite. Did I just happen to read this at the right time in life? Would its gilded status now be tarnished by me being a different reader? NOPE! The book is amazing; it will definitely be assigned reading. My mind is already buzzing with possible connections for creative paper topics: something with Dead Poets' Society, or "The World is Too Much with US," or "The Allegory of the Cave," or just the obvious psychoanalytical approach or postmodernism or something else with transcendentalism. Book orders are due early April, then I've got until Fall to hash things out.
1st read 1998: This was the first book that made me truly appreciate literature. I always thought that symbolism and deeper meaning was a load of crap; this play changed my opinion. It deals with discovering one's true PASSION in life, which is, perhaps, the most important thing there is.
"Can you think of anything worse one can do to anybody than take away their worship?" (93)
Okay, lets blame Albee's outrageous and overtly homosexual/incestual/ultratabooistic THE GOAT; or who is Sylvia? for my less than ***** impression of something I can only imagine to be a gothic and dark work of art, on stage. Shaffer even does an almost apology (which is absolutely what Tony winning dramatists do, or should) about disparities between page and stage.
What exists there, though, is taught, and the stagework one imagines has the actual gallops of such noble beasts. Personifying these mighty thunder kings is in actuality a poem made elongated, stretched, acted out, and hence filled with intuitive horrors and primal discoveries. Not recommended for, well (haha) ... animal activists!
Somehow this was overlooked and never added to Goodreads. Since 1974, it has been read many times. As a play, Equus stares unrelentingly into the dark psyche.
“In an ultimate sense I cannot know what I do in this place - yet I do ultimate things. Essentially I cannot know what I do - yet I do essential things. Irreversible, terminal things."
Dysart, in many ways, is Everyman and Dr Faustus, a man in search of a soul that he has sold to the devil.
Equus is the dramatization of a psychologically damaged young man, Alan, who, for no known reason, blinded six horses with a hoof pick at the stables he worked at. The action takes place after the event in the hospital which the courts have remanded Alan, and while the crime is central to the play, the play revolves around the character of the psychiatrist, Dysart, who is tasked with 'curing' the boy.
Those who have a wider background in such things are probably well aware of this play--it won a Tony Award in 1975 for best play and best direction, and there was also a film adaptation in 1977--but I knew nothing about it before picking it up on a whim at some discard sale; the back cover description sounded interesting and I keep an eye out for unusual dramatic works. And I found it quite engaging and cleverly handled, for the most part, without any of the falseness or staginess that I find in a lot of drama when it's printed out in book form. The stage presentation is available on YouTube, and I plan on watching it soon, but I can well imagine that this would be powerful to see acted out. And, despite the unusual methods and stage direction, I never had any problem following the action.
The element that resonated with me most was the doctor's dilemma. At a point in the play, he questions his role as a healer, and whether it is better to allow dangerous but unique individuals alone or attempt to convert them into a safe, conforming members of society. Actually, the doctor is thrown into a much wider gulf of self-doubt during his treatment of Alan, and the reader/viewer could find several other themes as well that the author is holding up for us to examine while psychiatrist and patient interact.
Until the resolution of the play in its final scenes, the narrative engages one like a detective story might--what was the motivation behind this crime? But it's the end where the play stumbles, I think, though I'm not sure if the author could have provided us with any conclusion that would be satisfying. It's like a horror film that conceals the monster until the end, but when we see it, all we see is a guy in a rubber suit. The themes and ideas that Schaffer presents us with up until the end are provocative and engaging and I don't know that there are really answers to them, and the implied cause-and-effect solution that's revealed in the end seems too pat to me. Perhaps it wouldn't have been, though, in this time and place.
This is one of the few instances though where the let-down I felt at the end of the narrative didn't completely destroy my enjoyment of the build-up. This play has many unusual stage directions, and I thought they were surprisingly inventive and deft, and, as I mentioned before, the dialogue as a rule realistic and believable. And one could say that by concentrating on the resolution to the boy's story, when all along it is really about the doctor's existential crisis is missing the point, and I would agree, but unfortunately the two are intertwined, and I felt that the one impinged on the other. Still quite worthwhile to look into though, and I look forward to watching a stage presentation soon.
Review ends here.
To Be or Not To Be dept.
I'm continually asking myself, when I read something that is meant for the stage, if I'm actually 'experiencing' the thing at all. The question doesn't come up for me as much when I reading Shakespeare, or the ancient Greeks, but nearly every other dramatic work I read rather than see on stage makes me wonder if I've bought a sack lunch from McDonald's, and then sat in the Red Lobster parking lot to eat it. The meta-question might be, 'Who cares?', or 'Why is this something you're worried about?' 'Worried about' is probably pushing it, but I do wonder about it occasionally. I wonder less when I read something like Equus, which I felt was inventive and captured genuine speech patters, more though when I read something that sounds dreadfully melodramatic on paper, like much of Tennessee Williams does to me. Perhaps these things need to be seen to be believed.
Does the reverse hold true at all? If someone has seen but not read Hamlet, is that a complete experience? No one wonders if a film adaptation is necessary to complete a novel, but if you've seen Mel Gibson's version, have you experienced enough 'Hamlet-ness' for it to be genuine? Branagh's version of Henry V is pretty good--I doubt I'd have been as involved in a dry reading of the script (although 'We happy few...' is always going to sound good.)
I probably think about this question most when dramatic works are included in the various lists of things one needs to read to be well-read/before they turn 50/ before they die, etc. [Space added for complaints about people who follow lists too much] Yes, I know all the reasons why these lists are ridiculous, but in a world where it has become mandatory to self-educate oneself if one wants to be exposed to the broadest spectrum of ideas, these kind of lists can at least function as a springboard. With novels, the enterprise seems to me to be completed in the reader's head; with a play, there doesn't really seem to be a way to capture the thing-in-itself, as even a live performance is still dependent on the actors' expertise in their roles--though that does seem to me to be the closest that we can get.
In the end, it's more of a thought-experiment than a real question, and moot as well, since I'm only going to have the opportunity to experience a tiny fraction of these works on a live stage compared to the few I'll get around to reading--it's probably far easier to find a production of Cats than Coriolanus, for instance, unless you're rather diligent, or live in a place that has a strong theatrical tradition. I'm not much for either, so it's probably YouTube and chill for me.
Trust me: it's not just that play about Harry Potter getting (a) naked and (b) it on with a horse. It's about the construction of God and meaning in the modern waste land; and perhaps even more compellingly, about the moral dilemma of a therapist who has to convince his patient to abandon all escape routes and return to the waste land. (In that sense, it reminds me a great deal of Pat Barker's Regeneration.) It's a play of ideas, basically, only thinly veiled by its outrageous subject matter. Pointed and powerful; if the final scene doesn't give you chills, well, you're just WRONG.
This hit all the beats for me: psychology, religiosity, philosophy, bizarre (and deeply unsexy) sex stuff, and horses. As a former "horse girl," I can agree that horse girls are a strange breed. Horse boys though? Whoaaaa, Nelly. 🚫
A troubled boy, Alan, commits an inexplicable act of violence—gouging out the eyes of six horses in a country stable. When he is arraigned in court, he only hums ditties from radio advertisements; when he is brought to a psychiatric ward, he simply cries "ek! ek! ek!" What unfolds is a psychodrama about religious excitation, sexual repression and paternal shame. In his disoriented mind, Alan has confused images of the crucifixion with the majestic pictures of groomed horses. He sees these animals as divine but tortured spirits, and in his dreams, their frothing muzzles and leather reins conjure up both Christ bound on the cross and the semen he ejaculates in his sleep. Alan is psychically disturbed. His father is a household tyrant and hypocrite, constantly judging Alan, forbidding television, discouraging his son's interests, disapproving of women, and as a result, Alan can't disentangle his monomaniacal obsession with horses from his internalized shame about sex. His father ends every peremptory command with an officious "receive my meaning?" and Alan, at the height of his breakdown in the ward, mocks the idea that there is any meaning or any authority figure.
But it's not just a play about a disturbed boy suffering from religious mania and sexual inhibitions; it is about his psychiatrist, Dysart, a man with his own peculiar interest in Greek art and mythology and whose marriage has fizzled into a loveless torpor. He spends his nights re-reading The Iliad and wistfully pines for the day he can travel to Greece and see the sites of ancient glory. But his own dreams are also troubled by ominous visions: he imagines himself one night as a high priest in archaic Mycenae, wearing the Mask of Agamemnon, and he has to sacrifice 500 boys and girls; it is a grueling labor and as he slits their throats and dismembers their bodies, one by one, he feels his face sweating, his skin jaundicing and the mask slipping; he worries that his assistants will notice his anxiety. It is an easy oracle to interpret: Dysart, a child psychiatrist, doubts whether his treatments work, whether he is curing them or just re-assimilating them into society. Can he really make Alan happy, redirect his religious feelings to a more civic and friendly idea of God, or will he just be turning him into a "ghost"? When does therapy cure and when does it sacrifice? In the end, Dysart wonders whether Alan is actually better off; he wishes he could share Alan's mysterious sense of a higher numinous power.
I really enjoyed this play—a bold drama with a bleak thesis.