Christian Slater and Calista Flockhart Photo by Monique Carboni

When the lights rise on the Tate family's homey and cluttered kitchen, it appears the Oklahoma house has been struck by a tornado. The windows and sliding glass doors are gaping holes, and shards of glass litter the linoleum floor. A dreamcatcher, tauntingly ironic, hangs near the carnage. Arnulfo Maldonado's set design masterfully captures the play's stark realism and surreal undertones, reflecting the fractured world of Shepard's dystopian vision. (Jeff Croiter's lighting, Catherine Zuber's costumes, and Leah Gelpe's sound enhance the sense of a world out-of-whack.)

The Tate family is plagued by a desperate yearning to escape their emotional and financial ruin. Ella (Calista Flockhart), the mother, plots to sell their decaying home and flee to Europe and start over. As she tells her troubled son Wesley (Cooper Hoffman), "They have everything in Europe. High art. Paintings. Castles. Buildings. Fancy food. They have history in Europe. They know where they came from." Wesley, however, clings to a romanticized vision of America, convinced that restoring their (literally) broken home will somehow redeem them.

Little do they know, Weston (Christian Slater), the family's alcoholic patriarch and who is responsible for the wreckage, has already secretly sold the home to escape crushing debt–debt he equates with being his right both as an American and a man. For Weston, the system is designed to emasculate. In a disturbing and darkly comic monologue, Weston metaphorically describes the process, recounting the tale of an eagle seizing the testicles of castrated sheep, its talons grasping "those fresh little remnants of manlihood."

Fiery and headstrong Emma (Stella Marcus), the youngest member of the Tate clan, is also hellbent on escape. She dreams of becoming an auto mechanic in Mexico where her indispensability would turn into lucrative profits. She says, "I like the idea of people breaking down and I'm the only one who can help them get on the road again." But she would "charge them double for labor, see them on their way, and then resell their engine for a small mint."

The two other prominent figures in the Tate household include a maggot-ridden sheep (provided by Vidbel Animal Actors) and an unyielding refrigerator. Few household items better represent materialism, consumption, and financial standing than the refrigerator, so the eminent appliance naturally becomes a central image.

Director Scott Elliott is no stranger to Sam Shepard. In 2016 he helmed a production of Buried Child starring Ed Harris and Amy Madigan. To its credit, Elliott's production makes the individual family members recognizable, and the performers soften their hardness, particularly in the first act when they are deliberately brutal to one another. As a result, the Tates, burdened by the curses of their social class and their futile struggle for upward mobility, are sympathetic. However, this comes at the cost of the play's morbid, twisted pleasure. The outrageousness and shocks feel muted, and the psychological horrors dampened. Additionally, the absurd moments, including the periodic breaking of the fourth wall, feel labored and self-conscious.

Still, there are some good performances. Despite lacking a sense of genuine menace, Flockhart and Slater are well paired. Their sniping in the first act seems lived-in and the result of years and years of slights and betrayals. In the final act, they disclose moments of compassion, glimpses of the marriage before fate relegated them to the starving class.

If Cooper seems a bit too boyish as Wesley and if Marcus is not completely convincing as an adolescent girl, they effectively show the cyclical nature of poverty and casual barbarity it produces. Kyle Beltran and Jeb Kreager do well in the antagonistic roles of Taylor (the insidious lawyer/speculator) and Ellis (the treacherous bar owner), providing perfect foils for the doomed Tate family.

Shepard's influence echoes in the work of contemporary playwrights such as Martin McDonagh, Tracy Letts, and Branden Jacobs-Jenkins. With his characteristic blend of realism and dark humor, Shepard established a visceral dramatic language that continues to resonate. Curse of the Starving Class, even in a production that regrettably does not go for the jugular, remains distressingly relevant today.