The Struggle of the Starving Class: A Family Adrift in Chaos
The Tate family, the dysfunctional protagonists of Sam Shepard’s 1977 play Curse of the Starving Class, are a household on the edge—of poverty, of sanity, and of hope. The New Group’s production of this iconic American tragicomedy, directed by Scott Elliott, opened at the Pershing Square Signature Center, bringing to life the Tates’ chaotic world with a mix of grit and futility. But as the play unfolds, it becomes clear that the family’s struggles are mirrored by the production’s own missteps, leaving the audience with a sense of disjointedness and unfulfilled potential.
The play opens in the wreckage of a kitchen, where the Tates’ reality is as fragmented as the shattered glass and broken cabinet doors that litter the set. Designer Arnulfo Maldonado’s scenic work captures the disorder perfectly, creating a space that feels like the aftermath of a hurricane—or, as is later revealed, the aftermath of Weston Tate’s latest drunken rampage. The family patriarch, played by Christian Slater, stumbles home reeking of booze and destruction, leaving chaos in his wake. But his antics are only the tip of the iceberg; the Tates’ lives are a constant cycle of disarray, with an empty fridge serving as a bitter symbol of their desperation. “Are we part of the starving class?” Ella, the matriarch, argues with her daughter Emma, questioning the very notion of their existence. The answer, it seems, is yes—and no one knows it better than they do.
A Family Divided: Solutions and Escapes
Each member of the Tate family has their own vision for survival, but these plans are as fractured as their relationships. Ella, played by Calista Flockhart, dreams of selling the family home to a shady land developer and fleeing to Europe, desperate to escape the cycle of poverty and dysfunction. Meanwhile, Weston, ever the opportunist, has his own plan to sell the house—to clear his debts, of course. Wesley, the only son, played by Cooper Hoffman, wants to hold on to the house, believing it can be fixed, much like their family. And Emma, the youngest, played by Stella Marcus, is plotting her escape—both from her family and from the suffocating reality of their lives.
These competing plans create a sense of tension that reverberates throughout the play, but they also highlight the Tates’ inability to connect. Each character operates in their own bubble, their solutions as individualized as their pain. Yet, despite the chaos, there’s a tragic beauty to their struggles—a testament to Shepard’s ability to blend biting satire with raw, human vulnerability. The play’s tone shifts between the grounded and the surreal, with characters breaking into monologues that feel like they belong to another world. Emma imagines herself as a car mechanic in Mexico, while Wesley recreates the sounds of his father’s drunken rampage. Even the land developer has a grandiose speech about corporate ambition. These moments are meant to illuminate the characters’ inner lives, but under Elliott’s direction, they feel disjointed and overly stylized.
A Play That Defies Easy Interpretation
Curse of the Starving Class is a challenging work, blending realism with a kind of stylized lyricism that demands a delicate balance. Shepard’s script teeters on the edge of absurdity, often using humor to underscore the despair. But Elliott’s direction struggles to find a consistent tone, veering wildly between moments of quiet intensity and overt theatricality. The result is a production that feels uneven, as if the cast and crew are still searching for the play’s rhythm.
One of the most jarring choices is the way the monologues are handled. Instead of integrating these moments into the flow of the play, Elliott isolates them, placing the characters under a harsh spotlight and having them deliver their lines directly to the audience. This choice makes the monologues feel forced and didactic, interrupting the natural progression of the story. It’s a decision that pulls the audience out of the action, making the play feel more like a series of disconnected vignettes than a cohesive narrative. The Fourth Wall-breaking moments are particularly jarring, as they disrupt the fragile connection between the audience and the characters.
Performances That Fail to Ignite
The cast’s performances are similarly uneven, with few moments of genuine connection. Calista Flockhart’s Ella is particularly problematic; her portrayal lacks the urgency and vulnerability needed to make the character relatable. Her outbursts of rage feel manufactured, and her quieter moments are overshadowed by a sense of detachment. Cooper Hoffman, making his stage debut as Wesley, fares no better, delivering a performance that feels more like a series of poses than a fully realized character. His Wesley is passive to the point of invisibility, and his monologues lack the emotional weight they so desperately need.
Christian Slater, as Weston, is the standout performer, bringing a raw energy to the role that feels rats and unpredictable. His scenes are the most compelling, capturing the volatile mix of violence and vulnerability that defines the character. Even in the midst of the production’s missteps, Slater’s performance feels genuine, grounding the play in moments of raw humanity. But even his efforts can’t fully salvage the production, which often feels more like a series of missed opportunities than a cohesive whole.
A Sheep Steals the Show—and Highlights the Production’s Flaws
In a cruel twist of fate, the real star of the show turns out to be Lois, a 4-year-old California Red sheep who plays the Tate family’s ailing pet. Lois’s bleats and antics add a level of unpredictability to the production, often stealing scenes with her perfectly timed interruptions. At one point, she even upstages a tense argument with a series of loud, enthusiastic “baas” directed at the audience. While her presence is undeniably charming, it also serves as a stark reminder of the production’s shortcomings. If the most memorable moments of a Sam Shepard play come courtesy of a sheep, something is wrong.
Lois’s scenes are not just funny—they’re also some of the most engaging moments in the play. Her presence adds a layer of unpredictability that the human actors struggle to match. It’s a cruel irony that a sheep, of all things, should be the one to bring the production to life. But Lois’s role also highlights the deeper issue at the heart of Curse of the Starving Class—the Tates’ inability to connect with each other or the world around them. Just as Lois’s bleats fill the silence, the play’s characters fill the void with their own brand of noise, but it’s rarely enough to bridge the gaps between them.
A Play That Leaves Its Audience Hungry
Curse of the Starving Class is a play about emptiness—empty fridges, empty promises, and empty lives. But it’s not just the Tates who are left feeling bereft; the audience is too. The New Group’s production, despite its best efforts, fails to deliver the emotional depth and coherence that Shepard’s script demands. The play’s themes of poverty, dysfunction, and resilience are timely and timeless, but they’re lost in a sea of missteps and missed opportunities.
The production’s struggles are a reminder of just how difficult it is to bring a play like Curse of the Starving Class to life. Shepard’s work is a delicate balance of humor and heartache, realism and surrealism, and it demands nothing less than full commitment from its cast and crew. When that commitment falters, as it does here, the result is a play that feels as empty as the Tates’ fridge. And while Lois the sheep may bring a few laughs, she can’t fill the void left by a production that fails to connect.
Curse of the Starving Class runs through April 6 at the Pershing Square Signature Center in Manhattan. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes. For more information, visit thenewgroup.org.