I think Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and A Delicate Balance are probably the two finest American plays of the 1960s. In between came Tiny Alice, a play that is equally extraordinary, although not necessarily extraordinary in a good sense. It was largely met with bafflement when first produced in 1964 and, as far as I can see, has only been revived once in New York and never in London. I think of it as a remarkable mess by a major playwright. In a way its problem is not that it is obtuse, but that it constantly keeps striving for meaning but never quite managing to find any. Tiny Alice seems to want to ‘say’ something important about religion and faith and I don’t know what else, but never achieves it. I don’t mind being baffled, but I resent being confused – at least when I think the confusion is due to the incoherence of the literary work. Of course Tiny Alice can be placed with Albee’s early Absurdist works, such as The Zoo Story and The American Dream, but it just seems portentous in its Big Themes. But, for all that, it remains remarkable in its parts. The opening scene, for instance, a confrontation between a Cardinal and a lawyer who brings the offer of an enormous grant to the Church: old school acquaintances, they quickly fall into the vicious intimacy we might expect in an Albee play – we can respond to the unfolding of personalities, but there is also symbolic confrontation, between the Church and the secular...but nothing comes of it, the scene feels like one of Albee’s early one act plays, complete in itself, having little connection with the concerns raised later by the play. Perhaps the Cardinal’s emissary, the lay Brother Julian, continues as a representative of the Church, but there is obviously some sort of conspiracy around him...and Miss Alice is out to seduce him...this is interesting, but as always in this play it seems to point to something big that never quite happens. And so it goes, interesting scenes that become increasingly portentous. And then the play finishes with a five page soliloquy: it begins as a slice of sub Beckett bleakness with a religious sauce and then turns into The Omen. An absurd play rather than an Absurd one, but often fun in a slightly deranged way.