Family. The safe-haven that will follow you all your
life, is such a comforting thing, a central value to the American Dream. But is it really all it’s cracked up to be? Eugene O’Neil’s Long Day’s Journey into Night and Sam Shepard’s Buried Child show a very different side
of this social convention. Families, in
these two plays are places where the mistakes of the past congeal into big,
ugly messes. Fed by secrets and bitterness,
the family becomes some sort of vortex that sucks down people’s lives, leaving
them bitter husks of people, never able to shake themselves from the family’s
negative influence.
For example, in Long
Day’s Journey into Night, Edmund leaves the family and has some sort of
epiphany.
“EDMUND:”…“I became drunk with the
beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself—actually lost
my life. I was set free! I was dissolved into the sea, became the
white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and
the ship and high dim-starred sky!” (p 332)
Even after such a
beautiful experience, he comes back to his family—back the misery there. He is drawn back. Just as Sam Shepard’s Tilden is drawn back to
his family after having a similar sort of experience while he was away from the
family. Both men are unable to truly
leave their families.
Both families also seem to have a sort of curse on
them. The Tyrone family is plagued with
both alcoholism and drug abuse—the men drink heavily while Mary wastes away in
a morphine dream, pretending she is a young school girl, pretending that she
has a good life. The family in Buried Child is also filled with rotting
things. Dodge, the patriarch, is on the
verge of death, and the play is filled with images of the earth. It is pouring rain outside, turning the ground
into mud, and there is a dead baby literally moldering away in the backyard.
The character who most dramatically shows the corrosive
effects that such a family can have is Vince, from Buried Child. He arrives as
an outsider, and isn’t recognized by Dodge and the others;
“DODGE: Who are you to expect
anything? Who are you supposed to be?
VINCE: I’m Vincce! Your grandson! You’ve gotta remember me.
DODGE: Vince. My grandson.
That’s rich!” (p 32).
Vince tries to leave the family, taking
Dodge’s two dollars and driving as far away as he can, but the family draws him
back. He realizes that he belongs with
them,
“VINCE: I was gonna run last
night. I was gonna run and keep right
one running” …“I could see myself in the windshield. My face.
My eyes. I studied my face. Studied everything about it as though I was
looking at another man.”…“And then his face changed. His face became his father’s face.”…“And his
father’s face changed to his grandfather’s face. And it went on like that. Changing.
Clear on back to faces I’d never seen before but still recognized.” (p
71)
By seeing his own face
transform into the faces of his ancestors, Vince is realizing his heritage—the
legacy that lies behind him. It is only
after he comes to this understanding that he turns the car around and goes back
to the house. He returns to claim the
house for his own, which Dodge allows, finally accepting him. After Dodge’s barely-noticeable death, Vince
takes up the old man’s spot on the couch without a word.
Vince is a better example of the effects of such a family
than his girlfriend, Shelly, because despite both of them being outsiders when
they first arrive, Vince is part of the family—he isn’t able to escape like
Shelly is. Shelly manages to get out,
but Vince cannot, he returns after running away and becomes deeply
involved.
In Long Day’s
Journey into Night, the Tyrone family is rife with old hate and bitterness,
especially in relation to the character Jamie.
Jamie has become an alcoholic, and is enormously jealous of his brother
Edmund. In a drunken confession, he says
to Edmund of his bad influence;
“Did it on purpose to make a bum of
you.”…“Made getting drunk romantic. Made
whore fascinating vampires instead of the poor, stupid, diseased slobs they
really are.”…“Never wanted you to succeed and make me look even worse by
comparison. Wanted you to fail. Always jealous of you. Mama’s baby, Papa’s pet!” (p 339).
QUOTE. Jamie has experienced an horrific amount of emotional
trauma in order to become the way he is now—cynical, bitter, drunken. He knew about his mother’s morphine addiction
long before Edmund did, and had to endure Mary’s belief that he deliberately
murdered his little brother Eugene out of jealousy. That kind of accusation, coming from your own mother is awful, and it’s no
surprise Jamie turned out the way he did.
Another character—this time from Buried Child—that shows the outcomes of abuse, is Bradley. He shows his skewed psyche in the rather disturbing
scene where, after Shelly yells at him to “Shut up!” he puts his fingers into Shelly’s mouth;
“BRADLEY: Open your mouth.
SHELLY: What?
BRADLEY (Motioning for her to open her mouth.) Open up. (She
opens her mouth slightly.) Wider. (She
opens her mouth wider.) Keep it like
that. (She does. Stares at Bradley. With his free hand, he puts his fingers into
her mouth. She tries to pull away.) Just stay put! (She
freezes. He keeps his fingers in her
mouth. Stares at her. Pause.
He pulls his hand out. She closes
her mouth, keeps her eyes on him.
Bradley smiles.” (p 49).
There
is definitely something sexual about this scene, but it is so disturbing
because it’s against Shelly’s will—it’s a rape.
Now, rape is not about satisfying a rapist’s sexual
desires, but rather his desire for power.
Why should Bradley, a hulking and intimidating figure, have such a
desire?
The
vast majority of abusers were one victims of abuse themselves.
“BRADLEY: Hey! Missus.
Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t
talk to me in that tone a voice. There
was a time when I had to take that tone of voice from pretty near everyone.” (p
49)
Bradley’s
abuse centers around his prosthetic leg, which, if taken away, can leave
Bradley hideously crippled and powerless.
“DODGE: Bradley?
(Looks at Bradley) He’s a push-over. ‘Specially now. All ya gotta do is take his leg and throw it
out the back door. Helpless. Totally helpless.” (p 53)
The
fact that Dodge repeats this very personal information to Shelly in such a
nonchalant way shows how little his son means to him. Bradley seems to have been the butt of the
family joke. He mentions how he hated
being treated that way—having no power.
So he attempts to assert power over Shelly when they first meet.
But
it only lasts for a while, because Shelly takes away his wooden leg, leaving
him pitifully and comically helpless.
“(Shelly suddenly grabs her coat off the wooden legand takes both the
leg and the coat D., away from Bradley.)
Mom! Mom! She’s got my leg! She’s taken my leg! I never did anything to her! She’s stolen my leg! She’s a devil, Mom. How did she get into our house? (Bradley
reaches pathetically in the air for his leg.)” (p 63)
Bradley cries for his mother like a child,
whining and sniveling—he seems to have regressed to the level of a young
child—perhaps the age he was when this torment began.
Both
of these families, through neglect or outright cruelty have twisted themselves
into monstrous entities that seem incapable of anything good.
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