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Content Warning: This section of the guide contains references to substance use, mental illness, domestic violence, emotional abuse, and sexual harassment.
Weston, clean-shaven and neatly dressed in a clean shirt, new pants, and shined shoes, folds freshly laundered clothes in the kitchen, now cleared of wood, tools, and scattered artichokes. For the first time in the play, he seems sober, even cheerful. As he folds laundry, he talks at length to the lamb, still in its fence enclosure. He tells the lamb that its maggot infestation will soon be a thing of the past, now that it has proper care, a warm home, and a “new door” to keep drafts out. He segues into a “true story” from years ago, when he castrated lambs in the field as part of his farm duties. Noticing a big, “cold” shadow looming overhead, he looked up and saw a “giant eagle,” who was making sharp, aborted dives, presumably attracted by the lamb testes at his feet. To “oblige” him, Weston threw a few of these “remnants of manlihood” (183) onto the roof of a nearby shed. Soon, like a “thunder clap,” the eagle came tearing down, shredding up the shed’s tarpaper roof as it snatched up the testes. His heart leaping with strange excitement, Weston began shouting his “fool head” off, cheering for the eagle. He says it was like going up in a B-49 bomber for the first time. As he continued his work, he kept throwing lamb testicles onto the shed and getting that same, thrilling feeling each time the eagle came roaring down like the “Cannonball Express.”
Wesley enters, his face and hands covered with blood, and asks his father to continue his story. Startled, Weston says he wasn’t talking to him and asks how Wesley got injured. Wesley says he was trying to get their money back from Ellis, who now owns their house and has run off with the $1,500 too. Blithely, Weston assures him that the house is his, because he has decided to stay. He boasts proudly that he finished the new door and plans to fix the whole place up. To Wesley’s skepticism, Weston says it could be a “great place” if someone just gave it some attention.
Weston then describes a pivotal experience he had earlier that morning, when, for the first time in years, he walked around the yard and felt eerily like an intruder on his own property. Finally, it “struck” him that he was actually the owner, which gave him a “great feeling.” Going back inside, he stripped off his clothing, which gave him a wondrous feeling of renewal, like “peeling off a whole person” (185). He then took a scalding hot bath, followed by a cold one, and put on new clothes. Finding the refrigerator mysteriously full of food, he took it as a sign of his own rebirth, like a “Christmas” miracle, and made a big breakfast of ham and eggs. Going about the house, doing the little chores he “used” to do, made him feel like he was “coming back” after a long time away.
Doing the family’s dirty laundry, Weston says, made him feel connected to them all in an “animal,” flesh-and-blood way, as if the clothes were the people themselves. Feeling linked to them, forever, through blood, he unexpectedly felt no desire to “escape.” This connection was a “good thing”: His family, he realized, naturally belonged together under one roof, and this revelation gave him great hope. Wesley interrupts to say he’s “starving,” and his father tells him to take a bath, to wash the blood off. As Wesley exits the room, Weston yells to him that he’s thinking of taking his advice and joining the California Avocado Association. Their farm, with a little work, could be a profitable venture again; and that piece of desert he bought could be resold for a bundle, since it’s only a “three-mile drive” from Palm Springs.
Ella, looking “haggard,” returns from visiting her daughter in jail, and asks Weston why the lamb is still in the kitchen. He replies that he has mostly cured its maggots. Confused by his new optimism and energy, she asks him if he’s having a “nervous breakdown.” Finally, he asks her why she was at the jailhouse, and she tells him about Emma’s shooting spree. Weston responds that “she always was a fireball” (188), thanks to “inheritance,” and he salutes this “courage,” especially in one so young. Ella derides him for being proud of his daughter’s violent rampage. Weston notes that Ella is the only family member who lacks the “self-destructive” gene, as she comes from a different bloodline.
Ella begins to lose patience with Weston’s Jeckyl-Hyde transformation, saying she’s not buying his “crap.” Rejecting his offer of coffee, she screams at him to get the sheep out of her kitchen. Weston coolly accuses her of pretending she’s a hothead just like the rest of them. Sympathetically, he suggests that she use the kitchen table as a bed, as he did earlier, saying that it will “deliver” her; Ella takes his advice, pushing the clean laundry onto the floor. After she lies down, Wesley enters, completely naked, looking “dazed.” Both his mother and father see him but show no reaction. Finally, he picks up the lamb and carries it off stage right.
Weston rambles to Ella about how too much soft living can numb one into a “trance” and that one needs something tough, like a good “hard table,” to return to life; Ella sarcastically says he should have been a preacher. Irritably, Weston shouts to Wesley (who is offstage) that his breakfast is ready, but he has disappeared with the lamb. As Ella falls asleep and Weston starts to eat his son’s breakfast, Wesley reenters wearing his father’s cast-off clothes: baggy pants, tennis shoes, and baseball cap. Shocked, Weston asks him why he’s wearing the filthy “old bum’s” clothes that he threw away, and Wesley says simply, “They fit me” (191). He announces that he butchered the lamb, shocking his father, who points out that the refrigerator is “crammed” with food. As Weston looks on, Wesley takes an assortment of food from the refrigerator and eats it ravenously.
With increasing unease, Weston apologizes to his son for not helping more with “chores” in the past but suggests that the supply of artichokes he brought partly atones for that. Nervously, he says that Wesley can’t have been “starving”: Many people, he says, would envy his childhood, so his attempts to make his father feel “guilty” are misguided. Wildly, he shouts at Ella to wake up, to no effect; then he tells Wesley that he doesn’t have to “pay” for his past anymore, because as of this morning he’s a “whole new person”: “IT’S ALL OVER WITH BECAUSE I’VE BEEN REBORN!” (192). Pausing his eating, Wesley tells his father coldly that the loan sharks will kill him. He was unable to get the money back from Ellis and explains, “Maybe you’ve changed, but you still owe them” (192). Taylor, Wesley tells him, has run off to Mexico, and the strip of desert he sold Weston is “fake land” that no one will buy. Weston claims to have no memory of those dealings and says it isn’t fair: He just built a new door and got a brand-new lease on life. Nevertheless, he rejects his son’s advice to save himself by running away, because this house is where the “line ended” for him. He has “settled down” here and has nowhere else to go.
As his memories return, Weston tells his son how he sank so deeply into debt. Convinced that his finances couldn’t get any worse, so they must get better, he decided to “bank’’ on the future through increased borrowing. The lenders, he thought, wouldn’t be so “generous” if he wasn’t a good risk. Therefore, he decided to “play ball” and become a full-fledged consumer, buying refrigerators, cars, land, etc., all on credit. It was easy, he says, because these days no actual money changes hands; it’s all “invisible.” Wesley reproaches his father for leaving Ella and the family for long periods of time, and Weston says he couldn’t stand the feeling of everything staying the same, forever: “I kept looking for it out there somewhere. And all the time it was right inside this house” (194). However, Wesley reminds him that the loan sharks know where he lives and will come for him. Weston ponders running off to Mexico, maybe tracking down Taylor while he’s at it. He still seems hurt that Ella had an affair with Taylor, the man who cheated him on the desert land. Weston exits stage right, and Wesley, looking dazed, picks food off the floor and starts eating again.
Emma enters, wearing jodhpurs and swinging a riding crop. She overheard Weston’s “stupid” plans of running off to Mexico and thinks he’ll quickly be caught. She derides Wesley for eating off the floor and for wearing his father’s clothes; explaining the latter, Wesley says he was trying his father’s “remedy,” but it didn’t work for him. He says he took hot and cold baths and then walked around the house naked, like Weston. However, he didn’t feel any different, other than getting a chill. Discovering his father’s old clothes in the trash, he put them on, with uncanny results: Each piece of clothing seemed to grow on him like flesh until, little by little, he felt his father taking him over. It was, he says, like the “change of the guards” (196). Emma asks Wesley for money, and as he digs in his pocket, he asks how she got out of jail. She used her inborn “criminal intelligence,” she says, making “sexual overtures” to the police sergeant. She tells Wesley that she’s about to run off to begin a life of crime, which is the only thing, she says, that yields “straight profit.” Wesley, she adds, has a lot to learn, like how to look behind people’s eyes and see what they’re hiding. She says, “Everybody’s hiding,” and exits, planning to steal her mother’s car and never return.
Ella wakes up on the kitchen table. Mistaking Wesley for his father, she shouts at him to stop Emma from leaving, adding, “I’m responsible!” Immediately, a “huge explosion” erupts off stage, with a great flash of light. Wesley and Ella stare at it in silence. A small, well-dressed man (Emerson) enters, giggling, followed by his partner, Slater, who carries the skinned carcass of Wesley’s lamb. The two make coarse remarks about the lamb, laughing “hysterically,” and then tell Ella and Wesley that the explosion they just heard was a “little reminder.” Wesley intuits that the two men put a bomb in the family car, intending to blow up Weston, but killed Emma instead. Emerson says that’s what happens when you don’t pay your bills, and Slater specifies that he used a gelignite-nitro mixture, “beautiful stuff.” After making a few more threats, the two men leave, still laughing.
Wesley and Ella stand back-to-back in the kitchen. Wesley gazes out at the burning car, while Ella stares fixedly at the lamb carcass lying in the pen. Not realizing that her daughter is dead, Ella says she simply can’t believe Emma left on her horse, just as she threatened; she regrets having slept through Emma’s last visit to the house. She then tells Wesley that the lamb carcass reminds her of Weston’s story about the eagle. Taking turns, the two of them piece together the ending of the story, which Weston left out when he told it earlier. As the eagle made its dives to snatch up the lamb testes, a big tomcat, looking for food, came along and jumped onto the roof. The eagle, in its next plunge, grabbed the cat up in its talons. Savagely, the two of them fought in midair, tearing each other apart. Finally, Ella says, the two of them came “crashing down. Like one whole thing” (200). Wesley and Ella become quiet, their backs to each other, as the stage fades to black.
The symbolic presence of a lamb in a play full of mythical allusions suggests a tale of Christlike redemption, even rebirth. Indeed, as the lights rise on Act III, the once-dissolute Weston seems, as he later tells his son, “a whole new person” (192). He’s clean, sober, and newly responsible and, in his work ethic and sense of purpose, evokes his son at the beginning of Act I; also like Wesley, he talks while working, losing himself in a long soliloquy about his new role as a nurturer. However, he passive-aggressively claims ownership of repairing the door without acknowledging his son’s effort, and his blissfully transcendent self-reflection hits some sour notes, like the incongruity of telling a sickly lamb a story about castrating lambs. Also less than Christlike is his identification with a predator, a “giant eagle” scavenging for lamb testes. These contradictions hint that his epiphany will essentially be hollow and short-lived.
Weston breaks off his monologue when he notices Wesley listening and then shares with his son the revelation that led to his “rebirth.” While strolling the grounds that morning, Weston felt momentarily estranged from himself, like an intruder on his own property—somewhat like Wesley’s sensation in Act I of being an “enemy” in his own bedroom. The parallels between the words of father and son underscore that they’re becoming more similar. A “great feeling” then floods Weston—the knowledge that he owns the property. Of course, he already sold the farm and owns nothing but debts; like a condemned man on the scaffold, he can take in the rich pageantry of life only when it’s about to be snatched away. For the time being, though, the rapturous light of his revelation blacks out the memory of these bitter facts.
Handling his family’s laundry reminds him, he says, that they all share the same flesh and blood: It’s still a fate but no longer a curse for him. If clothes “attach” intimately to a flesh-and-blood identity, then surely one can “peel off” one’s old self along with one’s clothing. Later, Weston reacts with horror when his discarded clothes uncannily rise and return to him, as if in accusation, on his dejected son. For now, Weston refuses to see any of the downsides: his failing crops, his worthless desert purchase, his debts, even the violent crimes of his daughter, which he laughs off as high-spirited and brave. Repairing the kitchen door he broke, he talks as if he has mended the flaws of a lifetime. The man who, just yesterday, threatened to kill his wife and her lover now gently soothes Ella to sleep on the kitchen table.
Predictably, Weston’s “new” self doesn’t last long. When Wesley enters wearing Weston’s filthy old clothes, which Weston threw in the trash, his “rebirth” begins to falter. He sees how his behaviors affected his family, silencing dissent, which thematically supports The Breakdown of Communication. Confronting this doppelganger, Weston’s sense of his family as a single “animal,” so vivid only moments before, begins to fade: “I can’t fathom you” (191), he tells Wesley, as his own “pissed in” clothes come after him like the family curse. Worse, he learns that Wesley, with a callousness that reflects his own selfish past, has slaughtered the maggot-stricken lamb, symbol of the family itself. In keeping with the Christian symbolism, a resurrection happens, but, grotesquely, it’s the old, abusive Weston who rises again, not a lamb of God.
As Wesley tells his sister later, he tried his father’s “remedy”—for the metaphorical maggots within himself—but it didn’t work. Chilly in his nakedness, he put on his father’s old clothes and finally experienced an epiphany, though not the one he wanted: With visceral horror, he felt his father “taking” him over, a process he resisted his entire life, alluding to the “invasion” he feared while lying in bed under his model planes. Though the refrigerator is full of food, Wesley slaughters the lamb he was nurturing—fatalistically acting out his father’s longtime ritual of harming and hollowing out his family: the very people he swore to protect. This act thematically supports The Normalization of Violence in Domestic Spaces.
Belatedly trying to atone for his long absences, Weston inverts Jesus’s parable of the prodigal son, returning as a prodigal father to a barren, bitter household whose “fatted calves” are long gone. Though he desperately argues, “I don’t have to pay for my past now!” (192), his “rebirth” hasn’t changed his material circumstances. As Wesley points out, the farm is still lost, and Weston owes money to dangerous men: “Maybe you’ve changed, but you still have to pay them” (192). Weston, it seems, has fallen into a cultural trap as beguiling and as harmful as Emma’s B-movie fantasies: namely, the American Dream of conspicuous consumption, much of it financed with nonexistent money. To convince himself and others that he had “made it,” Weston bought “refrigerators, […] cars, houses, lots” (194), mostly on credit, thematically underscoring The Illusion of the American Dream. This false sustenance was, for his family, as vaporous as the “invisible” money he used to buy it.
For most of his life, Weston had no stomach for the genuine, emotional sustenance of “home.” He couldn’t figure out “the jumps,” the vagaries of domestic life, which demanded too much attention (and perhaps compassion) from him. The irony is that he finally learns, much too late, the sanctity of family, now that his own is fractured from within and menaced from without, largely because of his own neglect. He now has no real option but to flee to Mexico.
In the end, Curse of the Starving Class, unlike Shepard’s later “family” play Buried Child, features no miracles. The play’s climax, true to its title, is one of doom for the Tate family. Emma, initially a dutiful farmgirl making 4-H posters, experiences the worst (albeit cartoonish) fate: Starved for affection by her family and seduced by a corrupt, escapist pop culture, she morphs into a hard-boiled femme fatale and dies in a car-bomb explosion, the sort of last-reel pyrotechnics that might climax one of the TV shows she watches. Her mother, once glowing with dreams of touring Europe, now drifts in and out of sleep on the kitchen table, listlessly unaware of her daughter’s demise and repeatedly mistaking her son for her husband. Taylor and Ellis, the story’s emblematic villains, have ceded the stage to their nightmare doubles: the giggling assassins Slater and Emerson, monsters from a bad film noir. Wesley, who once embodied his “cursed” family’s best hopes for survival, has so succumbed to the hereditary curse that his own mother calls him by his father’s name.
In the end, the two remaining Tates, Wesley and Ella, stand rigidly back-to-back in the kitchen, exemplifying the gulfs of misunderstanding and alienation that have long plagued the family. However, their body language and speech convey ambiguity. Ella stares at the butchered lamb and discusses the past, while Wesley gazes outward, in the direction of the burning car (and ostensibly the future), suggesting that he may have absorbed a lesson from his sister’s fate and may yet escape the cursed house, perhaps to Alaska. Alternatively, his haunted stare reflects a fatalistic rejection of his sister’s path (escape), leaving him trapped in the house, forever, as a debased double of his father.
This last scene gains credence from Ella’s retelling of her husband’s anecdote about the diving eagle, to which she adds the grim climax that Weston left out: After thrilling Weston with its magisterial dives, the eagle accidentally picked up a cat in its talons, and the cat and eagle tore each other apart. This is another obvious symbol, not only for the ruthless outsiders (Taylor, Ellis, Slater, and Emerson) who prey on the Tates but also for the family’s long war of mutually assured destruction, in which they clung desperately to the very people who were destroying them and whom they destroyed. One interpretation is that Wesley and Ella, trapped in their decaying house like a doomed couple from Greek tragedy or gothic literature, will perpetuate the cycle of loveless, needy abuse.
One development, however, hints at a ray of light in the family’s future: As Ella completes Weston’s story about the eagle, Wesley assists her, providing more details, and the two finish the tale together. This could mean simply that they’re trapped, tooth and nail, in this metaphor: one the cat, the other the eagle. However, their mere communication and cooperation contrasts sharply (and promisingly) with Wesley and Weston’s two monologues, which are models of aloof self-absorption. This new reciprocity suggests hope for growth and change—perhaps even the end of the “curse.”



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