Summary
In a seedy Oklahoma motel, a lonely waitress’s romance with a mysterious drifter spirals into shared paranoia when he becomes convinced the government has infected him with microscopic bugs.
Friday, January 2, 2026 at 7:00 PM Jan 2, 2026, 7:00 PM
Very like a bottle episode of prestige TV; the fly episode of Breaking Bad is a good comparison in more ways than one. (I imagine this must have inspired that. ☺️) There’s some commentary underpinning this about how even the deeply unwell can sound reasonable & kind at first blush, and, moreover, that a desperate, profoundly lonely person can be exploited by a promise of human connection. It feels timely in the age of conspiracy theory dominance.
In practice, though, I think the person that falls for Bug is more likely to be impressed by Tracy Letts’s talent for writing batshit characters and scenarios. (Heard a fair amount of that in the post-show crowd buzz.) It’s a slow burner—a really slow one—but, rest assured, it gets there, and the second act is loaded with “eugh” moments when I wanted to avert my eyes. (Pliers. Lordy.) The first act is trading so heavily in setup, though, that I was tempted to shut my eyes for other reasons, and with a runtime of two hours and so little tension running into intermission, I have to wonder if there isn’t a one-hour-forty one-act take that would be more lively.
While I didn’t love the play itself, I thought the cast and creative team realized it very well. You’ll be hearing about Carrie Coon at Tony time; she exhibits wide emotive range, nails a couple of meaty monologues, and sells some really vulnerable physical sequences (nudity, domestic violence). I was less enchanted by Namir Smallwood, who admittedly has a difficult job playing such an ill man, but he delivers so many lines in the sluggish first act in the same flat cadence. The diagonally cross-sectioned motel room set is believably detailed down to the yucky comforter on the bed, lit with lazy afternoon sun through a window, and so visibly lived-in that it adds some character texture before the show even begins. The sound design is consistently irritating in a way that contributes meaningfully to the paranoid atmosphere, prodding us with all manner of beeps and buzzes and bangs. There’s one scene change in here that is so neat (and funny—they put the painting back on the wall?) that I would consider going again to better understand how they did it.
I just wish that I could shake the feeling that this is chaotic and violent for its own sake. I’m firmly not a body horror person and, while this isn’t exactly that, it’s adjacent enough to raise the question, like, is this justified? I think it might be, but barely, and Bug will certainly rank among the less-pleasant theatrical experiences of the season. I didn’t love it but I respect the craft.