‘Buried Child’ is a play about the disintegration of the nuclear family in the wake of the American dream. When Vince brings his girlfriend, Shelly, home to meet his family, she is confronted with his ranting, alchoholic grandparents and their two sons: Tilden, a simpleton, and Bradley, who has lost one leg to a chain saw. Vince’s family don’t even recognise him at first, treating him as an intruder. After the visit, Vince’s instinct is to run as far away as possible and never look back, but when he glimpses his reflection in the mirror, he realises that his identity is emeshed with theirs, stretching back through his ancestry…

I was gonna run last night. I was gonna run and keep right on running. Clear to the Iowa border. I drove all night with the windows open. The old man’s two bucks flapping right on the seat beside me. It never stopped raining the whole time. Never stopped once. 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. As though I could see his whole race behind him. Like a mummy’s face. I saw him dead and alive at the same time. In the same breath. In the windshield I watched him breathe as though he was frozen in time and every breath marked him. Marked him forever without him knowing. And then his face changed. His face became his father’s face. Same bones. Same eyes. Same nose. Same breath. 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. Still recognized the bones underneath. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same breath. I followed my family clear into Iowa. Every last one. Straight into the corn belt and further. Straight back as far as they’d take me. Then it all dissolved. Everything dissolved. Just like that. And that two bucks kept right on flapping on the seat beside me.