Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

Never mind Virginia Woolf, she's a lightweight compared to "Martha" (Elizabeth Taylor) as "Nick" (George Segal) and his wife "Honey" (Sandy Dennis) are about to discover for themselves. They've already been at a faculty do with her and husband "George" (Richard Burton) and have gone round after for a nightcap. That's their first mistake as a vitriolic battle of sarcastic and venomous wits is just getting started between their hosts. Initially they are sympathetically embarrassed but then that morphs into something a little more participative as the brandy and the bourbon starts to take effect on everyone. In vino vertitas has never been more true as it emerges that the older couple have a son, the other bugger, and it's clear from early on that something on that front is not right. The younger couple are not immune from the prevailing toxicity and before long they are also starting to question some of what underpins their own relationship. As tempers flare, things become even more unpleasant - even violent, as there are no holds barred and psychological cruelty becomes the benchmark for just about all of them. I saw this on stage and loved it. On the big screen, Mike Nicholls has used his cinematic advantages to make it even more potent. By using the cast together, splitting them off into pairs, changing the location from their increasingly small living room, occasionally involving an innocent bystander to temporarily lessen the stress levels and even pouring some coffee into them, we tell a remarkably hard-hitting story of grief. A festering, poisonous emotion that when not dealt with can grow to throttle just about any relationship - especially if the vintner is on it, too. Taylor and Burton excel, there's no other word for it. Her performance makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and is perfectly foiled by the more understated but just as brutal characterisation of "George" by a Burton rather benignly bedecked in his middle-aged cardigan - but don't be fooled. Though the plot doesn't focus so much on the others at the start, both Segal and a strong effort from Dennis come into their own too as the ghastliness of their new friends proves contagious and noxious. It's also directed as if we were watching from various points in the room, which adds extra impact as we see things from differing perspectives - but always with a horribly natural flow. It often comes across as a continuous stream of filming akin to how it would be presented live on a stage. This is cinema at it's most visceral with compelling characterisations and dialogue that really does hurt. Maybe don't watch if you've just had a row, or a few drinks, or both? No remakes, please.