The scene is a middle-class home in Piscataway, New Jersey, where Ozzie Ann (the mother) and Harry (the father) await the return of their Vietnam veteran son, David, and his native bride, Liat. Also on hand are younger brother Et, a sex-obsessed high school junior who eats cornflakes from his unzipped pants; and Hazel, the irrepressible black maid (portrayed by a male performer) who is the real power in the household. When David and Liat arrive they are both blind (which he demonstrates by walking into the refrigerator) and she is an ex-hooker (who later turns out to be a displaced orphan named Maureen O'Hara). Thereafter come suicide, adultery, the feeble intervention of a homosexual priest and the arrival of a super-patriotic, war-mongering uncle—plus a staccato of outrageous comments by the cynical Hazel. The final result is a scathing, irreverent indictment of the worst aspects of the American character, made real by the incisiveness of the author's writing, yet hilarious by the wild originality of his vision.
I didn’t know what to expect from Charles Durang’s The Vietnamization of New Jersey, but I was genuinely surprised by how this short play unfolded. Labeled an “American Tragedy,” the play lives up to that designation while also being incredibly funny in a sharp, absurdist way. Despite its humor, the play does not shy away from darker themes, using satire to expose the deep dysfunction and decay of the Bartholomew family—and by extension, American society at large.
It’s worth noting that the text contains offensive language that would not appear on stage today, but even this language serves a satirical purpose. It underscores the failings of the characters and the rot at the heart of their lives, highlighting their ignorance and privilege rather than glorifying it. The setup feels familiar, almost like a parody of a classic family sitcom: a nuclear family awaits the return of their son from the Vietnam War. But when he arrives, they’re confronted with a reality that disrupts their illusions, and chaos ensues.
One standout character is Hazel, the family maid. Her nihilism and sharp understanding of the absurdity around her provide a stark contrast to Ozzie’s delusions and privilege. Hazel’s clarity serves as a grounding force in a play where so many characters are lost in their own echo chambers. This theme of communication breakdown is central, as characters routinely fail to truly hear or understand one another—an idea introduced early on when Harry and Ozzie cannot comprehend their son Et’s words.
In a strikingly King Lear-like twist, it is only when Daniel, the son who fought in Vietnam, goes blind that he can finally “see” America and the world with clarity. However, his self-righteous guilt, a caricature of performative activism, does little to inspire real change. Durang’s portrayal satirizes those who approach activism more as a way to cleanse personal guilt than as a genuine effort to address systemic problems. This critique is pointed and resonates far beyond the specific time period of the play. And obviously, Daniel is one of the least ridiculous characters in all of this. Daniel actually seems reasonable, even though he spends a majority of the time screaming hysterically off stage.
Another standout moment is the arrival of Larry, the mafioso brother-in-law, who replaces Harry, the family patriarch, with chilling authoritarian zeal. Larry’s fascistic behavior is both darkly comic and deeply unsettling, making a broader statement about the allure of power and control in a society blinded by privilege and delusion. This moment, like much of the play, feels strikingly relevant even today, as it reflects the broader dynamics of a nation that is deaf, blind, and utterly detached from reality.
Durang’s sharp wit and cleverness shine throughout the play, and his insights feel startlingly prophetic. He paints a bleak but accurate picture of a society grappling with its failures, using humor and absurdity to drive home uncomfortable truths. The Vietnamization of New Jersey is a powerful, biting satire that leaves a lasting impression—both as a tragicomic exploration of family dysfunction and as a broader critique of a nation in denial.