Bug ★★★★ - The Recs

We’re only days into 2026, but we’ve already got our first Pouch Play of the year.

Ostensibly, the unbeloved Yondr pouches that greet theatergoers who are going to see Tracy Letts’ Bug are there to prevent prohibited photos of the two lead actors’ naked bodies from being shared online, but audience members who happen to have similar conspiracy tendencies to the play’s protagonists may very well believe by show’s end that their briefly imprisoned phones are now spying on them.

And — wink, wink — who’s to say with full confidence they’re not?

When Bug opened off-Broadway in 2004, the idea that a lonely, isolated couple could get so immersed in shared paranoia that they could cause harm to themselves and others seemed more body-horror fantastical than believable. That is the case no longer. In fact, just two days ago the country recognized the fifth anniversary of the January 6th insurrection, a nightmarish event fueled by thousands of Americans who passionately embraced deep, troubling conspiracy theories and continue to do so despite all rational evidence to the contrary.

Thus the patent current-day relevance of Letts’ psychological thriller makes its revival hit much harder, especially since the duo that falls down the rabbit hole initially seems so level-headed. Cocktail waitress Agnes White (Carrie Coon) is living in a seedy motel room in rural Oklahoma, doing her best to hide from her abusive ex, Jerry Goss (Steve Key). One night she is introduced by mutual friend R.C. (Jennifer Engstrom) to Peter Evans (Namir Smallwood), a Gulf War veteran who quickly and casually ingratiates himself into her life. He sleeps on her floor until he is invited to the bed, and what appears to be sweet romance in the offing takes a sharp turn hours after they have sex for the first time, when Peter gets bitten by something and turns on the lights to find the guilty culprit.

He finds it, or claims to. Agnes can’t quite see the bug — or any bug — but one bite leads to another. And another. Then bugs are everywhere, or at least that’s what Peter believes as he doggedly seeks the source of whatever’s nipping them. Agnes doesn’t see the bugs or feel their bites at first, but she soon becomes convinced of both as well, at which point the two start theorizing weirder and wilder possibilities as to the causes of the aphid invasion.

Manhattan Theatre Club has brought the fairly recent Steppenwolf staging of Bug to its Broadway space, and that package has both pros and cons. On the plus side is the first-rate cast. Smallwood, terrific in a role originated and made famous by Michael Shannon, projects an inner calm that makes his increasing paranoia all the more frightening when it hits full tilt, all while never losing the sympathy of the audience. He’s abetted by the wonderful Coon, far from any gilded age in her cut-off jean shorts and strip-mall hairdo. Coon captures Agnes’s harrowing trajectory — from hard-life loner to doomed lover — without a modicum of vanity. The two leads are well supported by Key, Randall Arney (in a short but vivid appearance), and Engstrom, who physically embodies her character’s hard-life history with an uncomfortably angular body posture and still manages to bring great dignity to the kind of person who’s rarely afforded it.

On the downside are a few rare missteps from director David Cromer, whose adherence to classic Chicago gritty realism results in a clunky opening scene where the often-overlapping dialogue makes everything seem muddled and off-rhythm. Naturalism at the expense of clarity doesn’t work on Broadway, so here’s to hoping that those line cadences improve over the course of the run. Also confusing: When Peter’s first bitten by a bug, to find and kill it, he turns on a very soft light that only Blanche DuBois would appreciate. Nope. Once bitten, not shy. Those lights would be put on full blast to find a mysterious bed chomper.

Overall, these are minor issues in a production that is otherwise excellent, including a major coup de théâtre late in the play thanks to scenic designer Takeshi Kata. With its superb cast and its increasingly relevant, creepy script, Bug bugs out its audience in all the right ways.