Haunted house stories can be both thrilling and entertaining. There is, unfortunately, little fun to be had inside the Beacon Hill apartment occupied by blocked, depressed writer Sally in the present day and in the 1950s by her more celebrated (albeit equally depressed) 20th-century counterpart in Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia, Beth Hyland’s downer of a World Premiere at Westwood’s Geffen Playhouse.

The play gets off to an engaging enough start, Studio Bent’s scenic design and Samantha C. Jones’s costumes cuing us in to the opening scene’s 1950s setting even before Sylvia (Marianna Gailus) utters her first lines in the artificial mid-Atlantic accent so common in mid-20th-century movies.

 Husband-wife conversation reveals Sylvia and Ted’s (Cillian O’Sullivan) determination to become both happy and famous, though her reluctance to add a child into the mix, for fear that it will rob the two of them of the time to write, suggests that not all is sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows in the 30ish spouses’ lives.

On the plus side, they’ve got enough savings in the bank to allow them to “write and write and write,” something Sylvia appears already to be succeeding at (three acceptances this month alone, including one from the Boston Herald), though Ted not so much.

 Flash forward to the present day (time travel achieved in mere seconds by some ingenious quick changes in scenic design pair Adam Rigg and Anton Volovsek’s apartment set) and we meet Sylvia and Ted’s contemporary counterparts Sally (Midori Francis) and Theo (Noah Keyishian), the latter of whose Forever Alone has just been awarded the prestigious First Novel Prize, not exactly music to his wife’s ears seeing as Penguin has given Sally just 60 days to submit a draft of her second novel or return the generous advance she’s already spent every cent of on household expenses … or else.

Then comes the night when a hopelessly blocked Sally receives an unexpected visitor from the past and we come to realize that the Sylvia we’ve met in the play’s opening scene is none other than Sylvia Plath (of The Bell Jar and oven suicide fame), and since Sally’s first (and still only) novel achieved renown as “the Millennial Bell Jar,” it could well be that Sylvia’s arrival might be the answer to Sally’s prayers.

 Or not, since it’s about here that Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia begins to darken, and then darken even more as Sally’s depression deepens and deepens, and if you think having Sylvia Plath as her spectral mentor is going to help Sally’s road to recovery, you’ve got another thing coming.

 While I tend to bristle at the recent trend to warn audiences in advance of anything that might prove a “trigger” in the play they’re about to see, if ever there were a production that those dealing with depression or extreme stress should avoid like the plague, it’s Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia because if that sounds like you, whatever you’re feeling going in, you’re going to be feeling a lot worse going out, despite the play’s marginally optimistic ending.

That’s not to say that director Jo Bonney hasn’t elicited powerful work from her cast of four, in particular from an absolutely devastating Francis in what ought to be remembered as one of the year’s most stunning (and I’m guessing emotionally draining) performances.

 Production design-wise, too, Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia is Grade A all the way, with additional kudos shared by Lap Chi Chu (lighting) and Lindsay Jones (original music and sound design), whose combined efforts make even more visceral the nightmare that is Sally’s life.

Casting is by Phyllis Schuringa, CSA. Sabrina J. Liu, Alexander Molina, Eric Myrick, and Sophie Neff are understudies.

 Sarah Showich is associate director. Paul Wagar is dialect coach. Olivia O’Connor is dramaturg. Liz Brohm Hanrahan is production stage manager and Juliet Park is assistant stage manager.

Press materials promising “eerie encounters” in a “gripping tragicomic thriller” seem to suggest that Sylvia Sylvia Sylvia might have more than a bit in common with the Ahmanson’s recent Paranormal Activities, a play that despite considerable darkness managed to entertain as often as it thrilled.

Such is unfortunately not the case at the Geffen Playhouse. I’ve rarely seen a play quite this hard to sit through.

Geffen Playhouse, 10886 Le Conte Ave., Westwood.
www.geffenplayhouse.com

–Steven Stanley
February 11, 2026
Photos: Jeff Lorch

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Tags: Beth Hyland, Geffen Playhouse, Los Angeles Theater Review