The performances by Laurie Metcalf and Alison Pill are also splendid, but Jackson is especially amazing. At first she is an irascible, partly dotty old lady of 92—she claims to be 91-- complaining about everything, but also providing a steady flow of muddled memories. She dominates the stage as she rattles on and on, including spewing racist comments, but sometimes she breaks down and cries. When she urgently needs to go to the bathroom she demands assistance, but then rebels against the attempt to help her.

It is her stories, delivered loud and clear, with perfect enunciation on every word and timing that leads up to lines that will make an audience roar with laughter. Of course, Albee has created a basically serious play for three actresses named only A, B and C. In the first scene we see B (Metcalf) in the role of exasperatingly taking care of A (Jackson) and C (Pill) there from a law office attempting to get A to overcome her reluctance to signing a stack of papers.

But Albee soon mischievously surprises us as the play veers into all three interacting actresses playing the same woman at different stages of her life. A (Jackson) has died, but she is still with us on stage as the oldest and dispensing more anecdotes and wisdom. Her past includes a bum marriage and a gay son she dislikes. The account of an erect penis and how a piece of jewelry was presented to her is a classic in the realm of receiving gifts.

Metcalf gets her turn to effectively talk about her life as B, who is inevitably working her way toward becoming elderly. Pill plays the youngest and gets her say about her life up to now. On a bed in the background is a replica of A as a corpse, and we see her son, played silently by Joseph Medeiros, come to see his dead mother.

Scenic designer Miriam Buether contributes importantly, first with a large, elegant room, and then, in the second half with the clever use of mirrors. Costume designer Ann Roth has dressed the women in a manner that helps define them.