Coon makes an unforgettable Broadway return in the new staging of her husband’s 1996 play.

Bug review: Carrie Coon is captivating in skin-crawling rendition of Tracy Letts’ cult-classic play

Coon makes an unforgettable Broadway return in the new staging of her husband's 1996 play.

By Shania Russell

Shania Russell

Shania Russell is a news writer at *, *with five years of experience. Her work has previously appeared in SlashFilm and Paste Magazine.

EW's editorial guidelines

January 8, 2026 8:30 p.m. ET

Leave a Comment

Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in 'Bug'. Credit:

Anyone who's battled bedbugs or seen an insect infestation up close knows the harrowing truth: once they invade, it takes blood, sweat, tears, and sheer strength of will to get them out. And at least that threat is tangible. In *Bug*, Carrie Coon's Agnes White — an Oklahoma waitress too exhausted to outrun her past — faces a more persistent threat.

The dingy motel room that has become her refuge is overrun with infestation: fear, trauma, conspiracy, loneliness, drugs. There's no shortage of parasites eating away at her sanity. Not to mention the titular bugs, a swarm of blood-invading creatures discovered by her new lover, the mysterious drifter Peter Evans (Namir Smallwood).

The 10 best Broadway shows of 2025 (and 3 worst)

'Marjorie Prime' review: The June Squibb-fronted play poses frightening questions

To be frank, *Bug* is a nightmarish experience — but not in an overt, shudder-inducing way. The psychological thriller, penned by Pulitzer Prize- and Tony-winning writer Tracy Letts (Coon's real life husband), cultivates fear slowly. It's been praised for this effect since premiering at the Steppenwolf Theater and 1996, and a decade later spawned a similarly unsettling film adaptation (an underseen thriller of the same name directed by William Friedkin and starring a baby-faced Micheal Shannon and Ashley Judd).

Here, there's a skin-crawling effect to watching the story unfold onstage. The Broadway production capitalizes on discomfort, keeping tension taut and surprises around every corner.

Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in 'Bug'.

The Samuel J. Friedman Theater was rippling with gasps as the show played out, concern palpable in the air. *Have they lost their minds? Is this really happening? *There was some cowering in seats, some shielded eyes and a general atmosphere of dread. But even if you do avert your eyes from some of the more gruesome developments, it's near impossible not to peek through your fingers: *Bug* is all absorbing.

The patient thriller finds Agnes lonely in her seedy motel, with a phone that often rings, though the person on the other end of the line never speaks. Already, she has plenty to fear, including her violent ex-husband Jerry (Steve Key), who she strongly suspects is on the other end of the line. And though there's much to unpack about that marriage, the story's core relationship is between her and Peter, a Gulf War veteran who offers a connection that Agnes didn't realize she was longing for.

Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood in 'Bug'.

The allure of their relationship is undeniable, but charming as their chemistry is, something is definitely off. Is it the motel? The lingering fear of Jerry's wrath? Or the simple fact that connection or not, these people have just met and there's so much that they don't know about each other?

Vulnerability is susceptibility, *Bug* warns. It hammers home the danger with moments of naked emotion. More than once, Coon and Smallwood are completely nude on stage, as Agnes and Peter lay hidden parts of their psyche bare. Agnes in particular is raw, more open than even she realizes. As usual, Coon thrives in ambiguity, layering a seemingly straightforward woman with depth. She delivers a captivating performance, well-matched by Smallwood, who offers an uneasy blend of menace and charm.

Carrie Coon in 'Bug'.

And despite the strangeness hanging over their relationship, Agnes and Peter have a compelling back-and-forth. What they forge together may not be healthy or stable, but it is a solace to them both. Isn't that worth something? They discuss government conspiracies, chase an imaginary cricket, unpack traumatic pasts, and descend into bug-induced madness.

"I guess I’d rather talk about bugs with you than talk about nothin’ with nobody," Agnes eventually admits.

Are the bugs real? A delusion? A coke-fueled nightmare? An existential threat? *Bug* keeps you guessing, and, more importantly, keeps you concerned. All the while, Tony Award winning director David Cromer (*The Band’s Visit*) exploits audience suspicion. It's made more effective thanks to the stage (design by Takeshi Kata) with its hidden rooms, eye-catching mirror, and flimsy motel feel. There's paranoia built into every detail of  this production, why would the set be any exception? Like the story, it also contains a few masterful surprises.

Carrie Coon, Namir Smallwood, Jennifer Engstrom, and Steve Key in 'Bug'.

Alongside Coon and Smallwood, *Bug* boasts impressive supporting performances. Randall Arney gets only a few moments onstage as the mysterious Dr. Sweet, but allows us fascinating insight into the mind of a man navigating a chaotic situation. Meanwhile, Jennifer Engstrom's R.C. radiates her own chaos as Agnes' ride or die friend who, for better or worse, brings Peter into her life. Key's Jerry is a disruption through and through, knocking everything just a little off-kilter with each volatile appearance.

Though it's more than engaging to watch the final snap, as things spiral out of control, *Bug* is best in its more grounded moments, pulling the tension taut and giving its performers room to shine. Coon and Smallwood, much like their characters, feed off one another, an exchange that's inviting, exhilarating, then painful so see unfold.

Agnes and Peter's connection, while fascinating, isn't exactly unique — not when it comes to grafting the story onto the real world. Originally penned in 1996, *Bug*'s ideas about the allure of conspiracy have aged frighteningly well. Agnes' descent isn't just traceable, it's eerily familiar. After all, her desires are universal: a place to direct her anger, an explanation for what she's lost, an answer to cling to, and someone to stand by her side. All it costs is her sanity. **Grade: B+**

- Theater & The Arts

- Theater Industry

- Theater Reviews & Recommendations

Original Article on Source

Source: “EW Theater”