Previews: GOD OF CARNAGE at TampaRep

TampaRep will unleash Yasmina Reza’s Tony and Olivier Award-winning comedy God of Carnage in an intimate, in‑the‑round staging at the Hillsborough Community College Performing Arts Center Studio Theatre from January 30 through February 15, 2026.

The production features Christopher Marshall as Alan Raleigh, Courtney Elvira as Annette Raleigh, Andrew Deeb as Michael Novak, and Georgia Mallory Guy as Veronica Novak.

Director Alexis Carra was drawn to the play’s unsettling timeliness. “It feels painfully current. We’re living in a time where everyone is trying to appear reasonable and enlightened until they’re not. God of Carnage pulls the curtain back on how fast that collapses.”

Updating the play to 2026 and placing it in the round heightens that immediacy. “There’s nowhere to hide for the characters or the audience.”

Carra leans into the script’s delicate balance of comedy and cruelty by grounding everything in truth. “We focused on honesty, not humor. Nobody is trying to be funny; they’re trying to be right. The comedy comes from watching people spiral while insisting they’re still behaving appropriately.”

Whenever a moment drifted toward theatricality, she redirected the actors to the core question: “What do you want in this moment? What are you defending?”

The production’s slow, deliberate unraveling is staged to feel almost uncomfortably real. “The beginning is polite, contained, almost stiff. Then the interruptions increase, the listening disappears, and the bodies take up more space.”

The in‑the‑round configuration amplifies the tension. “The audience can see the unraveling from multiple angles at once sometimes literally seeing someone behave one way while someone else reacts behind them.”

Much of the play’s bite comes from the fractures each couple brings into the room long before the meeting begins. “These couples aren’t in crisis because of this meeting this meeting just exposes it. Each actor knew what conversations their characters have stopped having at home. That emotional baggage is always in the room, even when they’re being polite.”

The single living‑room setting becomes a pressure cooker. “The space is realistic and contemporary phones, AirPods, modern comforts but it becomes a kind of arena. As emotions escalate, the room doesn’t change; how people occupy it does.”

Carra wants the audience to feel like they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t. “It’s intentionally voyeuristic like watching something you can’t unsee.”

The rhythm of the play is equally crucial. “We treated it like live conversation, not theatre. Interruptions had to feel impulsive, not timed. Silences had to feel uncomfortable the kind where no one knows what to say but someone speaks anyway.” That rawness keeps the tension alive and prevents the comedy from becoming polished or safe.

Carra’s sympathies shifted constantly throughout rehearsals. “Just when you think someone is being reasonable, they cross a line. I don’t think the play asks us to pick sides it asks us to recognize ourselves in all of them.”

Rehearsals also revealed unexpected discoveries: “How funny the play became when we stopped pushing for laughs. Some of the most devastating moments came from stillness or unexpected vulnerability.” The cast also uncovered how physical the power dynamics are. “Who stands, who sits, who suddenly feels isolated. Those discoveries reshaped the staging.”

She distills her entire vision into one sentence: “Four adults trying desperately to behave well and failing in very human ways.”

Carra hopes audiences leave with a mix of reactions. “Amused, uncomfortable, and a little exposed. I want people to laugh and then question why they laughed. Being in the round makes the audience complicit. You’re not just watching the carnage you’re part of the circle.”