Buried But Not Gone: How Shepard's Vision Of America Still Haunts Us

“You change. You go through all kinds of contortions. But the play is the same.” – Sam Shepard

Carl Lindberg as Tilden. Photos by Alyson O'Hara

Shepard’s 1978 dramedy “Buried Child” feels inalienable from the time in which it was written. Touching on the disillusioned and cynical mood of the late seventies, the show commented on the failed myth of the American Dream, the rise of the religious right, and the decay facing rural America. The economic outlook at the time was bleak, and Americans had been increasingly losing faith in the institutions meant to support them, contributing to an already deep-seeded sense of individualism. In his own words, Shepard sought with this play to “destroy the idea of the American family drama”. But in his attempt to destroy the idea of the drama, he drew attention to the belief throughout the country that the American family had already been destroyed.

Following the “sex, drugs, and rock & roll” and civil rights movement of the

1960s, Americans outside of the counterculture began to feel that their way of life was threatened, especially rural Americans. Young people were leaving for bigger cities, and the government was failing to support economically struggling areas. “Urban elites” became a scapegoat for the problems they faced, and in response rural communities became increasingly insular. Conservative activism found a foothold in these frustrated communities and sought to fight against the 1960s legacy of personal liberation and increased acceptance of diverse lifestyles. “Focus on the family” became a frequent refrain, and a pernicious obsession with the preservation of the nuclear family became a sticking point for conservative organizations and think-tanks.

If you’re thinking to yourself “gosh, that sounds familiar”, you would be right. The

idea of “going back to the good old days” (ahem, paraphrasing) isn’t new at all, and

when you take a look the country’s snap to the right in the late 1970s, it feels eerily

similar to the landscape today.

Shepard’s vision of a fractured and haunted household one that clings to ritual and memory while rotting from within, feels tragically prophetic.

Sabrina Fullhart as Shelly, Charlie Hubbard as Vince. Photos by Alyson O'Hara

In today’s America, where violence often erupts from ideological divides and cultural anxieties, Buried Child resonates not because it predicts the future, but because it captures a recurring cycle. The play’s surreal unraveling of family secrets mirrors a national tendency to bury uncomfortable truths, only for them to resurface in moments of crisis. Shepard doesn’t offer solutions, but he does force us to confront the mythologies embedded in American culture, and the damage they can do when they no longer serve us.

Richard Maynard as Dodge, Kim Grimaldi as Halie. Photos by Alyson O'Hara

Ultimately, Buried Child endures because it refuses to let us look away. It’s not just a portrait of one broken family—it’s a meditation on the American psyche, on what happens when nostalgia curdles into denial.

In a culture still grappling with identity, belonging, and the violence that simmers beneath, Shepard’s play remains a stark reminder: what’s buried doesn’t stay buried forever.

Iowa Stage's production of Buried Child by Sam Shepard runs October 17-26, 2025 at the Stoner Theater in the Des Moines Civic Center.

Tickets available here.

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Emma Ferguson a researcher by profession, she is a graduate in Creative Writing and Anthropology from the University of Iowa and in Public Health from Des Moines University.