The Glass Menagerie : The American Repertory Theatre Takes a New Look at Tennessee Williams

Zachary Quinto, Cherry Jones, Celia Keenan-Bolger. Photo: Michael J. Lutch.

In his preface to The Glass Menagerie, Tennessee Williams wrote that since it is a “memory play, [it] can be presented with unusual freedom of convention,” advice which director John Tiffany followed in his American Repertory Theatre production. The set, which represents the claustrophobic apartment of the Wingfield family, is composed of two hexagonal platforms that appear to float above a reflecting pool. The effect of this metaphor is to denote the family’s isolation. Stage right is the dining room, stage left the living room; both are furnished sparely, but, for the most part, realistically. The living room is dominated by a red patterned couch and matching rug.

At variance with these items is Laura’s prominently placed, obsolete wind-up Victrola with its shiny gold horn. Most striking is the equally golden fire escape, whose stairs and oblique railings extend upward and out of sight, imbuing the play with the expressionistic quality that Williams often sought. This fire escape, the only way in or out of the apartment, emblematizes the glamorous and adventurous life that Tom desires.

Although his semi-autobiographical play is about a dysfunctional family, Williams crafted The Glass Menagerie with a delicate hand, or so it had always seemed to me. In the A.R.T.’s production, the director, perhaps taking a cue from Amanda’s question, “Why can’t you and your brother be normal people?” has pushed both Laura and Tom to the edge. Celia Keenan-Bolger’s Laura is hunched, shoulders pulled high, head hanging, and her body turned away. She seldom looks anyone in the eye, especially her mother. In moments of extreme stress, she slips into a state of autistic or even catatonic withdrawal. Bob Crowley’s costumes point up Laura’s singularity. In Act I, she wears a frumpy pink long-sleeved dress, of no particular era, adorned with a white Peter Pan collar and cuffs. In Act II, Amanda (Cherry Jones) gussies up her reluctant daughter for the Gentleman Caller in a shorter, brighter pink sleeveless number, complete with a matching flower on the shoulder and an irregular hemline.

Tom is almost as preoccupied as Laura. Zachary Quinto’s irritable Tom lolls around on the floor; his behavior is particularly childish when relating to Amanda with whom he is at war. Like Laura, he avoids looking directly at Amanda. Both children take refuge from their mother in their private worlds, which they do not share in spite of their affection for each other. Tom’s secret life consists of escapes to the movies and bars, which arouse his mother’s suspicions.

Laura’s world is defined in Williams’ play by old phonograph records and her glass menagerie. In the playwright’s stage directions, she winds up the phonograph when she is distressed and cares for her miniature glass animals to comfort herself. In this version, the phonograph serves only a symbolic purpose and the menagerie that we see consists only of the glass unicorn, which sits on a cabinet. These changes disengage Laura even more and make the link between her and the unicorn, and all it stands for, more potent.

Despite her non-stop chatter, Amanda, as played by Cherry Jones, is a stronger and more pragmatic character than is traditional. She is more a mother, determined to secure the future of her reclusive and fragile daughter, and less a former southern belle, though she revels in stories of her youthful flirtations and conquests. When Tom brings Jim O’Connor to the apartment for dinner, Amanda, arrayed in a girlhood cotillion dress, turns on the charm, but here it seems more for the sake of her daughter, who has few social graces, than for herself. One of Jones’ best moments is her discovery that Jim O’Connor is engaged. She swallows her confusion and pain and is the personification of graciousness as she says goodbye to him. She quickly transitions to anger, blaming Tom for the failure of her plan to find a husband for Laura, and drives him out of the apartment.

Brian J. Smith captured Jim’s narcissism, superficial friendliness, and naïve faith in the future. A star in high school, Jim’s dreams and ambitions have gone nowhere and he works at a low level job in the same shoe warehouse as Tom. Jim warms to Laura who had a timid crush on him in high school and remembers his glory days with deference. Her shy adoration makes him show off, work his charm, encourage Laura, and then hurt her without meaning to.

John Tiffany created an arresting ending for the production. As Tom, haunted and guilty for having abandoned his sister, comes to the end of his story, Amanda literally begins to slip from his memory. Alone, lying on the couch after her emotional disaster, she rises to her knees while Tom, still looking back, says his farewell. Simultaneously, her slender body slides backwards down through the couch and disappears from sight as if swallowed up by the weight of time.

Other innovations were less successful. On a few occasions, props that are referenced do not appear. When Jim walks into the living room he carries a candelabra that he mentions, but not the dandelion wine he offers her, saying, “Drink it, but don’t get drunk.” Later, Amanda enters, supposedly carrying a pitcher of punch. But notwithstanding her line, “Ooo! I’m baptizing myself,” there is no pitcher. It may be that Tiffany is underlining the falseness of memory, but I found the device confusing and arbitrary.

However, these are quibbles. The revival of Tennessee Williams’ 1944 play is fresh, stirring, and well worth seeing.

The Glass Menagerie plays until March 17 at the Loeb Drama Center, Cambridge, MA.

Written by Tennessee Williams

Directed by John Tiffany

Set and Costumes by Bob Crowley

Lighting by Natasha Katz

Sound by Clive Goodwin

Music by Nico Muhly

Cast

Tom ………. Zachary Quinto

Amanda ………. Cherry Jones

Laura ………. Celia Keenan-Bolger

The Gentleman Caller ………. Brian J. Smith