Last Friday Stuart and I went to see an ambitious new production of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie at The Duke of York's Theatre in London's glitzy West End.
Starring six-time Academy Award nominee Amy Adams, for me it was a bit of a disappointment.
Prior productions positively sing with broody of regret, undertones of homosexuality, and betrayal. Here they were in short supply.
Devastated by her husband’s abandonment, Amanda Wingfield (Amy Adams, admittedly excellent) obsesses over the futures of her restless son, Tom (Tom Glynn-Carney), and emotionally vulnerable daughter, Laura (Lizzie Annis in her stage debut). Years later, through the fractured prism of memory, Tom (confusingly concurrently on stage but played by Paul Hilton) reflects on the crushing pressures placed on his sister to secure a suitor (Victor Alli), and the betrayal inflicted by his pursuit of freedom.
Acclaimed director, Jeremy Herrin litters the stage with random furniture and still more random blocking decisions. The large glass cases of glass figurines seemed almost in the way. The sides of the stage were littered with chairs and desks. The actors were cramped. They seemed unsure, which got in the way of the story telling. Never a good thing.
What should have been a powerful meditation on the fragility of memory was for me an exercise in the memory of much better productions. Which is a shame considering all the talent at its disposal.
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