Glimmering crystal figurines floating high above the stage, lit shiningly by Howell Binkley, reflect the lucid beauty of the language and meaning in Tennessee Williams' autobiographical work. I've seen many incarnations of this great memory play, but this magical production of The Glass Menagerie is far and away the most rewarding. Artistic Director Michael Wilson's cleanly authentic direction focuses on the sheer loneliness of the characters and their isolation in the mean world of the Depression Years. Elizabeth Ashley's searing, gutsy evocation of Amanda Wingfield, a lioness fighting with all her might for her family's survival, captures with the deepest part of her being the spirit of the desperate mother she is and the pretty, privileged girl she was.
The only questionable choice here is the grey wig, which is very aging. Moving cat-like among the shadows of remembrance, Andrew McCarthy presents an intense portrait of Tom, so very much like the deeply unhappy, frustrated young Tennessee Williams, it is heart wrenching. Completing the quartet is tall, slender Anne Dudek's anguished crippled Laura, frightened by all aspects of life, and Willis Sparks' powerfully positive Jim, striking a harsh note of reality as the famed "Gentleman Caller." Their scene together of discovery, love and rejection, punctuated by a crystal unicorn, chewing gum and candlelight is a marvelous roller coaster of emotion.
On a deceptively simple set designed by Tony Straiges, we meet the Wingfield family in their apartment in St. Louis. In the background looms a large, black fire escape. Hanging on the wall is a portrait of their father, the telephone man who has deserted them for more exciting adventures on the road. Downstage center is a round blue-topped table filled with tiny glass figurines. A period sofa intriguingly folds out into a bed on which Tom, the son, an aspiring poet, sleeps. He has returned from his own journey, emerging from the darkness some fifteen years later to tell this story. He takes us back through time when he was working in a shoe factory and hating every minute of it. Secretly planning his escape to the Merchant Marine, he spends most of his evening at the movies and the bar. He defiantly counters his mother's early morning, "Rise and shine," with, "I'll rise, but I will not shine!."
His sister, Laura, a high-school drop out, spends her days communing with her collection of tiny glass animals and cranking up the Victrola. Their nagging mother, Amanda, worries about her children's futures, and ekes out a living selling magazine subscriptions, while recalling her time on Blue Mountain. Young and popular, she entertained a myriad of "Gentleman Callers," choosing the most handsome but least successful of the group.
The discovery that Laura, overcome by illness, has deceived her for many months by pretending to attend business school, throws Amanda into severe anxiety, and she beseeches Tom to find a prospective suitor for his sister, whom she feels will end up a spinster. He cannot leave, she assures him, until Laura is taken care of. Tom brings Jim, his only friend, home from work; he's a gifted young man whom Laura coincidentally had had a crush on in high school. In fact, they shared a music class and he had given her the name, "Blue Roses." Full of unrealistic expectations, and on an hysterical pitch, Amanda prepares for this dinner with the highest of hopes.
The results are disastrous. Jim, who has charmed them all, admits he is engaged to be married. Soon after, Tom is fired for scribbling poetry on a shoebox and flees. We are left to ponder this family's fate. The Glass Menagerie resonates long after its final act.
