Stage magic: The Glass Menagerie at the Duke of York's Theatre
The Glass Menagerie
Duke of York's Theatre
27 February 2017
Upper Circle D1, £15
http://theglassmenagerie.co.uk
I went to see The Glass Menagerie knowing nothing about it beyond the Tennessee Williams. Having seen it, it's gratifying to learn that it comes to London after acclaimed runs in New York and Edinburgh – it's a superb production of a great play and deserves such success. And it's also pleasing in a not-surprising way to learn that the designs were by the ingenious Bob Crowley and his regular collaborators, as – impressive and satisfying though pretty much every aspect of the production was – it was the designs that moved me most. (Director John Tiffany probably also had a lot to do it, but that doesn't mean so much to me as I have not seen his Harry Potter and the Cursed Child and, given current ticket prospects, am unlikely to.)
If you haven't seen the production and plan to, then stop reading! There's a trompe-l'œil in the designs that I found extremely exciting and it would be a great shame to have the game given away. Crowley create the family's stuffy flat with three connected octagonal platforms: the largest is the front room; stage right and along the front of the stage is a slightly smaller one, up a step, which is the dining room, filled with a too-large table; and upstage there is a yet smaller, always dimly lit one, used to represent the rest of their living space. Rising high on stage left is a forced-perspective fire escape, getting smaller and smaller as it extends upwards. Both entrances are concealed: one is from beneath the stage, the bottom of the fire escape; the other is to the back of the dimmest platform, behind a screen.
The three platforms appear to be floating in space, or maybe rather empty nothingness – a disc surrounded only by complete black, the fire escape a route to nowhere. But as Laura looks into the twinkling glass of her menagerie, stars appear to wink into existence out of the enveloping darkness (accompanying twinkly music by no less than Nico Muhly edges the tone a tad towards tweeness, but I'm not going to complain too much). Then, in the second half, as Amanda and Tom make a wish on the moon, a neon crescent obligingly curves out of the gloom, and just as silently sinks back as their hopes evaporate. This is an undeniable further shuffle towards the twee, redeemed by the moon's silent unobtrusiveness and overt artificiality.
The mystery of the darkness is revealed when Laura treasures her broken glass unicorn while Amanda and Tom bitterly rage behind her. She takes the broken-off horn and tosses it into the black and – cue more twinkly music – gentle ripples emanate from the point where she threw it, blurring our view of the stars. Mystery solved, but questions raised, as with the best stage magic: how has this tray of water been kept absolutely still throughout the play? What a triumph: a great idea superbly executed. It neatly encapsulates so many of the themes of Williams's play: isolation, loneliness, incarceration, distortion of reality, dream and nightmare and far-reaching consequences.
Of course, it wouldn't work if the actors weren't also extremely good (the rare wonky accent wobble aside). Tiffany draws deeply sympathetic performances from all four – not necessarily an easy task in Williams. Broadway star (so I learn) Cherry Jones has justly received widespread praise for her compelling and complete performance of Amanda: she finds such nuance and depth in this 'domineering mother' type, painting her as a naturally ebullient woman terrified for her children's futures. But this is an ensemble work and no one puts a foot wrong – Michael Esper as Tom, so much his mother's son, filled with agitated energy, from whom poetry pours; Brian J. Smith as the gentleman-caller Jim, in whom disappointment and fierce optimism battle; Kate O'Flynn as Laura, an intense interior self that seethes beneath the firm shutters of a tyrannical shyness. And so much more than that collection of words.
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