A Streetcar Named Desire, Dir: Alexander Winterbotham, 27th-31st October, ADC
**1/2
Tennessee Williams didn’t give his fans much of a helping hand writing such a disproportionately long first half, but there is no reason to drag it out even further. While at times the ADC production was truly wonderful, these moments were fleeting. Helen Parker and Elizabeth Magness’ performances as Blanche and Stella were very consistent, and while consistent parenting and cake mix are good, applied to a play dependent on emotional highs and lows, is far from enthralling. When Blanche needed to be a wreck who was just about holding it together and Stella a tranquil force something pretty special happened. But, when the story demanded more, Blanche was still just about holding it together and Stella still tranquil. In contrast Paul Syers’ Stanley Kowalski was outstanding despite stuttering a few lines – giving the production some real dramatic variation, swaying from the distraught adoring husband to the angry drunk. The newspaper boy who Blanche tries to seduce looked like he had been trying to find the bar but instead stumbled into New Orleans, confused, like we all were, why his upper class English accent didn’t fit in.
Though the set was beautiful when Blanche struts in complaining about the dirt and rubbing her finger along a bright white tablecloth I couldn’t help thinking that it looked a damn sight nicer than my room in college. A bit of tea staining on the walls would have done the world of good. The lighting was, like the acting, samey and when there were effects they looked a bit like accidents, with characters stepping out of set into gloom. On the one hand, the ten minute scene with Blanche and Stanley in the bedroom, entirely in the dark, was arty and atmospheric, and on the other damn irritating. My eyes got tired of squinting and with the stunning mild light of the room next door you couldn’t help but wish they would move their sexual tension into the kitchen. More bizarre blocking was Blanche’s irrepressible love for a particular spot on stage, just right of the table, where ninety percent of her nervous dialogue was spoken. Considering she is off to a mental asylum surely its best to for her to enjoy her last moments of freedom amongst a few more of the square feet?
I know how many times I checked my phone and dreamed of a glass of wine in the interval but in hindsight, the memory of seconds where something really clicked make me think I really enjoyed it. The production was sometimes moving, even if such moments were created with a stock use of ‘the tortured shout’. Also, it was funny, though sadly any dramatic wit was overshadowed by the curtain falling down, doors slowly swinging back open after being slammed shut and awkward negotiations with a big suitcase on the cramped set. The production poster claims sex appeal, with a smoking girl in a gold dress pouting lustfully and on this front it didn’t fail. Stanley and Stella having at it on the kitchen table left me a bit sweaty, and a bit in love. Paul Syers, seriously, call me.
I reckon this review would be bearable if a) the journalism was of a decent standard and b) you actually paid attention. Blanche and Stanley get it on over the kitchen table? Guess I missed that scene. Perhaps you were looking at your phone a little too often. Freshers these days…
That's such a rude and bitchy comment for what I think is an excellent review. If you think you're such a good reviewer why not e-mail The Tab about doing Theatre reviews rather than sitting around complaining.
Well it's a rude and bitchy review. I've not claimed at any point to be a better reviewer, nor have I said to Lottie that if she thinks she can do better in a show she should "go and direct one".
That said, I write for much better publications than this. Loves x
A critic is by definition supposed to be critical. Lottie pointed out problems in Streetcar sure but there was also a lot of good in there (e.g. Syers' performance). By suggesting that you have greater powers of observation and appreciated the play on some higher level you are in fact implying that you would make a better reviewer. Obviously as you write for better publications this must in fact be the case.
Anyways, I hope I haven't caused you to remove your head from your arse for too long in reading this. If you ever deign us worthy enough to receive your inspired writings drop us a line, if only so I have the satisfaction of telling you to fuck off.
… and the comment section, by definition, is for people to comment on the story. In this case, it's this review, which I think is garbage. But then again so is the whole Tab project, so I don't know what I was expecting.
Anyway, I think I'll keep my head firmly in my arse for now, thanks; I'd much rather look at the inside of my own rectum than this dirge any longer. You'll be glad to know I won't be back.
Rowenna,
is that you??
[...] last week’s A Streetcar Named Desire lacked any variation, The House of Barnarda Alba swung from the tragedy to the comedy of a [...]
A thoroughly good review and spot on with my exact sentiments towards the play – ignore this theatregoer
also not to make you look like a dickhead or anything, but you've commented under 4 different names on this website, and you've already been back since you posted that comment 8 hours ago.
Maybe stick to the theatregoing?