Rebecca Frecknall returns once again to Tennessee Williams but Cat on a Hot Tin Roof feels a little like diminishing returns at the Almeida Theatre
“We occupy the same cage“
Reinventions of Tennessee Williams’ classic plays have become something of a calling card for director Rebecca Frecknall but third time around, what has felt extraordinarily fresh feels somewhat less so. The shimmering power of Summer and Smoke and A Streetcar Named Desire (returning to the West End in February), both anchored by Patsy Ferran, undoubtedly established the Frecknall aesthetic but also they were also rooted in emotional clarity.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – opening once again at the Almeida Theatre and if considerable pre-sales are anything to go by, a trip to the West End might not be out of the question too – certainly has a style about it. Chloe Lamford’s cool design evokes the expensive minimalism of the ultra-wealthy and clearly suggests the lack of familial warmth that characterises the Politts as they congregate to celebrate a birthday and ignore the terminal diagnosis of its patriarch.
The chilliest part of the gathering comes with the bitterly betrothed Maggie and Brick. She’s ferociously unhappy, wounded by his deep disinterest in sleeping with her and starting a family or even just talking to her for that matter. For his part, he’s deeply wounded by the death of his best friend, possibly also his gay lover and as he seeks refuge in alcohol, theirs is a connection that is only growing more toxic in an increasingly angry household.
Altogether though, there’s perhaps too much anger over anguish. Daisy Edgar Jones’ Maggie is all shouty sharp edges that you can see Kingsley Ben-Adir’s Brick all too happy to ignore but the lack of seductive sexuality – a grand piano replaces the bed – works against drawing us into the emotional world of the play. Lennie James’ Big Daddy is also more incandescent than insightful, his own marital unhappiness coming to the fore in his final days, Clare Burt stranded as the wife who has to put up with such treatment and claim yet to love it still.
The abstraction of the Mississippi plantation setting also doesn’t really help the production, the (over-)use of the piano to punctuate the drama is intrusive (a similar problem I found with Streetcar), stylistic choices overriding the depths of Williams’ writing too often and consequently not feeling as effective. Frecknall wouldn’t be the first director to cleave to an aesthetic, nor would we be the first to wish for something a bit different.
