A Streetcar Named Desire

Pitlochry Theatre Production, Elizabeth Newman director

Royal Lyceum Theatre 25/1024

The crumbling grandeur of Old New Orleans in 1947. Emily James’ clever, lively set encompasses a feel for the Kowalskis’ cramped quarters as well as the backstreets around. A spiral fire escape, warmly lit against the all-black background, snakes up from centre stage to join the balcony and front door of the upstairs neighbours. Around the foot of the stairway a compact revolving stage, shifts to different areas of the tiny apartment and implies the lack of privacy in the occupants’ precarious existence. Key areas are shaped and made cheerful with a variety of little lights. A period drinking fountain enhances one corner. With the set, and the jazz music by Pippa Murphy, we were there.

 Streetcar is firmly established as a classic. Already in the 1940s it did a royal tour around the world, directed by Visconti In Rome, Bergman in Sweden, Olivier In London, and by Cocteau in Paris. It is widely known through the Oscar-laden film version with Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh; thanks to which we thought we knew the play quite well.

 We were wrong. Here, Elizabeth Newman’s intelligent direction and her skilful cast bring out even greater depths and insights, and the dialogue sings.

 Arthur Miller wrote of the 1947 Broadway premiere: “This production, like few others of any play I ever saw, became the play, it was impossible to separate them, the cast had left themselves behind, became the characters.” And for those of us who were not there, the same has become true of the film. Brando and Leigh gave great, charismatic performances.

 Still, for us, Kirsty Stuart is the completely credible Blanche. Still attractive, lively and lithe of movement but already slightly frazzled at the edges, rather than Leigh’s improbable perfection. Her nuanced interpretation brings a genuine relatability to this narcissistic persona. We really felt for Stuart’s Blanche. The role of Blanche has a tendency to take over the performer’s own life. When Gillian Anderson played her in 2014 she “felt like all the layers of my skin had come off...I was hanging on to reality by a thread.” Vivien Leigh took to walking the streets at night during her London stage run; when fellow EMR reviewer Vincent bumped into her in the ‘60s at his aunt’s old ladies’ tea-party, her demeanour towards him retained more than a trace of the waywardness and winsomeness of Blanche. I hope Kirsty avoids this shadow!

 Brando as Stanley was eye-catchingly sexy in an off-beat way.  Matthew Trevannion looks, perhaps appropriately, older, but well-muscled and harbouring a masculine energy that bursts out vocally and occasionally in full physicality. Stepping on and off the platform to the street he dances like a cat. His inflexion and timing are subtle bringing out enigmatic new ironies.

 Nalini Chetti plays an engaging Stella Kowalski: warm and likeable, she underpins the character of abused people-pleaser with an aware resilience. And Keith Macpherson perfectly embodies the hesitant Mitch.

Slight faults: the light shining straight into the audience’s eyes during the scene shifts adds nothing but distraction. The music, though creating a good New Orleans ambience, was sometimes too loud overwhelming the dialogue.

 An acknowledged master, Tennessee Williams is for many people the greatest American writer of the last 100 years. This is one of his best works in an inspired and faithful production. See it if you can.