Ah, Tennessee:
Three One-Act Plays by Tennessee Williams
At the Teatro d'Arciliuto in Rome
Produced by The English Theatre of Rome

A review of the performances on June 6, 2010

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This Property Is Condemned
 Directed by Emily Jarman

 Talk To Me Like the Rain and Let Me Listen
 Directed by Louise Vinciguerra

 The Long Goodbye
 Directed by Michael Walkup

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The lyricism of a Tennessee Williams play is always a welcome relief from the typically unimaginative, coarse "realism" of modern writing for the stage (and for the screen). Illustrating this point are the three seldom-produced one-act plays in this year's Annual Young Director Project of the English Theatre of Rome. Watching them unfold on stage, we observe Williams engaged in experimentation as characters in his longer plays evolve before our eyes. The Long Goodbye, for example, seems like a primogenitor of The Glass Menagerie, except that in the former the sister gets what she wants, with Myra crossing the line as far as Laura stays behind it.

In Conversations with Tennessee Williams, the playwright notes that the Old South had a culture of "grace" and "elegance". There was, he says, a strong sense of romanticism, which he defines as respect for "all that is idealistic and beautiful". Southern speech charmed him, as did the "humorous, colorful, [and] graphic" expressions unique to the South. He saw himself as a defender of romanticism, and indeed there are few American playwrights for whom poetic sensibility is as strong a driving force as it was for Williams, and even fewer for whom the satisfaction of that sensibility is an end unto itself.

Being biased toward Williams' writing (but not toward the South), I'm less forgiving as an audience member when a production fails to do justice to the poetic voice with which the author argues that the bleakness of reality doesn't preclude contemplating something better or more beautiful. In other words, it doesn't have to paralyze us intellectually or emotionally. And this is why English Theatre of Rome's recent production of these three one-acts was so impressive. The company recognized Williams' lyricism not only as a style but also as a means for establishing attitudes that define characters and their relationships, allowing the author's idealism, in turn, to break through the despair.


This Property Is Condemned

Willie is a 13-year-old girl who's the sole survivor of her family and who's living in a condemned boarding house. One day, while trying to keep her balance walking on a rail, she encounters 16-year-old Tom. The ensuing dialogue and what it reveals form the substance of this one-act play, a play that we might more aptly regard as a character sketch.

Willie has been forced to grow up too fast. And now she dreams of being like her deceased sister, a woman hardly worthy of emulation. Willie fantasizes about entertaining and being entertained by her sister's beaux, but what burns through her giggles is remarkable bravery against the ugly demands made on her by crude men. Bravery, of course, can arise only in the presence of fear, a fear that Willie conceals behind pubescent bravado, though with marginal success. In this difficult role, Fabiana Formica fashioned a young girl in survival mode, a girl who didn't quite understand consequences but who knew there would always be some. Where her reason failed, her instinct succeded. Formica sharpened Willie's differential maturity, in the sense that one part of her psyche was well-developed while others lagged far behind -- or, one might say, while others were appropriate for the girl's age. In Formica's interpretation, Willie's nascent wisdom was clear and believable, and in that respect she captured the paradoxical ignorance and knowledgeability typical of a Williams character.

Tom's purpose in the play is to characterize Willie. Although Reggie Gwinn, who played this role, went through the motions in his dialogue with her, his delivery felt stiff and rehearsed; it lacked spontaneity and believability. Even though Formica's acting was already crisp and interesting, one wonders how she might have capitalized on better opportunities from her foil.


Talk To Me Like the Rain and Let Me Listen

He wants to flee the city and she wants to flee her empty life. He drinks too much and she wastes away. These two characters have been deracinated and their relationship has turned poisonous. And now desperation is the only closeness they share. He invites her to talk to him like the rain because he wants to listen, making the rain a metaphor in their communication. Perhaps he wants to listen so that, in the same way that the rain fades out, she'll gradually stop telling him that she wants to leave.

Giovanni Morassutti fashioned a narcissist, albeit probably benign, who seemed more amused by the woman than concerned with her happiness. His character was almost sanguine, "cool" in the classical sense, with barely any implication of panic or dread. Whatever desperation Williams wrote into this role, Morassutti covered with masculine indifference, a smart move insofar as it allowed Andrea Chantal Kulasova to glow white-hot in her portrayal of a woman desperate to escape isolation. The contrast between Kulasova's agitation and Morassutti's sang-froid heightened the tension and pulled Williams' words even farther into the fore. Although this one-act is less eloquent than The Long Goodbye, the language is florid, the dialogue rich, and the imagery vivid. For lyricism like this, the director's decision to pair Morassutti with Kulasova was very effective.


The Long Goodbye

Time does not forgive. Joe, the protagonist of this one-act play, is a writer who's learning about the cruelty of time. His deceased mother haunts him in tormenting flashbacks while he anguishes over having failed to prevent the untimely death of his sister, Myra. Goodbye, being about memory and family dynamics, anticipates Menagerie, as I mentioned earlier. But it has a sharper edge than Menagerie in the contrast between the ruminative, sensitive brother, and his lustful, capricious sister.

In the role of Joe, Jason Atkinson colored this contrast in an unexpected palette. His Joe was more angry than melancholy, and at least as judgmental as introspective. Perhaps the director so instructed him, but the consequence of this interpretation was a surprising quasi-despotism. Joe seemed imperious, barking and shouting at the others in ways that were malapropos in both frequency and volume (especially in that small performance space). For the audience, the upshot of this interpretation was an unfortunate shift in the focus away from Joe's relationships to his personality. Ironically, though, Joe's despair was probably clearer because of this change in the balance. Atkinson conveyed Joe's constant fear, his occasional wistfulness, and his native intelligence, using them all to develop his character's long-term effort to accept the immutability of his past and move ahead with his life. By the end, Atkinson had me believing that Joe looked forward to better days, as this trio of one-act plays by English Theatre had come full circle in showing the realism of idealism, in true Williams style.