Review: THE GLASS MENAGERIE at Shaking The Tree

On my way to Shaking the Tree Theatre to see Tennessee Williams' THE GLASS MENAGERIE, I realized I had seen more comical adaptations of the play, ranging from gently ribbing to outright farcical, than actual productions of it. The need to satirize the play, which launched Williams' career, arises, I think, because the deep sadness that runs through it can be just too hard to bear. The current production, directed by Samantha Van De Merwe, asks us to look that sadness square in the eye, own it, and perhaps even defy it. It succeeds beautifully.

Set in 1930s St. Louis, THE GLASS MENAGERIE is a "memory play," and Van De Merwe's set design makes that tangible from the moment you walk in: soft lighting and wispy white curtains signal that everything you're about to see is filtered through time and longing. The play is narrated by Tom Wingfield (Kai Hynes), recounting his earlier days trapped in a rundown apartment with his overbearing mother Amanda (Maria Porter) and his shy, physically disabled sister Laura (Sammy Rat Rios), years after their father abandoned them.

Tom dreams of being a poet but must support the family, so he works at a shoe warehouse. Laura spends her time in a fantasy world with her collection of glass figurines (when she picks one up, lights shimmer on the wall, a moment of pristine beauty in the falling-apart apartment). Amanda’s all-consuming focus is finding a "gentleman caller" for Laura. It’s not going well.

The performances here are exceptional. Maria Porter's Amanda is a force, her voice booming through the spacious set as she blames her husband, berates her children, and clings ferociously to her memories of a better time, when she was the belle of the ball entertaining as many as 17 gentleman callers in a single afternoon. She never stops talking long enough to do any soul searching, and Porter makes that both funny and devastating. 

Kai Hynes physically embodies the trapped animal of Tom, at times curling into himself, at others lashing out like something caged. He goes out every night, ostensibly to the movies, but as Amanda pointedly notes, movies don't start at midnight and end at 2am. He only stands up completely straight when he’s out of the house.

Laura is sometimes played not just as fragile but as simple, her slight limp taken as a signal of mental immaturity. Rios refuses that reading entirely, taking a far more interesting approach. Underneath the shyness, Rios lets you sense a quiet strength. At times, Laura's fragility begins to feel like at least partly a performance, a role she plays within the family because it serves a purpose: it gives Amanda a goal to organize her life around and gives Tom a reason not to simply walk out the door, which Laura knows perfectly well he wants to do. She drops out of business school and spends her days exploring the city. She is not as helpless as she appears.

And then there is Jon Bolden's gentleman caller, who finally arrives only through a ruse and turns out to be carrying his own cargo of disappointment. Having peaked in high school, he now works alongside Tom at the shoe warehouse, in a more important role but still far from what he'd wanted. As he dispenses self-improvement advice to Laura, it’s clear he’s talking mainly to himself.

Van De Merwe doesn't flinch from the weight of this play, but she doesn't let it crush us either. The escape hatch is a look that crosses Laura's eyes, just occasionally, suggesting she might also very well up and leave at any moment. It gives us hope that every cage, however sturdy, has a door.