The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: A Streetcar Named Desire at BAM
By Ross
Against the rotating cackling and chattering of New Orleans, this riveting, electric, and thoughtfully pounding A Streetcar Named Desire squares itself off, finding its way up into that pseudo-boxing ring, ready to battle it out like dogs in heat. It’s an inventive, invested trip, where a cast of nine holler and lurk around the edges with solid intent, as a young man arches his back in silent refrain, beckoning for us all to lean in and take notice of the clamoring and the hollering of this dynamic Streetcar.
“I like artists who paint in bold colors,” states the slim and raw-nerved Blanche DuBois, forcibly and captivatingly portrayed by Patsy Ferran (Almeida’s Summer and Smoke; NT’s Treasure Island). The same could be said of this fascinating concoction jumping over to BAM from the West End and Almeida Theatre. Directed with a wildly focused eye by Rebecca Frecknall (West End/Broadway’s Cabaret; NYTW’s Sanctuary City), her Streetcar is fantastically torn down, delivering the drink and the fury that lives inside her Blanche and her Stanley Kowalski, powerfully portrayed by Paul Mescal (Gaiety’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore; Searchlight’s “All of Us Strangers“), the production’s main celebrated draw. But ultimately, it’s really Ferran who paints those bold and overwrought dynamic colors, and somewhere vibrating in her Blanche, we are given something to be really curious about and focused on.
It’s no wonder this part is coveted by so many performers. It’s an emotional and deeply complex role that gives an actress such a deviating journey to move through from entrance to heart-breaking exit. Ferran’s Blanch has stepped up into that stark square space, designed with intent by Madeleine Girling (Prince of Wales’ Endgame) and lit in dramatic formulations by Lee Curran (Donmar’s Next to Normal) with a sharp and purposeful sound design by Peter Rice (Almeida’s King Lear), carrying her young boy baggage that is as compromised as she is. The drink sneaks its way up to the edge for her to casually come across, as the others watch and wait for the fight that is brewing when the devil arrives within. Preferring magic over realism, the production and Ferran’s Blanche give off a powerful punch, shaped by years of twisted Varsoviana trauma, and bruised by a pained shot in the dark. Yet, sometimes, when challenged, there is a quick shifted retreat to a “blessed baby” ask for forgiveness that is equally startling. Dressed in flowing singular outfits by costume designer Merle Hensel (Ambassador’s Cock), the look and the space don’t seem to meticulously relate to the words and descriptions as written by Tennesse Williams (Cat On A Hot Tin Roof) as much as we are used to, but the quicksand energy that takes place on that vibrant square ring is as clear as ever. The tightly bound excitement pours down from the heavens, gracing us with its metaphoric drenching that gives us so much to be interested in and made nervous about.
Even if this Streetcar hinges on its startling Blanche, sister Stella Kowalski, dynamically embodied by Anjana Vasan (Lyric Hammersmith’s A Doll’s House; “Wicked Little Letters“), is the perfect foil for Ferran’s unpacking. She instinctively satisfies the delicate sister princess while struggling to hold tight to her fire and desire for her animalistic partner. Stella knows where she is, living in a situation that seems to horrify her overwrought fantasy-driven sister, but one she happily breathes in with a passion that ignites. The air doesn’t really register as the hot and sticky heat of New Orleans, but the downpours that fall at the exact right moment, give off a torrential drunken danger of some sort of jungle filled with fierce, ferocious animals that also radiate a tinge of fear and attack.
Stella, living underneath the equally ferociously engaged Eunice and Steve Hubbel, played solidly by Janet Etuk (RSC’s Box of Delights) and Alexander Eliot (Kiln’s Pass Over), exists in a sexual state of blind arousal, with a tension that vibrates in the air to the sharp sounds of drums and the crash of the cymbal, played powerfully by Tom Penn (Royal Court’s Midnight Movie) up there in the heavens (he also makes an appearance later as the kindly doctor stranger that Blanche will rely on more than she could have imagined she would when she first arrived). It fills the space with a masculine sharp edge, made perfect for the feeding that is on its way.
The men, including Mescal’s Stanley and a well formed Pablo Gonzales, played strongly by Eduardo Ackerman’s understudy, Curtis Patrick (Other Palace’s Chase: The Musical), circle the square and their prey like hungry dogs looking for something to eat. They are there, forever ready to pounce when given the chance, lunging around the ring like apes going into battle. They drop off bottles and pieces of clothing, there for the taking, like observant servents with Mescal as their leader and king, as he likes to remind the women in his home. The way Mescal engages with the two is charged and powerful, especially with his beloved Stella, for whom he cries out in guttural pain when he realizes he went one step too far. His performance is electric and erotic, sometimes unleashing his temperamental bare chested vulgarity in ways that register. He strips and paces, like the beast that he is, even if he doesn’t always look and sound the part. But somewhere in his circling of Blanche, the desire doesn’t exactly steam up the system. He wants respect inside his space, and from the women that stay there, but in that one final ferocious confrontation, it feels more like an unexpected date with Blanche than one that has been sizzling under the radar from the beginning.
That is the one aspect that seems missing from this Streetcar. Harold “Mitch” Mitchell, strongly played by Dwane Walcott’s understudy, Eduardo Ackerman (Cockpit’s Let the Right One In), brings the desirous discomfort and pang of lust into the room, masked under the fumbling courtesy of a man who is in need of something more than just carnality. But it hangs out there, dripping on the edges until the final breakdown, when a young man, embodied handsomely by Jabez Sykes (Sheffield’s Rock, Paper, Scissors), sweeps in, distracted the frazzled Blanche with his metaphoric dance towards death. It doesn’t entirely work its magic on us, that mystical arched scene, but it does register, quite clearly, that the trap Blanche has created for herself unwillingly is now fully set, and when cornered and caught in her own fantastical lies, the circling beasts crawl in, seeing their opening and her broken down weakness. And like any shattered, overwhelmed prey, this Blanche, who is like no other I have ever seen, is done for, and rage showers down on this crushed and shattered bird.
The big draw in this dynamic roughhousing of A Streetcar is the chance to see famed Mescal take on this iconic part, screaming that Brando line with all the pain and ferocious power that he can muster, and it’s all there, played out fascinatingly well by the movie star. Yet, we soon realize that the most captivating creation on that BAM stage is Ferran’s unique specificity in her unwinding of that famed creature and broken bird. I have seen a number of celebrated actors masterfully taking on the part of Blanche. I have seen Cate Blanchett play Blanche on the exact same Brooklyn Academy of Art stage, opposite Joel Edgerton and Robin McLeavy, as well as the brilliant Gillian Anderson in the Young Vic revival that landed in the spring of 2016 at St. Ann’s Warehouse. Both embodied, very differently, the Southern belle fragility and fierceness required. Both productions delivered the goods extraordinarily. I witnessed Jessica Lange in 1992, opposite Alec Baldwin and Amy Madigan; Natasha Richardson in 2005, opposite John C. Reilly and Amy Ryan; and I truly wish I could have seen the original 1947 Broadway production with Jessica Tandy as Blanche DuBois, Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski, Kim Hunter as Stella, and Karl Malden as Mitch. That would have been something to see, alas, although I’m old, I’m not that old…
But I’ve never really encountered a Blanche drawn in such vivid opposing colors, crawling underneath fallen down chairs as danger stalks her trembling complex frame. It truly is something to behold, more than Mescal’s solid performance. She’s the one worth seeing in this revival of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, and even though she might not be my personal favourite Blanche DuBois (Anderson might hold that crown), and you find yourself missing that traditional flourish that others so beautifully brought to the stage, Ferran’s Blanche is what you’ll carry with you out the door, as streamers, rain, and wild beasts surround her on that squared border-free cage. It truly is something magnificent to behold.
