Uh, oh. We are at the mercy of strange and foreign directors who don't understand the delicate sensibilities and balance needed in a Tennessee Williams play. Edward Hall, from across the pond, helms the current A Streetcar named Desire, and he has misdirected the talented John C. Reilly so badly, the play's real currents are lost. Williams' love of depravity, sexual tension, deteriorated people, the holes in shattered lives, the survival of the primitive, expressed in poetic terms, is undercut as Reilly shows Stanley rather that being him. He plays the surface, which takes away his strength. He could have been Stanley if he just said the lines, so that a sense of inner danger could be sensed, but by shouting, he has no menace at all. Poor man - I felt sorry for him being so misdirected. Natasha Richardson, one of the great actresses of our time, peaks a littler early, and basically lacks the frailty, the fragility, the vulnerability of Blanche. She's a big, strong husky woman, and she's the strong one on the stage - especially in Act One. I can't believe she can't take care of herself.
Chris Bauer is fine as Mitch, and his scene with Blanche on a date works well. Amy Ryan is quite good as Stella. I wish the inner magnetism needed in Stanley as he yells "Stella!" were there instead of just the loud call. No wonder the other reviewers love Richardson - even in this huge barn of a theater with abominable echoing sound, she does shine as a star actress, and her character grows (or declines) beautifully as the play progresses. Set by Robert Brill really sets the New Orleans scene, costumes by William Ivey Long are appropriate, and Donald Holder's lighting is quite moodful and fine. Boo to Edward Hall.
