Anjana Vesan, Paul Mescal (Photo: Julieta Cervantes)

A Streetcar Named Desire

By Carol Rocamora

One of the greatest American plays of the twentieth century, A Streetcar Named Desire has enjoyed many starry revivals since its premiere on Broadway in 1947. But the current revival of Tennessee Williams's immortal classic, now playing at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, will be remembered not only for its superb Blanche and Stanley (Patsy Ferran and Paul Mescal), but also (and possibly more so) for its astonishing theatricality.

As directed by the fearless Rebecca Frecknall, the current revival is arresting - and oftentimes shocking - in its theatrical daring, upending any expectations on the part of those of us familiar with this classic.

We enter BAM's grand theatre, expecting to encounter a colorful New Orleans scene in the 1940s, where the play's desperate protagonist, Blanche DuBois, is seeking refuge in her sister Stella's shabby two-bedroom apartment. After a heartbreaking marriage, loss of her teaching position and her family's Belle Reve mansion in Mississippi, the once-wealthy, now destitute Blanche is suffering a breakdown that has caused her to make self-destructive, devastating choices (e. g. promiscuity, among others). But what she encounters in New Orleans is even a greater threat to her survival - a power struggle with her violent, macho brother-in-law Stanley that ultimately precipitates her utter downfall.

Instead, we're met with the first shock - a completely empty stage, with only two platforms (design by Madeleine Girling). No scenery at all. Then comes the second shock: deafening, crashing drumbeats (played by Tom Penn from the balcony), announcing the entrance of the ensemble of actors, all of whom are speaking at once and moving in non-realistic, choreographed fashion. The company soon clears the stage for the play to begin. But they never leave our sight for almost three hours - sometimes sitting around the platform and observing the action that is unfolding, and at other times prowling in slow-motion around its edges.

Instead of distracting, this non-realistic movement, and the deafening percussion that occurs throughout, intensifies the suspenseful, unfolding drama. For, as we all know, this is a play about desire - intense, deep desire. The animal energy of the ensemble and the driving pulse of the sound effects are relentless to the point of terrifying. After all, the stakes (survival) couldn't be higher.

For Blanche and her brother-in-law, from the moment of their first encounter, are engaged in a power struggle in that tiny apartment - an intended refuge that has now become a domestic jungle. Both want total control of Stella - who, it turns out, is pregnant. Both want control of the environment (the tiny apartment has only one bathroom, and Blanche keeps claiming it for her hot baths). Above all, Stanley wants control of whatever inherited family money Blanche has left, citing the "Napoleonic Code" that gives the husband equal control of his wife's assets (namely, whatever is left from the sale of Belle Reve, the family mansion).

Patsy Ferran, Paul Mescal (Photo: Julieta Cervantes)

Sex and the threat of violence hang over the production, building to the inevitable violent physical showdown between these two antagonists. In a groundbreaking interpretation of the role, Patsy Ferran's Blanche is provocative to the point of seductive in her confrontations with the brutal Stanley - even more so than she is resistant. In contrast to the frail and fragile Blanches before her, Ferran's Blanche is outspoken, showing a surprising boldness and strength in standing up to Stanley despite her deteriorating condition. Paul Mescal's Stanley is as threatening and frightening as Marlon Brando's - perhaps even more, given his towering height.  His savage cry "Stell-ah!" is equally terrifying. And Blanche's insults ("Polack," "pig", "swine") fuel his ferocity and outrage.  

Frecknall intensifies Blanche's vulnerability with her direction of the other men in the cast. Whether playing cards onstage or observing the action offstage, they radiate a dangerous threat that builds to a terrifying climax when Blanche finds herself alone in the apartment with Stanley (Stella was admitted to the hospital, in labor). I daren't reveal the astonishing directorial choice that Frecknall makes to include these men in this scene. We anticipate Stanley's attack on Blanche, but not in the way it is being staged.

Given the fierce pace and intensifying action, the tender moments in the play are even more poignant. The true love that Anjana Vasan's Stella shows for her sister is palpable, as she struggles to be loyal despite's Stanley's brutal interference. As Mitch, Stanley's goodhearted friend, Dwane Walcott's sincere sympathy for Blanche is touching - until he learns of her past shame (from Stanley, of course).

So how does Frecknall's radical interpretation enhance our appreciation of Tennessee' Williams's masterpiece?  For me, it's the dangerous threshold from desire to violence that is centerstage throughout this production. Frecknall emphasizes it without detracting from other elements in the play - such as the theme of illusion vs reality, as expressed in Blanche's fear of light (e. g. the paper lantern and the song "Paper Moon"). At times, the theatricality of the production can be overpowering - when, for example, there are several unexpected downpours, flooding the stage and drenching the entire company to the skin. What does this torrential rain mean?   Could it be an attempt to cleanse the characters of their desires?  Or could it be a warning?  Or a punishment?

Patsy Ferran (Photo: Julieta Cervantes)

While the director's choices may be theatrical to the extreme, they heighten the stakes, enhance the excitement, the danger, and ultimate tragedy of the play. "Flores para los muertos," goes the haunting phase sung by a street vendor, foreshadowing the fate that awaits us all.

I waited with anticipation to see how Blanche's final line would land, after all this theatricality. "I always depend on the kindness of strangers."  Patsy Ferran surprises us again as she utters it simply, clearly, and forcefully, in a daring interpretation that illuminates Williams's great tragedy anew.

A Streetcar Named Desire

At the Brooklyn Academy of Music

Through April 6.

Tickets: https://tickets.bam.org/production/?pid=45665