February 5, 2023


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‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ Review: Paul Mescal Stars in London Revival

4 min read

“I don’t want realism. I want magic!” Blanche’s famous desperate cry holds the key to much of the approach to “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Productions of Tennessee Williams’ masterpiece tend to choose one or the other: overemphasize the sweat and grind of life with the Kowalskis, or clumsily obey Williams’ instructions to deliver Blanche’s sad, hopeful joy. But director Rebecca Frecknall’s hypnotic production goes for broke, ditching almost all of Williams’ stage directions and delivering both simultaneously. With Patsy Ferran and Paul Mescal in incandescent form, he brings classic roar back to electric life.

Williams’ meticulously detailed, literal two-room apartment is never shown. Instead, invoking his full approach, Frecknall plays on an open, raised, round stage in an expressionist whirlwind of choreographed action, topped by a percussionist (Tom Penn) who sits above and occasionally orchestrates. and punctuates the proceedings. Only when strictly necessary, chairs and props (Blanche’s trunk, the radio) are handed out by the actors moving around the rim of the suitably cramped stage. Yet, enhanced by Lee Curran’s sly lighting, the all-important, intense claustrophobia is communicated.

Rather than being the director’s conceit, his approach frees everything from the display of anecdotal acting, which can usually plague Williams’ productions — the kind that over-indicate the heat with spray-on sweat or waving handkerchiefs. Here the cast focuses, not on the performances – the characters or the moments – but on the relationships between each other. And without the means to obscure it, intent becomes thrillingly overarching.

The way everyone speaks is embedded. The accents are unusually guarded and no one falls into the fake, lazy “Southern” trap. And by galvanizing everything with a faster speech rhythm, there’s a huge gain in punch and power. Frecknall uses everything to build tension that he builds to perfection. Long-held moments land with real weight of tension and shock because they are so completely earned by the emotions that precede them.

Not for a moment is the audience allowed to forget that “Streetcar” is a drama that examines and is fueled by desire — its threats and its implications. But again, sexuality is overtly displayed only when clearly demanded, as in Stanley and Stella’s emotionally complex, sensually charged make-up sex. Elsewhere, it is acutely evident by repression or its loss, as in the stylized presence of the ghost of Blanche’s husband who killed himself when Blanche shamed him.

As with his award-winning “Cabaret,” Frecknall’s trump card is in his casting. Dwayne Walcott’s slightly lumbering Mitch is beautifully tender and poignant, while Anjana Bhasan’s Stella creates an unusually full sense of a complex woman, enthralled by the animal magnetism of the man who frees her from her past and places her in a highly physical present.

His Stanley is Mescal, riding high on the back of his BAFTA-winning turn in the BBC’s “Ordinary People.” Shaking off the tenderness that helped make him, Stanley luxuriates in his physical strength like Mescal’s panther. The actor made Stanley not only dangerous but also terrifyingly self-satisfied, a wicked grin at full ease over the body. Yet he is no simple brute. Despite his strong self-confidence, Mescal shows the rawness of a man who cannot fully explain himself. And giving the character a low center of gravity, she exudes both amazing physical and vocal power. Her cry of “Stella” rips through the theater not as a generalized scream, but as an intense distraught cry of pain.

His hatred and connection to Blanche charges through the entire evening. Ferran took over the role during rehearsals when original actor Lydia Wilson was injured. Petite and taut, the 33-year-old Ferran is not typical casting for the self-deprecating Blanche, usually an older actor channeling a faded Southern belle. But that image is only in Blanche’s head. Ferran offers something else entirely.

His shaking hands and the shifting tension in his expressive body reveal the rapid workings of a racing mind. Her Blanche uses every trick at her disposal to try to avoid cracking under the pressure of her self-deception – including an unusual and welcome dose of humor. It’s a compelling high-wire act that draws the audience to him without the actor overtly persuading them. Low in sensitivity, his acting let depression consume him unbearably. His defiance in his final moments angers the audience, even when everyone knows what’s coming.

Ferran and Frecknall first worked together in 2018 when the latter revisited the London theater scene with an arresting take on “Summer and Smoke”. Together they make Second Row Williams feel like the most exciting play he’s written. There is little room for reinterpretation in “Streetcar,” but by honoring and delivering the play’s ideas, not just its celebrated lead role, Frecknall not only underlines it as a magnetic masterpiece, but he proves once again that he is a theatrical force. to be reckoned with

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