Near the end of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, Tom (Leo Bill) discusses his frustrated ambitions with his friend, Jim: ‘I know I seem dreary but inside I’m boiling.’ Unfortunately, the line falls a little flat in this production. This is not Leo Bill’s fault but it does pinpoint the problem with director Joe Hill-Gibbins’ approach: there is no fire roaring beneath this show. Rather than boiling over, bringing with it Williams’ blazing emotions, this production only ever simmers. 

This muted state is largely down to acutely symbolic design and direction, which drown out some subtle but discordantly low-key performances. Hill-Gibbins and designer Jeremy Herbert have not shied away from the expressionistic elements in Williams’ first play and the (sometimes) clunky symbolism is laid on thick. When the show opens, huge velvet red curtains ascend and the tinkling music stops only at the narrator’s command. ‘This is theatre being created’, the design repeatedly reminds us. This idea is threaded through the production, with mother Amanda (Deborah Findlay) constantly creating a show of her own making, controlling the costumes, lighting and scenery. The notion that these characters are living in a fantasy world and that we, in the theatre, are watching fantasy two times removed, shimmers persistently on the surface.

All this makes for a consciously theatrical production. But this heightened symbolism requires heightened characters, too. If one is going to put on a showy production then one needs show-stopping performances. Williams, backed up by Hill-Gibbins, creates an awfully heavy framework for his Glass Menagerie  - but if one is to remain faithful to this solid framework one also needs the tools with with to bring the whole construction crashing down. This destructive force should come from the play’s devastating emotions and the energy and spontaneity they bring with them. Without this hidden dynamite, the play risks becoming a disappointingly non-explosive, low-stakes affair. 

Unfortunately, Williams’ extraordinary characters (there is a reason that larger than life actors - Brando, and Elizabeth Taylor, to name a choice few - played his roles to such enduring acclaim) rarely find their voice in this Young Vic production. This is partly because the contemporary, slightly restrained performances don’t feel quite big enough – they fail to fill the hefty gap created by Williams’ sturdy framework and the production sags as a result. It all feels a bit frustrated – like a Williams play wrapped in clingfilm, with all the juicy stuff still trapped inside. 

Some of Williams’ most powerful scenes slide by, sputtering rather than exploding into life. When Tom and his cosseting and corrosive mother, Amanda, first fight, the characters’ physical reactions fall one step behind the words; the instinctive, emotional reactions feel like anxious afterthoughts rather than natural climaxes. When Tom screams out, ‘Don’t grab at me mother’, it is only a few seconds later that Findlay grasps for her son. When Amanda hisses at her son to leave, dreams and all, it is hard to recognise any angry despair glistening behind her words. Furthermore, none of the actors are very good at screaming. This might sound fatuous, but I think it is genuinely tricky to hit the high notes in Williams’ Menagerie, without an occasional wild wail screeching across stage. 

Findlay is especially muted in the first half – not quite a bold, brash or even annoying enough Amanda – and it feels like she is reluctant to repel her audience. However, as soon as the gentleman caller arrives, her performance grows spikes. Now playing an undeniably overblown and disturbing role, Findlay’s performance takes off and her character tingles with an icy, near-unhinged, determination. It is only when Amanda submits to her own fantasy world, thus finally fitting in with the fantastical gleam to this production, that Findlay’s performance begins to crystallise. 

It is interesting that Findlay’s other striking scenes arise when her character is literally amped up. During the scene changes we repeatedly see Findlay’s Amanda at her day job, attempting to convince customers to renew their magazine subscriptions. Throughout these interludes, Findlay is positioned bang in the spotlight, with her voice miked up to a booming pitch. The tumbling force of Amanda’s personality pours down the phone and we get a vivid impression of her clawing, unbearably overbearing presence. 

Other memorable moments materialise when the theatrical framework - the narrator, the background music, the deliberately crass lighting – is dropped. This happens only once, when cripples sister Laura (Sinead Matthews) and the eternally-longed for gentleman caller, Jim (Kyle Soller), finally interact.  The two create a new, low-key production of their own design. Sitting amidst candlelight and in near-silence, they gently flirt and, in one magical image, Jim propels the crippled Laura around the room in a flying dance. The whole scene throbs with Laura’s gentle but magnetic personality.

When Laura learns of her gentleman caller’s engagement, Matthews visibly deflates; very much the cripple again, she crumbles in on herself, her head cast towards the ground. It is the only time one feels any real sense of loss in this production, as the play’s power palpably fades and Laura’s candles are blown out for good.

Till 15 January 2011