An exquisite drama of the American Theatre Canon, The Glass Menagerie, by Tennessee Williams, depicts the struggling Wingfield family. The Wingfields have left the deep South and moved to St. Louis, where they barely keep the bills paid. Amanda Wingfield, the matriarch, comes from privilege and dominates the home, perhaps after the father abandoned them, and perhaps before. The daughter, Laura, is too emotionally besieged to earn a wage, so it’s up to the son, Tom Wingfield, who works at a shoe factory, to support them. Tom is the narrator of The Glass Menagerie, and a character. When he speaks directly to the audience, he uses a poet’s diction and imagery : “…the fiery braille of revolution, delicate cuplike breasts, the cities swept about me like dead leaves…”. Tom’s extended monologue (for lack of a better word) places the story firmly in the context of a dreamworld that is just anchored enough to be canny.
There is a remarkable undercurrent to The Glass Menagerie, a pervasive sense of sadness, loss, longing and resignation. Amanda cares for her grown children, but can’t seem to give them the space to find what refuge they can. Tom works diligently to keep food on the table, but instead of appreciation, Amanda won’t give him a moment to himself. She evokes memories of the halcyon days when even malaria couldn’t keep her sequestered, and sweet, gracious young men regularly came to call. Amanda cannot relinquish the past, Tom dreams of adventure and a life that’s just his own, and Laura loses herself in the fragile, kaleidoscopic dazzle of her small glass animals. In the second act, Tom brings home Jim, a buddy from work, who coincidentally went to high school with him and Laura. Amanda gets Laura dressed and lovely, in hopes of securing a fiance for her.
The current production of Glass Menagerie at Collin Theatre Center (closing this Sunday) is an evocative mix of the wistful, tragic and lurking sense of despair. The sense that the Wingfields are inhabiting a realm cut off from forward motion is palpable. The set is minimal, distressed wood, and welded iron that makes skeletons of a telephone, or Victrola, or typewriter. When the Wingfield home is decorated for the arrival of a guest, it might just as easily be haunted. The lighting creates pale, effulgent, white pools of light and shadow. There’s a sophistication that Williams evinces from dialogue that may seem quaint, or naive or bellicose. The cast tackles the script with energy and purpose. When they explore the nuances of familial conversation, a more pensive, reflective tone might be preferable. Their dedication and vigilance is undeniable.
Collin Theatre Center presents The Glass Menagerie, playing December 6th-9th, 2018. 2800 East Spring Creek Parkway, Plano, Texas 75074. collinuniversitytickets.com.