I want to tell my friend: come back, sit down, slip on some headphones. All that hyperventilating, neurasthenic melodrama and honeysuckled Southern poetry suddenly seemed sad, corny, even misogynist. A longtime Tennessee Williams admirer, he said the scales had fallen from his eyes: Williams was a terrible writer. Not, he insisted, because of Eurotrash window dressing. The goal was to put a chic, deracinated sheen on the 1947 chestnut, but this came at the expense of poetry and tension. (In fact, Van Hove staged a minimalist, bathtub-centric Streetcar at New York Theatre Workshop in 1999.) The London import had an aggressively modern spin: a whirling metal set, PJ Harvey blasted for scene changes, Stella bopping about in bra and panties. Cast and crew of Williamstown Theatre Festival & Audible production of A Streetcar Named Desire.Ī Streetcar Named Desire, by Tennessee Williams, directed by Robert O’Hara, available to purchase at Ī few years ago I took a friend to A Streetcar Named Desire in Brooklyn directed by someone who clearly had seen too many Ivo van Hove gut renovations.
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