Victor Alli, Amy Adams and Tom Glynn-Carney in The Glass Menagerie. The result is emotive, but also sweeter and smoother than Tennessee Williams’s spiky and often bitter text suggests. Adams’s ability to undercut the overbearing aspects of Amanda and focus instead on a mother’s desperation to secure her children’s happiness and stability makes the play feel newly modern and relatable. It’s especially moving to see the love and guilt that underlines her frustration over dreamy son Tom. Typically Amanda Wingfield is a comic, domineering and sour character, but it’s the warmth that’s striking in Adams’s performance. As she postures and plots to marry off her awkward daughter, the palpable fear over the fate of an unemployed spinster is chilling and devoid of vanity. But there’s no parody in her portrayal of maternal ambition. She captures the comedy of the faded Southern belle with tinkling small talk and prim, performative hand gestures. Yet Adams still shines the brightest, like the memory that runs deepest and remains most vivid.
And Jeremy Herrin’s ( Wolf Hall trilogy, People, Places and Things ) insightful, delicate direction focuses on the subtleties of Tennessee Williams’s text, rather than relying on celebrity casting. Steeped in memory, ambition and regret, this semi-autobiographical account of a mother, her two adult children and a long-awaited gentleman caller is not the standard Hollywood star vehicle.
Six-time Oscar nominee Amy Adams ( Nocturnal Animals, Sharp Objects) makes her West End debut as the indominatible Amanda Wingfield in Tennessee William’s breakthrough play.
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