Tennessee Williams’
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Richard Rodgers Theatre
In a true sign of the times, the producers,
directors, creative types, and even (from beyond the grave) Tennessee Williams
himself seem to have ceded the rights to Cat
on a Hot Tin Roof to Scarlett Johansson.
Ms. Johansson plays what can be called the title role in name only, and
billboards, advertisements, and marquees are splattered with her voluptuous
visage draped in a barely-there slip that is far skimpier than the one she
wears on stage—for those of you out there whose reasons for seeing this production
don’t extend to the languorous fluidity of Williams’ prose. The issue with this decision is that,
regardless of academic raves on the historical value of this no doubt pivotal
play, Maggie the Cat is not exactly the main character. Therefore, the hype that this play revolves
around Ms. Johansson is slightly misplaced.
That is, unless I give Broadway more credit than it deserves, and they
are simply taking advantage of the rare Ashkenazi bombshell that is Scarlett
Johansson and her rabid, or rather drooling, fans. Most likely it is the latter.
It isn’t
that Ms. Johansson isn’t good as Maggie.
In fact, she’s great. She takes
to a Southern drawl better than one might expect, and she has a manic energy
that follows her around the stage like a small tornado. Conversely, the production, which has a
magnificent set appropriately representing the gild of the Pollitt ranch,
relaxes into a Southern drawl of its own, which is a characteristic more of the
play than the actors. Cat is not slow-moving, exactly, it just
seems (in an altogether pleasant way) as if the actors are a few mint juleps
into a warm evening. Occasionally,
however, they reveal some of the emotion that’s been left boiling underneath,
and these moments are where it is revealed, however slowly, that Maggie the Cat
is not actually the central cog in these proceedings. Nor is it Big Daddy Pollitt (Ciarán Hinds),
who is second only to Maggie in attention-grabbing antics, if for a less
wholesome reason. It’s actually her
frustrated, angry husband, Brick.
Brick is
played by Benjamin Walker, whose most notable Broadway credit is the 2010
emo-rock musical Bloody Bloody Andrew
Jackson. While I didn’t see it (for who did?) I can attest that Walker is
brilliant in Brick’s role, embodying the simmering anger that the character
must slowly bring to light over the course of the play’s three acts. It is through him that the audience comes to
realize that, while the drama and dynamics of the story play out around him,
seeming to exclude him, he is actually the most important factor in the
story. There are no star turns here, not
even for Ms. Johansson.
This is the true brilliance of
Tennessee Williams—that no matter who plays which part, the characters will
stay what they were written to be.
Perhaps the Scarlett Johansson
has inserted herself into his world, but even from his current, slightly
inopportune position, he pulls the strings.
Is this the mark of a great genius, or just a controlling playwright? Who’s to say?
But the fact remains that whenever or wherever one might see Cat, the characters will always slowly
collapse into their mad power grabs and spiteful hatred. Maggie will end up unfulfilled but
hopeful. Brick will do his best to keep
his hatred for his wife under his belt.
The story is always the same, but it gets more and more relevant and
more and more entertaining every day.
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