In the 57 years since its premiere, Tennessee Williams's play has fallen prey to the hazards of nostalgia that are its subject matter. Too often, it is misunderstood as a misty tale of fragile individuals lost in the past when, in fact, it is a critique of the irresponsibility of those who ignore the complexity of the present in favour of easy memories. Rachel O'Riordan's production attempts to restore the play's hard edge, but at times goes too far, lapsing into grotesque character studies.
Following Williams's stage directions, the focus of Gary McCann's striking set is the scaffolding fire escape that frames the Wingfield apartment, while its interior is only vaguely sketched. We are, therefore, constantly reminded of the outside world encroaching on the characters - the Great Depression and the economic ruin that Amanda and Laura will face if Tom makes good on his secret promise to join the Merchant Marine.
This forms a context for the fragmentation of the Wingfield family, which O'Riordan underlines by having them inhabit their own worlds. She points up Tom's status as both narrator and participant in the action by making Richard Dormer weave on and off the stage with an exaggerated gait and gestures.
When the frequent family fights flare up, scratchy Victrola music is amplified and we take on Laura's point of view - everything becomes an oppressive cacophony. Elizabeth Counsell's appearance in Amanda's hideously girly second-act frock and pink blusher feels almost Wooster Group extreme.
What is lacking in this production is a sense of the love and responsibility that tenuously holds the family together. The simplicity and connectedness that Abigail McGibbon and Patrick Moy achieve in the Gentleman Caller scene thus comes as a considerable relief.
The acting is superb across the board, and the southern American accents are flawless; but it sometimes feels as though the directing is overwhelming the play.
· Until April 2. Box office: 028 9038 1081.
