As the first play I ever read, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof holds a very dear place in my heart, as does most of Tennessee Williams work. So, an exciting new production from The Young Vic held plenty of promise, but that promise was broken more quickly than a drunk man’s ankle on a track field at 3am.
The classic play has been modernised, now set in the present day. There’s an iPhone, which Big Mama insists on keeping in her bra, and the music comes from an iPad, of course none of this can be referenced, so you wonder why they bothered. In theory it should work well, the themes of Williams play are as relevant today as they were when it was written. The execution, however fails miserably, it just doesn’t feel right, instead of the deep passionate torment it comes across shrill and shrieking, combine this with the gaudy looking costumes and Big Daddy’s 65th Birthday party, on a multi-million dollar plantation, looks more like a hen party in Newcastle.
The first act feels much longer than the forty-five minutes it actually is, Maggie drones on endlessly, lacking all the emotional clout of Williams writing, and the awful Southern accents from most of the cast do little to make it any better. Just as things start to get interesting along comes the interval, which you spend knowing there’s a good two hours still to go.
The casting is frustrating, Sienna Miller just doesn’t get to grips with Maggie, or the accent. Colm Meaney is certainly a talented actor but he’s no Big Daddy, and the remainder of the cast, with one exception, wail and mumble their way through in equal measure.
Two things prevent Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, under the direction of Benedict Andrews, from being a complete disaster. Firstly, the staging is exquisite, the golden box (or is it tin?) which encases the actors looks magnificent, especially when combined with astonishing lighting; such as during the fireworks scene or in the final moments of the play. The overall look is beautiful, but it does come at a price, the actors swallowed up in an acoustic-less tower.
The second, and biggest, saving grace is the lead actor. Jack O’Connell gives a powerhouse performance as brooding Brick. His torment is palpable and his raw emotion leaves nothing to the imagination. O’Connell manages to resurrect some of the motifs of the play which are so woefully lacking elsewhere, he also manages to do it without resorting to an imitation of previous holders of the role.
This Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is more Damp Dog in a Cold Puddle, but does have a few redeeming features. It has chosen to sacrifice sensuality, pent up frustration and the soul of Tennessee Williams for naked celebrities and iPhones, but inevitably, that will be all it takes to sell out every seat in the house.
