Review: A Streetcar Named Desire

© Ken Howard

The new Broadway revival of Tennessee Williams A Streetcar Named Desire presents a particular dilemma. Its multiracial cast could well attract new audiences for this seminal 20th century drama. But the subpar rendition on display will leave them wondering what all the fuss is about.

 

There’s nothing egregiously wrong with this production directed by regional theater stalwart Emily Mann. But there’s nothing particularly right about it either. The problem is not in the color-blind casting—the playwright himself approved of the concept many years ago, and it works within the New Orleans setting—but rather that this ensemble, consisting of Blair Underwood (Stanley), Nicole Ari Parker (Blanche), Daphne Rubin-Vega (Stella) and Wood Harris (Mitch), simply isn’t up to snuff.

 

All of them are accomplished actors, but here they are either miscast or fail to convey the complexities of their characters. Underwood, who frequently bares his toned torso to rapturous response, certainly has the sex appeal for the role. But he’s never fully convincing in his brutishness, nor does he capture the preening humor in Stanley’s macho posturing. Here, for instance, the hilariously pompous references to the “Napoleonic Code” simply fall flat.

 

The 41-year-old Parker is technically the right age to play Blanche. But there’s absolutely nothing of the Southern belle in her, and certainly no faded beauty. Indeed, the actress is so radiantly stunning that it’s hard to believe she could ever want for male attention, and when Mitch cruelly exposes her Blanche to the garish light of a bare bulb it simply exposes her gorgeousness even more. Worse, the soft-spoken actress is often hard to understand, and when she is discernible it becomes apparent that her line readings lack any sense of poetry.

 

Rubin-Vega is more effective as Stella, well depicting her earthiness as well as the erotic heat that binds her to her husband despite his hair-trigger temper and physical abuse. On the other hand, the lanky, physically commanding Harris is an ill fit for the overweight Mitch, and never convinces us of the character’s insecurities.

 

The actors frequently race through their dialogue at breakneck speed, effectively speeding up the evening’s pace but never really mining the material’s bountiful riches.

 

The production dutifully lays on the New Orleans atmosphere thick and heavy, with French Quarter neon signs flashing in the background and Terence Blanchard’s plaintive jazz score adding to the sultry mood. Eugene Lee’s set design of the Kowalski home is appropriately ramshackle, but perhaps too much so—at the performance attended the front door stuck tight, forcing Underwood to comically crawl into the house through a window.

 

The all-black revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, presented by the same producer a few seasons ago, was far more effective. But then again, it had the advantage of the galvanizing James Earl Jones as Big Daddy. This Streetcar boasts no such ringers, and ultimately has the feel of a well-intentioned but hopelessly mediocre summer-stock production.

 

Broadhurst Theatre, 235 W. 44 th St. 212-239-6200. www.Telecharge.com. Through July 22.