Summer and Smoke

Written by Tennessee Williams

The Clurman at Theatre Row

410 West 42nd Street

212-279-4200

 

Review by Katharine Critchlow

 

At the same time as he was writing A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams was also working on Summer and Smoke. He’d go back and forth from play to play, switching over when he ran into creative roadblocks. Despite the concurrent effort, however, the two plays took divergent paths in their public reception: Streetcar won Williams a Pulitzer and made Marlon Brando a star during its two-year run on Broadway, Summer opened to tepid reviews and quietly closed after three months.

 

The Other Williams: Director Tlaloc Rivas tackles Summer and Smoke, one of Tennessee Williams’ lesser-known works.

 

But as director Tlaloc Rivas and his fine cast demonstrate in their resuscitation of this story about the dangerous attraction between a small-town Mississippi minister’s daughter and her Lothario next-door neighbor, even lesser-known Williams has its moments. Many of these come from Mary Sheridan as Alma Winemiller, the repressed and affected young woman who has harbored a lifelong crush on Dr. John Buchanan, Jr.  As John, Michael Frederic nails both the prodigal son act and the southern drawl. It’s easy to understand why Alma is so captivated by him (albeit against her better judgment). Of course, not everyone is pleased about John’s homecoming. “There is no place in my house for wasters, drunkards and lechers!” thunders Stu Richel as Dr. Buchanan, Sr. Richel is one of several actors who relish their smaller roles. Melodie Wolford is also brilliant as the mentally unbalanced Mrs. Winemiller, who belongs to the tradition of beautiful, troubled Williams women.

 

But even with the boost of good casting, you can see why this wasn’t the hit that Streetcar was. The play suffers from heavy-handed symbolism (Alma means soul, we are told repeatedly. But John, as a doctor, focuses on the body!) and even some racism. The character of Mexican casino owner Papa Gonzales is such a one-dimensional stereotype that his first name should be Speedy. But when Summer gets down to brass tacks in its central scenes between John and Alma, it can be very effective. Alma’s high-pitched, plaintive voice comes from a character wound more tightly than the strings on a violin.  As John breaks through her mask of piety and moral superiority, the strings start to snap and she shows us just how vulnerable she really is. In those moments of naked emotion, you can forgive the play’s cumbersome flaws.