Theatre review: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Rebecca Frecknall returns to the major Tennessee Williams plays at the Almeida and, with The Glass Menagerie having been done to death in recent years, the next obvious candidate would be Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, which hasn't had a major London production since the genitals-forward one of 2017. Still, that one having such a distinctive, er, visual identity means Frecknall still has to put a strong stamp on her version to make it stand out, and unsurprisingly she does. A wealthy, plantation-owning Southern family get together to celebrate the 65th birthday of Big Daddy (Lennie James,) who's recently got the all-clear from cancer. Except he hasn't: In a play about secrets, the one most of the family share is that the doctor's letter actually revealed his condition was inoperable, terminal, and about to enter its final stages. But in what is being considered a kindness, he and Big Mama (Clare Burt) are being kept in the dark.

While some of the family are plotting how to ensure their inheritance after the patricarch's death, the play actually follows the action from the point of view of younger son Brick (Kingsley Ben-Adir,) who's taken very little interest in these events. Or indeed any events, as he spends the whole play like he has the past several months: In an alcoholic stupor.

The titular cat is his wife Maggie (Daisy Edgar-Jones,) who spends the entire first act venting her sexual frustration over the fact that her husband has lost all interest with her physically. Frecknall's production has chosen to highlight the three-act structure by having the interval after Act I, and a further 5-minute pause after Act II, which after accounting for getting the audience back into their seats means it comes in over the 3-hour mark (the Almeida are usually pretty good about having a 7pm start for long shows, so it's a shame they didn't factor that in for this one and it ends up a late night.)

If the long haul's the downside, the upside is a feeling of structure that I don't always get from a play that takes place in Brick and Maggie's suite, but has the other party guests regularly move in and out of it as Brick's broken ankle means he can't join the festivities downstairs. The opening act belongs entirely to Maggie - Brick is incapacitated both by the cast on his leg and the fact that he's permanently drunk, so rarely interrupts her rant. I think this is why Cat on a Hot Tin Roof feels the most offputting of Williams' three most-produced plays, not because it must surely hold the record for most uses of the phrase "spastic colon" in a classic play, but because it opens with a solid hour of, however well-performed, angry complaining from a frustrated wife.

I've called it almost a monologue before and Frecknall leans into that: More vulnerable than the horny vamp often associated with the role, as Edgar-Jones stalks Chloe Lamford's gilded cage of a set the first act feels like a complete play in itself. We get the whole story of why Brick abruptly became an alcoholic after the death of his lifelong friend Skipper, and once again Frecknall is good at showing how skilfully Williams wove sympathetic stories about closeted gay men into a culture that in theory wouldn't stage anything so overt. Here as in Streetcar it's done by creating a plot that's built around characters' shame and disgust at the idea of homosexuality, but to 21st century eyes it seems obvious that the condemnation is of society repressing these feelings, and the domino effect of damage left behind.

In the second act Brick himself has to confront these demons in himself as the focus turns on him and Big Daddy who, convinced of the lie that he's in recovery, attempts to reassert his tyrannical control over his household. James is a gentler version of this character than I've seen before, inasmuch as you can make this oppressive bully gentle, to the extent that I wondered if a few of his vicious verbal attacks on his wife had been cut, as it felt less relentless. Again, Ben-Adir's confrontation with his emotions is affecting, while also impressing me with how Williams got this story performed in the 1950s - his version of events gives the play plausible deniability, but after all Maggie revealed previously it's hard to buy his claim that he didn't return Skipper's affections.

The final act sees both storylines explode without providing a neat resolution to either: As the truth comes out about Big Daddy's health, so too does his elder son Gooper (Ukweli Roach) reveal quite how mercenary he's willing to be. As his permanently-pregnant wife Mae, essentially considered a brood-mare by the family (variously as a compliment or insult,) Pearl Chanda gets to show her teeth in this final scene.

Frecknall's Williams productions have been characterised by the use of a particular musical instrument, with the lead musician eventually stepping into a key role. This time we're back to piano (there's also a permanently-ticking metronome which has evidently been an issue for some audience members; personally I can have trouble mentally blocking out ambient noises but had no issue here, only hearing the ticking when it was deliberately amplified for effect.) This time Seb Carrington and his piano take centre stage, providing not just music but noises that interrupt the peace. It soon becomes apparent that he's visible (to the audience but not the characters) for a reason, as he represents the dead Skipper who metaphorically haunts both Brick and his relationship with Maggie.

The fact that it does end up such a long evening means I can't quite call it a perfect production but it's probably the most revelatory one I've seen, Frecknall once again managing to provide the heart of a Williams play while clinically exposing how expertly he hid his soul-bearing in plain sight.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennesee Williams is booking until the 1st of February at the Almeida Theatre (returns only.)

Running time: 3 hours 10 minutes including two intervals.

Photo credit: Marc Brenner.