The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Co-stars heat up ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’
Georgia Ensemble Theatre production in Roswell has sizzle.
What a difference 60-odd years can make in gauging the dramatic temperature of a oncecontroversial classic like Tennessee Williams’ “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” When the play premiered in 1955 (winning Williams his second Pulitzer Prize), what mainly distinguished it from any other marital soap opera was a homosexual subtext that was considered daring and taboo at the time. Let’s face it, though—what’s the big deal about that now, in this day and age?
The setting for associate artistic director James Donadio’s Georgia Ensemble Theatre staging of “Cat” is still 1955, but whatever the production may lack in “shock
value” it more than compensates for in the ideal casting of two of Atlanta’s brightest actors in the pivotal roles of Maggie and Brick: Kate Donadio MacQueen (the director’s daughter) and Joe Sykes. And what a difference their terrific performances make in the grand scheme of such well-worn material.
The play unfolds at a Mississippi plantation estate (kudos to scenic designer Kat Conley), where the Pollitt family gathers to observe the birthday of their patriarch, the irascible Big Daddy ( John Maxwell), who’s dying of cancer. While he and the flighty Big Mama (Karen Howell) are in denial about that, their elder son (Topher Payne as Gooper/Brother Man) and his wife (Kelly Criss as Mae/ Sister Woman) are already obsessing about his will— and their inheritance.
Too many scenes involving the extended family (including the five “no-neck monsters” who are Gooper and Mae’s rambunctious offspring) seem to be pitched for comedic effect: out-oftown actor Maxwell isn’t bad, although he doesn’t cut a sufficiently imposing figure, physically or vocally; Howell has her touching moments, but this is decidedly familiar territory for the actress; and Payne and Criss acquit themselves adequately enough as one-note stereotypes.
Whenever MacQueen and Sykes are on stage, however, this “Cat” sizzles. They work off one another exceedingly well, with a sexual tension that’s palpable and a genuine chemistry that’s slightly odd, given that part of the problem for their conflicted characters is a pronounced lack of mutual connection between them. (They’ve costarred together more than once before, most notably some 10 years ago in another Williams potboiler, “Suddenly, Last Summer.”)
Brick, a faded football jock, hobbles around on a literal crutch due to a broken ankle he has sustained, and he’s figuratively leaning rather heavily on the booze with increasing regularity of late, too, pining for his former teammate, best friend and possible lover, Skipper, who recently committed suicide. The sultry, sex-starved Maggie (who has her own history with Skipper) vows to save their marriage, “consumed by longing” despite Brick’s “detached indifference.”
Listening to Brick articulate his “clear, true friendship” with Skipper, or addressing rumors of his “unnatural” (and arguably unrequited) yearning for another man, was groundbreaking by 1950s standards, no doubt. When he expresses his disgust of “mendacity,” he could be talking as much about his own sexual orientation as all of the familial discord and in-fighting around him.
By today’s standards, the ending of Williams’ landmark play feels like a bit of a copout. That Maggie may lure Brick back into her bed—less a matter of rekindling any love or affection they might have once had, and more in the interest of simply validating her “lie” about finally conceiving their own child— almost seems like some modern form of gay conversion therapy.
Thankfully for the Georgia Ensemble show, great acting is great acting, and Sykes and MacQueen pull it off with a transcending conviction.