Seattle Repertory’s performance of Tennessee William’s semi-autobiographical “The Glass Menagerie” directed by Braden Abraham is an intimate, thoughtful view into dysfunctional family Americana at its best. It tells the story of the Wingfield family struggling to deal with life in the wake of abandonment by its patriarch. Though absent in body, the father’s presence is never far from the family’s thoughts, as his portrait is hung prominently in their home, an ever-present reminder of their rejection. Told primarily through the eyes of the troubled and restless son, Tom Wingfield, played by the emotive Ben Huber who bears a striking likeness to Adam Levine of Maroon 5 fame, Menagerie compels us to bear witness to a family overwhelmed by the challenges of transitioning to modern society, instead opting to each live in a fantasy denial of reality.
We see the mother, Amanda Wingfield (Suzanne Bouchard) a tragic aging southern belle unwilling or unable to adjust to her economic decline, clinging desperately to antiquated southern belle ideals and values in a world foreign to them. She is the stranger in a strange land. Bouchard succeeds wildly in her heartrending portrayal of a deeply conflicted woman out of touch with the times, staunchly defending the way things used to be and generally being a busybody and nag to her children. She is paradoxically unable to accept her children for who they are and yet willing to sacrifice her own pride suffering through the humiliation of being forced to sell subscriptions over the phone out of love for them. At times she is stunningly cruel to them, like in telling Laura who is dressed up for her gentleman caller that this is the prettiest that she will ever be or by complaining that why can’t she and her brother be like normal people. Is it out of love that she seeks to manipulate her children for their own perceived benefit or out of some vain attempt to re-live her own life through them?
We see the mother, Amanda Wingfield (Suzanne Bouchard) a tragic aging southern belle unwilling or unable to adjust to her economic decline, clinging desperately to antiquated southern belle ideals and values in a world foreign to them. She is the stranger in a strange land. Bouchard succeeds wildly in her heartrending portrayal of a deeply conflicted woman out of touch with the times, staunchly defending the way things used to be and generally being a busybody and nag to her children. She is paradoxically unable to accept her children for who they are and yet willing to sacrifice her own pride suffering through the humiliation of being forced to sell subscriptions over the phone out of love for them. At times she is stunningly cruel to them, like in telling Laura who is dressed up for her gentleman caller that this is the prettiest that she will ever be or by complaining that why can’t she and her brother be like normal people. Is it out of love that she seeks to manipulate her children for their own perceived benefit or out of some vain attempt to re-live her own life through them?
