University of Virginia Library

'Sweet Bird': Rape Of Williams Work

By Rick Ackerman

Had Tennessee Williams been
able to see the Virginia Players'
production of "Sweet Bird of
Youth," he may have reacted like
the distraught Kraut in the "Producers:"
or, with a grand display of
humility he might have chosen to
sit through the final act and watch
the rape of his work. "The Sweet
Bird of Youth," is that frolicsome
lark of yesteryear that Princess
Kosmonopolis (Bianca Redden)
can't seem to bag. After being
washed up as a Hollywood starlet
she shacks with Chance Wayne
(Robert Shimer), a gigolo who possesses
enough youthful vitality to
bring back those ol' college days.
Williams' essential "Sweet Bird"
was entirely lost as the play progressed.
(Not really entirely,
though; in scene of the second
act, the Princess subtly suggests the
theme of the play with an appropriate
"I need you because you're
YOUNG" cliche.) The entire play,
with the exception of the last
scene, was handled with the "deftness"
that one might expect from a
high school drama guild. Although
the acting was occasionally good, a
generally clumsy cast rendered the
play dramatically impotent. It was
not at all surprising that a pleasantly
astonished Bianca Redded
(the Princess and female
protagonist) appeared to be walking
off stage when the curtains opened
for a fourth curtain call. The tone
of her acting varied from an uncalled
for hypertensiveness to a
just-as-uncalled-for Shakespearean
touch in her bedroom "soliloquy."
Robert Shimer fared no better in
his attempt to be a credible Chance
Wayne. When he dashed across the
stage and threw himself at the
Princess' feet crying "Oh! You'll
help me, Princess," Shimer managed
to draw an undertone of
laughter from the audience. I think
Williams had meant to extract the
crowd's sympathy at this point.
And when he spoke of the nude
shot which he had taken of Heavenly
Finley (who, incidentally, in her
silver wig, looked more like a whore
than Dixie Belle (Boss Finley's
sweet little daughter) the audience
again laughed because Shimer
couldn't express the aesthetic quality
of the photo that had compelled
Chance Wayne to take the picture.

Three Ring Circus

Scene II of Act II resembled a
three-ring circus sans lions, tigers,
or even a semblance of Clyde
Beatty; just clowns, and more
clowns. 'Where Williams had called
for some of the heaviest drama in
the play, drawing from the key
lines of several characters, Director
Greene allowed eight or nine complete
buffoons (superstar "extras")
to dominate the scene downstage
with highly exaggerated pantomime
that should have been "upstaged."
(Cool it, Gang! Ziegfield ain't
out there). Meanwhile, Chance
Wayne was being "drunk" with the
demeanor of a speed freak "coming
back down." So the stage was set
for the Princess' "dramatically
charged" entrance into the cocktail
lounge: poor Bianca Redded vs. the
Baffoons of Barnum and Bailey.
She might have been good if they'd
given her a chance.

Light Man Shines

Light-man, J. Craig Johnson had
his shining hour, too. When Chance
Wayne threw open his shutters to
flood his hotel room with morning
sunlight, sol failed to greet him at
the appropriate time - opening
night fluke, of course, and excusable
as such; but when J. Craig gets
to try his luck at lighting a political
rally, his failure to do so properly
destroys a scene transition. In the
confusion before Boss Finley's
rally, it actually appeared as though
the stagehands were actors trying to
lynch Chance Wayne. (They were,
as things turned out, moving furniture,
but very dramatically so).
FLASH! The audience is blinded by
an array of GE superbulbs that
make Finley's rally all but visible.
Neat effect, J. Craig, but you can
save the tricks for the disruptive
theater.

But there was, however, that
final scene. Possibly, the dialogue
gave Chance Wayne the liberty to
become Robert Shimer for once;
because then he managed a laudable
interpretation, rather than a shallow
impersonation of Chance. At
any rate, the "clowns" were offstage,
and both Shimer and Bianca
Redden managed to carry the scene
alone with enough skill to salvage a
hearty, albeit sympathetic, applause.