There's no law that says a small space can't hold a big production, and Terry Schreiber's revival of Tennessee Williams's Sweet Bird of Youth thinks big. It has to, to accommodate the play's large themes, outsize characters, and grand poetic speeches, all vintage Williams.
Drifter Chance Wayne returns to his Southern home town intending to reclaim his one true love, Heavenly Finley, who happens to be the daughter of the corrupt, bigoted local political boss. Chance's secret weapon is aging actress Alexandra del Lago, who, believing she has blown her last comeback attempt, has "disguised" herself as the "Princess Kosmonopolis" and adopted Chance as caretaker/gigolo. He hopes to use her connections to further his own failed acting career and bring his true love with him. The South's last stand against federally enforced desegregation is the backdrop. Violence occurs both on and offstage, both physical and psychic.
Get the feeling the story doesn't end well?
Yes, the play is a tragedy, at least for most of the characters. Though quite funny in places, it moves slowly, like a stately pageant, through three acts and three-plus hours - a rich story with big, exaggerated personalities. Paul Newman and Geraldine Page created the roles of Chance and the Princess in the original 1959 Broadway production, and starred in the 1961 movie. Irene Worth won a Tony in the latter role in a 1975 revival, which also starred Christopher Walken. Schreiber doesn't have the big names at his disposal that Elia Kazan and Edwin Sherin did, and not surprisingly, this production's most significant strengths and weaknesses both lie in its casting.
The role of the half-crazed Princess is gloriously larger-than-life, and Joanna Bayless, more than up to the challenge, knocks it out of the park. Whether outmaneuvering Chance in a prolonged battle of wills, hyperventilating in what would today be called a severe anxiety attack, or suffering an embarrassing public collapse, she takes complete command of her every scene. Bayless bares the humanity behind the haughtiness, simultaneously embodying proud grande dame and lost, sick soul.
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