These Are My Friends. See How They Glisten.

Review: The Glass Menagerie
American Repertory Theater, Cambridge
February 19, 2013

"The play is memory. Being a memory play, it is dimly lighted, it is sentimental, it is not realistic."

As John Tiffany's Cambridge production of The Glass Menagerie opens, we're already lost in fantasy. Set designer Bob Crowley places the Wingfields' New York walk-up on a sea of reflective blackness, with a fire escape rising to the heavens. Tennessee Williams's elegiac words pause for movement: characters stare over the edge of the stage, faces lit up, sometimes reaching out. These interludes aren't always clear, but they feel right.

Otherwise, Tiffany's production stays close to the text. Cherry Jones is no fragile, fading violet as Amanda. And she couldn't be more right: indomitable and often funny. This Amanda will not let the world get her down. She sees promise in that great abyss. Zachary Quinto's Tom may be too contemporary (his gayness is never in question), but he's hot-blooded and full of bile, eschewing the idea that Tom should be passive or distant.

For me, the play hinges on the Gentleman Caller. Celia Keenan-Bolger and especially Brian J. Smith are moving as Laura delicately opens up to Jim, in the intimacy of candlelight. Smith enters the Wingfield apartment with an overcompensating charm, wincing behind Amanda's back at her every excess. But his braggadocio fades into empathy for Laura, his feelings as surprising to him as to her. He's almost in tears after kissing Laura; I'd guess he's never shared a moment this unflinching with Betty, his fiance. Keenan-Bolger's Laura speaks in an adolescent whisper, with a limp that's barely noticeable. Her imagination has grossly magnified her condition. But that same imagination has transformed a few pieces of glass (the audience sees only one) into an obsession and a refuge. Cherry Jones said in an interview she has to believe Laura does indeed marry. If not, the play's too sad. And why not leave the theater with one flicker of hope?

This Season in Comedies: Matthew McConaughey Edition

Bernie
In 1996, mortician Bernie Tiede shot rich, reclusive Marjorie Nugent four times in the back, buried her with the frozen vegetables, then covered up her death for months. The discovery of her body and subsequent murder trial brought infamy to Carthage, Texas, with pro-Bernie supporters protesting his arrest and trumpeting his compassion and goodwill in the community.

Richard Linklater's Bernie recounts the stranger-than-fiction story with more accuracy and humor than most true-crime movies. This black comedy lampoons small town life without condescension: Linklater casts actual Carthage townsfolk who chime in colorfully about Marjorie and Bernie's peculiar companionship. Did she keep him around for a late-in-life romance? Was his use of her money embezzlement? Jack Black, with his enormous energy and vulgarity, surprises with a subtle performance that lets us feel for Bernie. We wait for Black's trademark devilish grin to creep in, never sure how much to trust Bernie's good heart. I got a kick out of Matthew McConaughey as an unconvinced police officer. Linklater doesn't sanctify or condemn, but lets the strange doings in Carthage speak for themselves.

For Your Consideration: Richard Linklater (Director); Jack Black (Actor); Matthew McConaughey (Supporting Actor).

The Paperboy
"If anyone's gonna piss on him, it's going to be me. He don't like strangers peeing on him."

So begins the now legendary scene where Nicole Kidman, Southern vampy in a bleached blonde wig, saves paperboy Zac Efron from jellyfish stings. Kidman's game, but this ludicrous golden shower shifts an already lurid bayou thriller into the swampland of unintentional comedies. I have to believe Lee Daniels created the movie he expected to make: overwrought, deep-fried, mass-market paperback shlock. The highly sexual set pieces are clearly Daniels's raison d'etre, from an endlessly shirtless Efron swimming or dancing in wet briefs to a no-touch double masturbation in prison between Kidman and despicable convict John Cusack. Meanwhile, Macy Gray narrates some less interesting story of a murder investigation and the racism and corruption that are uncovered. And when our innocent paperboy (Efron, trying but vapid sharing scenes with real actors) finally beds Kidman, Daniels omits the entire lovemaking. Why be prudish now? Was it in Efron's contract? Matthew McConaughey report: Another effective, heavily sweaty role in a year that reinvented his career.

For Your Razzie Consideration.