A Streetcar Named Desire (Donmar Warehouse)

I can't that that depending on the kindness of strangers is something that I make a habit of, but I'm deeply grateful to the Donmar Warehouse for running the Donmar Discovery scheme and offering free tickets for their production of A Streetcar Named Desire, which has been sold out for months. It really was the full royal treatment with a free poster and post-show discussion on top of the ticket. The Donmar might be known as the most exclusive theatre in London, but it's also one of the most generous. It's hardly like they do this because they're under booked. This (and my brand new Entry Pass for the National Theatre) is something I'm really going to miss when I turn twenty-five (thankfully not for a few more years).

I've never seen 'Streetcar' on stage before, and it's been years since I saw the film (I adore Vivien Leigh, but tend to re-visit Gone with the Wind and Waterloo Bridge), so I was able to come to it fairly fresh, which I think helped. The production is directed by Rob Ashford, who's most prolific as a choreographer, and I think it shows in the (sometimes unbearably) intense physicality and fluidity of this production. This was the first time I've been in the stalls at the Donmar, and I was right on the corner in the first row, and avoided being hit by Stanley's crockery smashing rampage by centimeters (rather terrifying). That's how intimate it was. Christopher Oram's set with the beautiful spiral staircase and dingy two-bedroom apartment below evokes the outward glamour of New Orleans and the internal squalor of the lives on display.

Rachel Weisz's Blanche arrives in this ghastly place dressed from head to toe in white, setting off her porcelain skin perfectly, and resembling a youthful Miss Havisham. She is rarely off-stage, and she is extraordinary. She makes Blanche tragicomic and sympathetic and I was completely drawn into her flights of fancy and even wanted to make them come true for her. Blanche Dubois might be a terrible manipulator and a nightmare of a house guest, but she really is one of the greatest fantasists in literature, spinning her own stories and in the end, I don't think she has any idea of what's true and what isn't. It all becomes mingled into one.

There is strong support from Ruth Wilson, who is outstanding as Stella (perhaps the heart of the play, and the onstage representative of the audience- she's the one who has to 'watch' Blanche), the tricky woman-who-loves-husband-who-beats-her role. She is no doormat, and is more than a match for Stanley. I can't help but be reminded of the Bigelows in Carousel, but the difference is that Julie loves Billy because she sees in him a vulnerability that no one else does. The violence doesn't turn her on, unlike Stella, who admits she was excited by the way he smashed all the light bulbs in the apartment on their wedding night. The question is- why is she so obsessed with a man who treats her appallingly, has no charm and isn't even remotely physically attractive? No relationship based almost entirely on sex can be healthy and Stella knows that, but she can't let go... and she never comes across as a victim.

I never would have recognised Elliot Cowan as Mr Darcy from the dreadful Lost in Austen (Stanley Kowlaski really is the anti-Darcy), and frankly, Blanche really does have have a point in suggesting that this sweat-soaked, beer-guzzling, tank top wearing (not a good look unless you're Naveen Andrews) brute has missed a few rungs on the evolutionary ladder. He's extraordinarily vulgar and bestial and incapable of thinking before he acts. I think his best moment was his despair after he'd lashed out at Stella, fearing he'd lost her for good. Barnaby Kay as Mitch, the only man who shows any traits of the Southern gentlemen of Blanche's fantasies is decent and straightforward, but who could cope with all the lies that Blanche tells?

It's a long play, and one that left me feeling rather drained, particularly after the heartbreaking final scene. I felt as awful for Stella as I did for Blanche. What happens to Stella and Stanley's marriage after the play? I think Stella knows what her husband is capable of and that Blanche isn't lying about the rape, but the world isn't kind to single mothers... I don't sense a happy future for poor Stella regardless of whatever decision she makes about her marriage.

The post-show discussion was particularly interesting in seeing just how protective Ruth Wilson is of Stella, to the point of being a bit abrupt. I think it's wonderful that she's that passionate about her character (and they must have all been exhausted), but was quite glad I wasn't on the receiving end. An evening I won't soon forget.