I usually write theatre reviews the minute I walk through the door. It’s all still there in my head, sharp and bright, every detail could make it into the copy. This time, however, I had to decompress.

Josh Seymour’s production of A Streetcar Named Desire was just too good. It completely discombobulated me. I went with a new friend I don’t know that well, which caused an issue because I felt obliged to maintain some semblance of normality after the well-deserved standing ovation at the end. I just about held it together until she dropped me off, at which point I barely managed to get the key in the door before I started sobbing like some kind of grotesque meme. I had to make a cup of tea. I had to have a piece of toast. I had to cry several pints of salty tears all over the cat, who didn’t give a shit about me or my emotional state but stayed on my lap because it was late and the heating had gone off.

Some productions of Streetcar are red hot – just too damn sexy – to the point where they lose the pathos of this deeply tragic play. This one toed the line between tantalising and devastating. The innovative, dynamic staging and the use of space expertly enhanced the storytelling – at times almost clinical, a forensic deconstruction. I found it utterly compelling.

If you don’t know the play – like my husband who, thanks to The Simpsons, genuinely thought it was a musical until I set him straight – it tells the story of Blanche Dubois, a faded Southern belle who seeks solace with her estranged sister after falling on hard times. She finds no empathy in her sister’s husband Stanley Kowalski, however, who drags all of the skeletons out of her closet to face the brutal light of day. I don’t think I’ll ever see a better Blanche than Joanna Vanderham who gave a magnificent performance. If I felt drained after watching her, lord knows how she manages to pick herself up off the floor or bring herself down from the ceiling (either would be understandable) after giving so much and so completely inhabiting the role. I was utterly convinced by the dynamic between Blanche and her sister Stella, too, played by Amara Okereke, who got to the heart of what it is to be completely subsumed in a toxic relationship.

In the programme, there’s an interview with the production’s dialect coach Aundrea Fudge and vocal coach Tess Dignan. They talk about the amphitheatre style of The Crucible’s stage as a liberating, expansive space for actors, and how much skill it takes to fill that epic space while still delivering an intimate performance. All I can say in response is that I was simultaneously completely drawn in and blown away, so they absolutely nailed it.

Please go and see this incredible production, ideally with someone you feel comfortable sobbing all over.

By Amy Stone, Sheffield Correspondent

Main image: credit Marc Brenner

 

A Streetcar Named Desire is at The Crucible, Sheffield until March 29, 2025. For more information, click here.