If anything makes more strange bedfellows than politics, it's Tennessee Williams. And the strangest of all, for having had and still succumbing to so many, is his alcoholic hero, Shannon. In1940, in Mexico, where he's working for a cheap tour company guiding a Baptist ladies' group on holiday, Shannon (so world weary in Woody Harrelson's interpretation) strands them at the cheap motel of old friend Maxine Faulk. A defrocked priest, unable to resist the temptation of young girls yet hating himself for it, Shannon has already succumbed to a nubile one from his tour, Charlotte (Jenna Harrison, panting and insistent). She has pursued him uphill from the bus he's disabled, followed by the churchwomen's outraged leader Judith Fellowes (Nichola McAuliffe, hot and bothered).
As her fanatical hatred keeps coming to the fore, she proves his biggest threat yet unintentionally raises some pity for him. Trying to stay off drink (for which Woody Harrelson also elicits pity for Shannon), he really needss a rest. In fact, he's welcomed by the recently widowed nympho Maxine (sassy Clare Higgins, of protruding bust), who prefers him to her two hired Mexican boys.
As Shannon characterizes his departure from Blake Tours' proscribed agenda, he wanted to offer the ladies "a priceless chance to feel and be touched." Although they reject the "opportunity," a night at Maxine's would have put them in touch with some "fantastic" (Shannon's favorite word) characters.
Representing the outside world of hatred and dominance, a German tourist couple guzzle champagne to celebrate the bombing of London and consequent deaths. A pretty, broke, 40-year-old blonde artist, Hannah Jelkes (calm, calming Jenny Seagrove), shows up with her 90-plus year-old grandfather. In travels together, to earn their poor living, she paints people, and he (bright eyed John Franklyn-Robbins) recites his own poems, one of which he struggles to complete. They do everything possible to have Maxine's as a refuge for awhile. Except to avoid Maxine's jealousy when Hannah and Shannon begin to relate to each other. Finally, there's an inguana the Mexicans have tied up beneath the porch and intend to eat after it's tortured and killed. Possibly a symbol of Shannon. Possibly a Christ symbol. Both victims. Can the iguana escape? Will it?
There are so many ways to interpret this play, one cannot complain about director Anthony Page's simple, rather literal one. Because, after all, the lines are those of a great poetic dramatist, whose words paint, who celebrates "lightning from God." Any resemblance to the lunatic, lover, and poet of Shakespeare is purely relevant. Only, Williams' garden is not a geographical state but what grows in the human soul, however straggly or rank or blossoming in tropical heat.
