Adams’s West End debut is solid but unremarkable. Under the direction of Jeremy Herrin, the first half feels flat-footed. One of the biggest problems is the size of the stage, which looks vast and works against the intimacy of this story.
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I loved [Amy Adams'] performance. It’s clear, simple, believable, and quietly heart-breaking. Hats off to Adams for taking a leap in the dark for the summer season. Still, it’s not quite the stuff of fairy tales.
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The actors are left rather stranded by [the] bare-bones approach. It’s a set-up that might work better in a more intimate venue, but isn’t terribly well suited to a West End house.
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It's altogether a cosier two and a half hours than you might expect ... The lasting impression is more of a mood than any revelation. It passes over you like a dream, dissolving gently.
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Despite spectacular acting, the play's whole is smaller than the sum of its parts. For a memory play, it projects concrete realism instead of fluid impressionism. The glass structure housing the menagerie is a puzzlingly large presence on the stage and seems to frequently get in the way.
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It’s a humane and even beautiful take on a classic play. But ‘The Glass Menagerie’ is one of the greatest plays ever written, and this production lacks its full, devastating potential.
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I can see Herrin’s production working in a small, studio setting, where the younger actors would shine. But as a West End star vehicle, it barely passes its MOT.
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The Glass Menagerie is typically funny as well as tragic, but this production is light on laughter. That’s mostly down to Adams, who delivers a likeable but underpowered performance. This staging lacks the vigour to fully hit home.
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