Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:
The next play on the script shelf is:
Next Tennessee Williams play on the shelf is The Period of Adjustment, included in The Theatre of Tennessee Williams, Vol. 4: Sweet Bird of Youth / Period of Adjustment / The Night of the Iguana
This play was produced in 1960 – and it was directed by the legendary producer from the Group Theatre – Cheryl Crawford. I feel disloyal saying this – but I’m not wacky about this play. I wonder if he needed a hit at this point in his life. I wonder if he was going for a commercial success. That’s what it feels like, to me, a bit – and it doesn’t work. Williams has to write for himself, write out of himself – or it seems hollow. I feel strange, like I’m one of the critics saying to him, “Why don’t you write another Streetcar??” but that’s not what I mean at all. I love his later experimental work, I love his forays into non-realistic settings … But Period of Adjustment is none of that. It’s a realistic two-act “serious comedy” – and it just seems like Williams was trying to please middle America. Or the Broadway audiences. He was looking to have broad appeal.
Does not work for an artist like him to care about that stuff. If you care about stuff like “middle America” (what the hell is that, anyway? It’s kind of a myth – but let’s just call it: broad appeal, mass appeal) then plays like Streetcar
Tennessee Williams was an outcast. He described himself that way, and uses that word quite pointedly in many of his plays. He chose to live that way. He chose to, and he had to. He was gay, he was an artist. He could have hidden his gayness, he could have given up the art and been a steno clerk. He didn’t. He went the other way. His sympathy is NOT with the “everyman”. His sympathy is always with those on the fringe. Those on the edge. Those about to fall off the edge. Etc. His sensibility lies THERE, in flop-houses, and casinos, and 2-dollar hotels. Those are the people that make him come alive – as a playwright.
Period of Adjustment takes place in a suburb. A SUBURB. This is the only Williams play that takes place in a middle-class suburb, and it just doesn’t really … It’s not that it doesn’t work. There are truly beautiful moments in this play, and a couple of really great characters created. It’s just that that kind of locale does not set Williams’ imagination and creativity free. He’s a deep-South rural or small-town playwright. Nature is ever-present in all of his plays. It’s almost another character – the heat, the mugginess, the sounds of the country night, the sunset … He puts all of these things into all of his plays. It’s part of the atmosphere, part of what lets the audience into the world of the play.
Anyhoo. Period of Adjustment stands out so clearly from all the rest of his plays – and I do wonder at why he wrote it. It doesn’t FEEL like a Williams play, except for a few of the themes explored (men and women trying to connect, and sex – a “frigid” woman on the verge of sexual hysteria, etc. Those are classic Williams calling-cards, but the rest?
Stuff that doesn’t “feel” like Williams:
— It takes place in a suburb.
— Two of the main characters are veterans from the Korean War – and they talk about it all the time. This wasn’t Williams’ real style. He wasn’t Odets. He wasn’t Miller. He wasn’t writing about “the issues of the day”. At least not so directly.
— THERE IS A TELEVISION in the house where the play takes place. Hahahaha Man, just goes to show you how much the world had changed. The television plays a pretty big part in the whole play, it’s turned on occasionally, you can hear the dialogue of whatever show is on … There’s a fascination with the television, and also there’s an attempt to look at the symbolic ramifications of “a television in every household”. What will that mean?? But still: imagine Stella and Stanley sitting down to watch TV. I mean … I guess they WOULD … but still, it’s hard to imagine. They don’t do that. They are from another universe – the universe of the FIRST half of the 20th century. No TVs there. At night Stanley plays poker, or he takes Stella bowling. Or they have sex. They don’t sit around and watch TV. But ANYWAY: in the house in Period of Adjustment, there is a television.
You can tell that, with these three elements (suburb, Korean war, television) – Williams is grappling with some new concepts, grappling with the new American culture – the 1950s American culture. Again, he’s an outcast. That culture wanted no part of him. That culture STILL wants no part of outcasts. But because he’s an outcast, he can’t really get inside the world of the suburb, the two-car garage, the neat little mini-bar, and etc. etc. This is just my judgment. Tennessee Williams remains outside this play. He can’t “get in” there. He couldn’t in real life, and he can’t in his art.
The plot is creaky and mechanical – the symbolism overdone. Isabel and George are newlyweds. They show up on Ralph’s doorstep on Christmas Eve – the day after they got married. Ralph and George are old war buddies from Korea. Ralph’s wife actually just left him – and she took their son with her. Ralph is perturbed because his wife apparently has turned their son into a “sissy”. This embarrasses him. (Another Williams calling card). Ralph and his wife’s marriage was going down the toilet. Ralph had basically married her because her father was going to set him up in business- which he did. Ralph was never really attracted to his wife – so their sex life was no great shakes, either – although his wife, a homely woman, apparently LOVED sex. She just “took to it”. hahaha Ralph has done well for himself. Except for the fact that he lives in a house which is built over a hollow cavern in the earth, and every year the ground sinks about a foot. (Uhm – symbolism alert!!) So throughout the play, occasionally you hear this deep earth rumble – and a picture will fall off the wall – or the glasses will shake … This is the house sinking. George and Isabel have not gotten off to a ringing start. As a matter of fact, George basically dumps Isabel on Ralph’s doorstep (she has never met Ralph) – and drives off into the night. For a drink? To abandon her? We don’t know why. Isabel is a wreck. She and George had a disastrous wedding night. She is a virgin, and her father made her so terrified of the opposite sex that she was completely unprepared for that side of marriage – even though she was a nurse, and she also loves George. And George, on the wedding night, instead of being patient with her, tried to just “take her” – and she flipped OUT. So now they have arrived in a full-blown crisis on Ralph’s doorstep. It is Xmas Eve. Ralph’s wife has just walked out on him. By the end of the play, though – Ralph’s wife has come back. The two of them circle each other like old war horses, and realize that there is a lot of affection between the two of them. He actually loves her. And Isabel and George work it out. Happy ending!! What? In a Williams play? Where am I?
Ralph, I do have to say, after all my bitching about this play, is a lovely character. He’s kind of coarse, but what you really get from him is that he is a realistic man, and he is someone you would feel COMPLETELY comfortable going to with your problems. You could even cry on his shoulder. He would make you feel better. He would get you laughing. He would fix you a drink, keep things light … and let you be in the crisis the whole time.
So I’ll excerpt a bit from the first scene – which is Isabel being dropped off at Ralph’s house … without her husband … not knowing Ralph at all … and Ralph trying to make her feel welcome, comfortable, all that … until he finally realizes that Isabel is in the middle of some kind of a meltdown. There’s a couple of LOVELY moments when the two of them connect … they’re my favorite moments in the play. Look for the one in the following scene where she confesses to him why she became a nurse – her fantasies about being a Florence Nightingale … watch how he not only “gets it” – but joins in the fantasy with her. It’s a beautiful moment – warm and human.
EXCERPT FROM The Period of Adjustment, included in The Theatre of Tennessee Williams, Vol. 4: Sweet Bird of Youth / Period of Adjustment / The Night of the Iguana
ISABEL. My philosophy professor at the Baptist college I went to, he said one day, “We are all of us born, live and die in the shadow of a giant question mark that refers to three questions: Where do we come from? Why? And where, oh where, are we going?
RALPH. When did you say you got married?
ISABEl. Yesterday. Yesterday morning.
RALPH. That lately? Well, he’ll be back before you say — Joe Blow.
[He appreciates her neat figure again]
ISABEL. What?
RALPH. Nothing.
ISABEL. Well!
RALPH. D’you like Christmas music?
ISABEL. Everything but “White Christmas”.
[As she extends her palms to the imaginary fireplace, Ralph is standing a little behind her, still looking her up and down with solemn appreciation]
RALPH. Aw, y’don’t like “White Christmas”?
ISABEL. The radio in that car is practically the only thing in it that works! We had it on all the time. [She gives a tired laugh] Conversation was impossible, even if there had been a desire to talk! It kept playing “White Christmas” because it was snowing I guess all the way down here, yesterday and — today …
RALPH. A radio in a funeral limosine?
ISABEL. I guess they just played it on the way back from the graveyard. Anyway, once I reached over and turned the volume down. He didn’t say anyting, he just reached over and turned the volume back up. Isn’t it funny how a little thing like that can be so insulting to you? Then I started crying and still haven’t stopped! I pretended to be looking out the car window till it got dark.
RALPH. You’re just going through a little period of adjustment to each other.
ISABEL. What do you do with a bride left on your doorstep, Mr. Bates?
RALPH. Well, I, ha ha! — never had that experience!
ISABEL. Before? Well, now you’re faced with it, I hope you know how to handle it. You know why I know he’s left me? He only took in my bags, he left his own in the car, he brought in all of mine except my little blue zipper overnight bag, that he kept for some reason. Perhaps he intends to pick up another female companion who could use its contents.
RALPH. Little lady, you’re in a bad state of nerves.
ISABEL. Have you ever been so tired that you don’t know what you’re doing or saying?
RALPH. Yes. Often.
ISABEL. That’s my condition, so make allowances for it. Yes, indeed, that sure is a mighty far drugstore …
[She wanders back to the window, and parts the curtains to peer out]
RALPH. He seems gone twice as long because you’re thinking about it.
ISABEL. I don’t know why I should care except for mym overnight bag with my toilet articles in it.
RALPH. [obliquely investigating] Where did you spend last night?
ISABEL. [vaguely] Where did we spend last night?
RALPH. Yeah. Where did you stop for the night?
ISABEL. [rubbing her forehead and sighing with perplexity] In a, in a — oh, a tourist camp called the — Old Man River Motel? Yes, the Old Man River Motel.
RALPH. That’s a mistake. The first night ought to be spent in a real fine place regardless of what it cost you. It’s so important to get off on the right foot. [He has freshened his drink and come around to the front of the bar. She has gone back to the window at the sound of a car] If you get off on the wrong foot, it can take a long time to correct it. [She nods in slow confirmation of this opinion] Um-hmmmm. Walls are built up between people a hell of a damn sight faster than — broken down … Y’want me to give you my word that he’s coming back? I will, I’ll give you my word. Hey. [He snaps his fingers] Had he bought me a Christmas present? If not, that’s what he’s doing. That explains where he went to. [There is a pause. She sits sadly by the fireplace] What went wrong last night?
ISABEL. Let’s not talk about that.
RALPH. I don’t mean to pry into such a private, intimate thing, but —
ISABEL. No, let’s don’t! I’ll just put it this way and perhaps you will understand me. In spite of my being a student nurse, till discharged — my experience has been limited, Mr. Bates. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in a small town, an only child, too protected. I wasn’t allowed to date till my last year at High and then my father insisted on meeting the boys I went out with and laid down pretty strict rules, such as when to bring me home from parties and so forth. If he smelled liquor on the breath of a boy? At the door? That boy would not enter the door! And that little rule ruled out a goodly number.
RALPH. I bet it did. They should’ve ate peanuts befo’ they called for you, honey. [He chuckles, reflectively poking at the fire] That’s what we done at the Sisters of Mercy Orphans’ Home in Mobile.
ISABEL. [touched] Oh. Were you an orphan, Mr. Bates?
RALPH. Yes, I had that advantage.
[He slides off the high stool again to poke at the fire. She picks up the antique bellows and fans the flames, crouching beside him.]
ISABEL. So you were an orphan! People that grow up orphans, don’t they value love more?
RALPH. Well, let’s put it this way. They get it less easy. To get it, they have to give it: so yeah, they do value it more.
[He slides back onto the bar stool. She crouches at the fireplace to fan the fire with the bellows. The flickering light brightens their shy tender faces]
ISABEL. But it’s also an advantage to have a parent like my daddy. [She’s again very close to tears] Very strict but devoted. Opposed me going into the nursing profession but I had my heart set on it, I thought I had a vocation, I saw myself as a Florence Nightingale nurse. A lamp in her hand? Establishin’ clinics in the — upper Amazon country … [She laughs a little ruefully] Yais, I had heroic daydreams about myself as a dedicated young nurse working side by side with a —
[She pauses shyly]
RALPH. With a dedicated young doctor?
ISABEL. No, the doctor would be older, well, not too old, but — older. I saw myself passing among the pallets, you know, the straw mats, administering to the plague victims in the jungle, exposing myself to contagion …
[She exhibits a bit of humor here]
RALPH. Catchin’ it?
ISABEL. Yais, contractin’ it eventually m’self …
RALPH. What were the symptoms of it?
ISABEL. A slight blemish appearing on the — hands? [She gives him a darting smile]
RALPH. [joining in the fantasy with her] Which you’d wear gloves to conceal?
ISABEL. Yais, rubber gloves all the time.
RALPH. A crusty-lookin’ blemish or more like a fungus?
[They laugh together]
ISABEL. I don’t think I — yais, I did, I imagined it being like scaa-ales! Like silver fish scales appearing on my hands and then progressing gradually to the wrists and fo‘-arms …
RALPH. And the young doctor discovering you were concealing this condition?
ISABEL. The youngish middle-aged doctor, Mr. Bates! Yais, discovering I had contracted the plague myself and then a big scene in which she says, Oh, no, you musn’t touch me but he seizes her passionately in his arms, of course, and — exposes himself to contagion.
[Ralph chuckles heartily getting off stool to poke at the fire again. She joins him on the floor to fan the flames with the bellows]
ISABEL. And love is stronger than death. You get the picture?
RALPH. Yep, I’ve seen the picture.
ISABEL. We’ve had a good laugh together. You’re a magician, Ralph, to make me laugh tonight in my present situation. George and I never laugh, we never laugh together. Oh, he makes JOKES, YAIS! But we never have a really genuine laugh together and that’s a bad sign, I think, because I don’t think a married couple can go through life without laughs together any more than they can without tears.
RALPH. Nope. [He removes his shoes] Take your slippers off, honey.
ISABEL. I have the funniest sensation in the back of my head, like —
RALPH. Like a tight rope was coming unknotted?
ISABEL. Exactly! Like a tight rope was being unknotted!
[He removes her slippers and puts them on the hearth, crosses into the bedroom and comes out with a pair of fluffy pink bedroom slippers. He crouches beside her and feels the sole of her stocking]
RALPH. Yep, damp. Take those damp stockings off.
ISABEL. [unconsciously following the suggestion] Does George have a sense of humor? In your opinion? Has he got the ability to laugh at himself and at life and at — human situations? Outside of off-color jokes? In your opinion, Mr. Bates?
RALPH. [taking the damp stockings from her and hanging them over the footlights] Yes. We had some good laughs together, me an’ — “Gawge”, ha ha …
ISABEL. We never had any together.
RALPH. That’s the solemnity of romantic love, little lady, I mean like Romeo and Juliet was not exactly a joke book, ha ha ha.
ISABEL. “The solemnity of romantic love”! — I wouldn’t expect an old war buddy of George’s to use an expression like that.
RALPH. Lemme put these on your feet, little lady. [She sighs and extends her feet and he slips the soft fleecy pink slippers on them] But you know something? I’m gonna tell you something which isn’t out of the joke books either. You got a wonderful boy in your hands, on your hands, they don’t make them any better than him and I mean it. [He does.]
ISABEL. I appreciate your loyalty to an old war buddy.
RALPH. Naw, naw, it’s not just that.
ISABEL. But if they don’t make them any better than George Haverstick, they ought to stop making them, they ought to cease production! [She utters a sort of wild, sad laugh which stops as abruptly as it started. Suddenly she observes the bedroom slippers on her feet] What’s these, where did they come from?
RALPH. Honey, I just put them on you. Didn’t you know?
ISABEL. No! — How strange! — I didn’t. I wasn’t at all aware of it … [They are both a little embarrassed] Where is your wife, Mr. Bates?
RALPH. Honey, I told you she quit me and went home to her folks.
ISABEL. Oh, excuse me, I remember. You told me …
[Suddenly the blazing logs make a sharp cracking noise; a spark apprently has spit out of the grate onto Isabel’s skirt. She gasps and springs up, retreating from the fireplace, and Ralph jumps off the bar stool to brush at her skirt. Under the material of the Angora wool skirt is the equal and warmer softness of her young body. Ralph is abrtuptly embarrassed, coughs, turns back to the fireplace and picks up copper tongs to shift the position of the crackling logs.
This is a moment between them that must be done just right to avoid misinterpretation. Ralph would never make a play for the bride of a buddy. What should come out of the moment is not a suggestion that he will or might but that Dotty’s body never felt that way. He remembers bodies that did. What comes out of Isabel’s reaction is a warm understanding of his warm understanding; just that, nothing more, at all.]
ISABEL. Thank you. This Angora wool is, is — highly inflammable stuff, at least I would — think it — might be.
RALPH. Yeah, and I don’t want “Gawge” to come back here and find a toasted marshmallow bride … by my fireplace.
You should consider charging for these seminars.
ken – yeah, really.