Enough tissues.

Carol Burns as Amanda Wingfield.

First, a word of warning. Zimbles who have not had enough sleep the night before and have forgotten to have lunch that day and find themselves at a certain time of the month, should not proceed on their own to a Saturday matinee performance of “The Glass Menagerie”.

Well, they can but they should remember to take enough tissues to last the whole of the last act and the whole of the drive home. (The usher and parking station attendant can be told there is a lot of hay fever about).

The Queensland Theatre Company’s performance of this play was an experience I won’t forget in a hurry. I took myself to the theatre on the spur of the moment (gotta love internet ticket purchasing) and came away very moved. ‘Moved’ isn’t quite the right word though. ‘Moved’ is when Gretel shows the finger that got caught in Friedrich’s teeth to the nuns or when Darth wheezes, "Luke, I am your father".

Rather, it was more a case of feeling emotionally bashed up. However melodramatic that sounds, that is how it was at first, and as I said, all the way home. I suppose TW would roll in his grave at this but I was reminded of the moment in the film, "A Chorus Line" when a character says, "different is nice but it sure isn't pretty - pretty is what it's about". With hindsight of a few days, however, the average zimble can expect to find something cathartic about the experience and a new sense of perspective on what it is like to be different.

Everyone knows the power of TW’s writing. I don’t want to try to re-hash any of its interpretation. Rather and truly, it was the the cast that threw this staging of “The Glass Menagerie” into gear and made it fly. From beginning to end I marvelled at the sincerity of the players. Each gut wrenching, soul cringing moment was given its full weight and depth.

I once heard an American actress say that it is a mistake to stage TW plays in a large theatre because the plays are generally about characters with problems and lives too large for the situations in which they are trapped. QTC got it right in this respect too with a tiny stage in the intimate Cremorne theatre. In this setting, the play had the tension of a bottle of ginger beer shaken and then set to warm in the midday sun.

The only drawback and this seems to be a common theme with me lately, was the audience. How to describe them? Greying, slow, persnickety, noisy, unresponsive and unappreciative would be a good start. In the first few minutes, Tom lights a cigarette as he begins his story. Yes, the light herbal smoke reached the audience but the coughing and shifting in seats that it caused was affected and silly.

At intermission there was nearly a full-on barney in the foyer because the barista was slow to heat his espresso machine. Back in the theatre there was nearly a full-on barney over a few spare seats being coveted for the second half because of a perceived improvement in view. (Every seat in the Cremorne has a ‘good view’).

The worst behaviour, however, was yet to come. At the end of the play, the audience was very slow to clap and when they did, it was an embarrassingly half-hearted thanks for what had been an absolutely superb performance. The cast responded with one bow and then were off in the blink of an eye. It was such a shame.

Did my older compatriots in the stalls of the Cremorne that afternoon not see the same play I had? Perhaps their lives are so ordered and happy and perfect that TW has no resonance with them. Perhaps they’re not Zimbles and don’t need tissues.