Summer and Smoke

Summer and Smoke: In Love But at Odds

Auditorium on Waller Creek,

through December 1

Running Time: 2 hrs, 30 min

She has about her the air of a butterfly. Her hands, light and delicate on the ends of her wrists, flutter in space, moving here and there erratically, as if they were looking for a blossom on which to light. And there is a similar quality to her voice, especially when she is amused, the high, dainty laughter flitting out of her mouth and through the air. He, on the other hand, seems closer in spirit to a caterpillar. Loping along with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, he looks like he belongs close to the ground. His movements are fluid but langourous, and whenever he takes a long, slow pull on a bottle of wine, he exudes a sense that his purpose in life is to satisfy his appetites, which are voracious.

Just looking at Rebecca Robinson's Alma Winemiller and Joel Citty's John Buchanan in the Different Stages revival of Summer and Smoke, you can see what opposites they are. And that's good, for that opposition -- air and earth, spirit and flesh -- is at the heart of this Tennessee Williams drama, as it is so many of the playwright's works. Alma and John have grown up together in the little town of Glorious Hill, Mississippi, and a mutual attraction has smoldered between the two since they were children. But they exist at such polar extremes -- she a repressed minister's daughter, for whom love is a romantic ideal, the twining of two souls; he a doctor and the son of a doctor, for whom biology is all and love just the twining of two bodies -- that they can never get beyond their differences to come together as a couple. The way that Robinson and Citty embody the conflicted and conflicting natures of these characters provides the tension that gives this production its life. There is a distinct push and pull between the two that keeps the show moving.

This accomplishment is all the more impressive for the nicely understated quality in both performances. Nowadays, what with Williams' extravagant Southerners having been parodied so broadly for so long, it's hard to play them without giving off a whiff of camp -- a problem for a few cast members here. But Citty and Robinson, while meeting their respective types head on, manage to instill in them a humanity, a yearning, that shades their affectations in darker hues, as defenses for their too-tender and vulnerable hearts.

What's more, they create convincing metamorphoses for their characters. The play's life-altering turn of fortune, involving the death of John's father, causes both Alma and John to reconsider the narrow paths they walk and find another way. Playing that kind of sea change can be tricky, especially when it involves a turn of 180 degrees. But these two actors are so grounded in their characters and express themselves with enough subtlety that we can buy a John who leaves the earth for the air and an Alma who drops her butterfly wings for the appetites of a caterpillar.

The landscape that director Norman Blumensaadt provides for this turnaround is not flashy but it is, by and large, effective. Steven Pire's set sprawls across the Auditorium on Waller Creek space in an intriguing fashion, setting the two homes of the protagonists on a long diagonal, with the metaphorical fountain of Eternity between them. His few pieces of furniture are well-chosen to project the flavor of 1916 Mississippi, and Kendi Erickson's costumes, though not always elaborate, evoke the era as well. The ambience of that typical Williams Southern town is established through some capable supporting performances, notably those of Melanie Dean as Alma's childlike mother, Gin Clark as an effusive young friend and later rival to Alma, and Kyle Moody as a traveling salesman.

But the director stays focused on one spot on the landscape, the place where Alma and John do their poignant waltz around the love they never realize. It is danced softly here, in simple steps and small circles, but the movement is true and still touches our hearts.