OH, WHAT A NIGHT

Tennessee Williams’ The Night of the Iguana (1961) may be viewed as the finish of a journey the playwright began twenty years earlier with The Glass Menagerie (1944). The one was his first critical and commercial success, the other his last.

After Iguana, Williams would continue to write plays and one-acts until his death twenty-two years later. These so-called “late plays” include The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore (1963), for which Richard Gilman, theatre critic for Commonweal, titled his unfavorable review, “Mistuh Williams, He Dead”; The Mutilated and The Gnädiges Fräulein (1966) a double bill of one-acts, decried by a one reviewer as “a gravesite for a dying art”; The Seven Descents of Myrtle (1968); In the Bar of A Tokyo Hotel (1969); The Red Devil Battery Sign (1975), works, which led Life Magazine to bemoan Williams as “a burned-out cinder.”

These “late plays,” among which The Night of the Iguana is often included, are seldom produced, and when staged, it is usually explained as being done in the name of “historical interest.”

Riley Shanahan

But for all of the play’s intrinsic weaknesses, Boston Court’s production of The Night of the Iguana, directed by Jessica Kubzansky, has succeeded in resurrecting this problem play to where I almost leapt from my seat shouting, “It’s alive! It’s ALIVE!” Credit goes not only to Kubzansky but also to her creative team—Tesshi Nakagawa’s stunningly beautiful set, John Zalewski’s sound composition, Denitsa Bliznakova’s costumes, and Kaitlin Trimble’s lighting, a color spectrum utilized to an almost hypnotic effect—and to actors of the highest caliber. Riley Shanahan, Julanne Chidi Hill, and Jully Lee prove a striking triumvirate, ably supported by such dependable talents as Ann Noble, Dennis Dun, and Christian Haines.

Julanne Chidi Hill, Riley Shanahan, Ann Noble

Set in 1940, on the eve of the Second World War, T. Lawrence Shannon (Shanahan) is an Episcopal minister whose spiraling mental state, fueled by erratic drinking, resulted in his disparaging God as a “senile delinquent” in a sermon. Banished from his pulpit, he has been reduced to herding middle-aged Americans about Mexico as a cut-rate tour guide.

Julanne Chidi Hill, Dennis Dun, Jully Lee, Riley Shanahan

Ignoring the itinerary, Shannon diverts, or perhaps kidnaps, a busload of teachers from the Baptist Female College of Texas to the Costa Verde Hotel, a considerably less than five-star facility cloaked in the jungles high above the Pacific coastline. Seeking solace from its owner and his friend Fred, Shannon is stricken to find Fred dead and the business now run by his lusty widow, Maxine (Hill), with the help of two energetic local “staff.” Not that there’s much demand for staff, as Maxine’s only lodgers are a German family in a state of constant celebration over the news of the Nazi’s victories in Europe.

Christian Haines, Ann Noble, Julanne Chidi Hill,
George Vagujhelyi, Riley Shanahan, and Jully Lee

In pursuit of Shannon comes Miss Fellowes (Noble), the hellfire-spewing principal of the teacher’s college who has discovered that Shannon, at their last scheduled stop, engaged in “inappropriate behavior” with Charlotte (Isabella Feliciana), the youngest member of their group. Miss Fellowes demands that Shannon take the tour group to the city indicated on the itinerary, where she plans to contact the tour company and insist Shannon be dismissed, after which she intends to press charges against him for statutory rape.

Julanne Chidi Hill

Shannon has no intention of leaving the sanctuary of the remote inn. He refuses, convinced the good Lord requires his help in pointing out those deserving to be smote whom He has overlooked. Miss Fellowes demands to know where the hotel’s phone is so she can call the Tour Company (Mr. Haines plays Shannon’s boss). When told, she hastens off like Pestilence, racing to catch up with the other Horsemen. No sooner has she gone than Maxine, recognizing the business opportunity before her, orders her “staff” to fetch the teachers and their luggage from the bus and usher them up the hill while she picks out rooms for them.

Jully Lee and Dennis Dun

In her absence, Hannah Jelkes (Lee), a vagabond artist, arrives, with her wheelchair-bound grandfather, Jonathan Coffin (Dennis Dun), whom she affectionately calls “Nonno.” Once a noted poet, Nonno at 97 is both frail and weak and struggles to finish his last poem. Lacking resources, they have been refused lodging by all the other hotels along the coast, so, as with Shannon, Costa Verde is their final refuge.

Ann Noble and Riley Shanahan

Williams has now placed all his pieces on the board — troubled individuals plagued by demons past, present, and future. It has long been recognized that The Glass Menagerie and The Night of the Iguana share commonality: each is concerned with the conflict between reality and illusion and revolves around the central theme of escape, especially from ourselves. At the time, some critics saw in Iguana older and wiser versions of the characters in the earlier work, with one reviewer labeling them a “grown-up” Glass Menagerie. Shannon, who is always on the edge of leaving but never does, was thus regarded as an older Tom Wingfield. The character description of Hannah Jelkes nearly echoes Laura Wingfield: “ethereal, almost ghostly.” Williams admitted linking Hannah to his sister Rose, just as Laura had been, though this time as “a projection of what might have become of Rose.”

Jully Lee and Riley Shanahan

And yet Iguana stands apart. It and Camino Real (which Kubzansky directed at Boston Court in 2011) are his only works set outside the United States; it avoids the eruptions of extreme violence that punctuate much of Williams’ other plays; and there is an odd religious rippling that never roils into the dramatic strength needed to become a thematic wave.

Riley Shanahan, Jully Lee

For example, after Shannon’s dismissal from the tour company, Maxine has him bound in a hammock to restrain his uncontrollable rage. When Hannah comes upon the helpless Shannon, she refuses his pleas to untie him, hinting that he enjoys his self-cultivated angst, as it is easier to endure than crucifixion. As Shannon struggles to break free of the hammock, Maxine returns and straddles him. While Maxine threatens to have him confined in the local asylum, Shannon sips Hannah’s tea. Williams has re-fashioned a sexual\sensual tableau of Christ between the two thieves.

Riley Shanahan, Dennis Dun, Jully Lee

The strength of The Glass Menagerie lies in the refinement of its limited conflicts—interlaced like a spider’s web, where the disturbance of a single thread reverberates through the whole (in a well-crafted play, every conflict resonates to a core theme). The Night of the Iguana lacks that simplicity; instead of a web, it feels like a minefield, random and haphazard.

This can’t be cured, but it can be camouflaged — and Kubzansky does so superbly. Don’t come to Boston Court expecting to see the best play by Tennessee Williams, or you may be disappointed. But if you come expecting to see the best possible production of The Night of the Iguana ever, then you will.

photos by Brian Hashimoto

The Night of the Iguana
Boston Court Performing Arts Center
70 N. Mentor Ave. in Pasadena
Thurs-Sat at 7:30; Sun at 2; some Mondays at 7:30
2 hours, 40 minutes with intermission
ends on October 19, 2025
for tickets ($52-$72), call 626.683.6801 or visit Boston Court

for more shows, visit Theatre in LA