Director Eric C. Engel's most effective choice was casting this extraordinary African-American actor -- winner of a 2004 Elliot Norton Award -- as the central character. It's harrowing to imagine what the Wingfields' socioeconomic status would have been in the real world of the 1930s had the family been interracial, but we're not required to make that leap. In today's world, audiences can be trusted to respond to the personal truths a gifted actor can bring to the stage. As Tom, Siders lightens his voice and pitches his body slightly forward: He's halfway gone. And, perhaps in homage to the autobiographical source of the restlessness that Williams summons, Siders gives the impression that the "adventure" Tom hungers for isn't limited to the derring-do he witnesses at the movies. Siders makes such emotional vectors as Tom's deadening life in the shoe factory and his affection for his afflicted sister painfully real.
In antithesis, Engel's worst move is miking Amanda (Nancy E. Carroll) and Laura (Emily Sophia Knapp) in order to give certain lines an echo-chamber effect, akin to sonic italicizing. The effect is disruptive, and the wiring -- all too obvious in the Lyric's intimate space -- makes the two women look as if they're ready to rip into a song from "Rent."
That's a shame because Carroll's delivery, in particular, is as finely nuanced as one could hope for. She skirts the temptation to overplay Amanda's fluttery-female side: This is a desperate woman. Again and again, when Amanda's not rhapsodizing about her children's putative potential, Carroll's grim mouth reflects as much defeat as determination. This Amanda isn't hateful and controlling, just cornered.
