THE LAUGHS MENAGERIE.

    The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams may be a classic of the American theater, but it could be funnier. It works perfectly as a tragedy, but is only a few, small changes away from being a comedy. Perhaps a great one.

     The play begins with a close, immediate family living together at home in St. Louis. There's a doting mother and a daughter with 
romantic problems. Right there, it could be Meet Me In St. Louis (1944). The only thing missing is Judy Garland's heart beating like a trolley bell. I'll go further and suggest that Tennessee Williams was a big Judy Garland fan. (I have no proof, but you see where I'm going.) Williams, of course, went in a different direction. A fatherless family - living in reduced circumstances - in St. Louis - during The Depression. Such concentrated misery that, among playwrights, it's known as, "The Quadruple Bypass."

     Still, dark and foreboding as this play seems, there are laughs to be mined here. Take Laura, the fragile, acutely shy daughter with a limp. She finds human company so intolerable that a class at the local business college overwhelms her. How will she ever find someone to care for her the way she cares for her tiny glass animals? If her name was Elizabeth Barrett and she lived on Wimpole Street, a handsome, young poet named Robert Browning would rescue her from her stern parent and they would live happily ever after. 

     Okay, not laugh out loud, but a romantic comedy nonetheless. It certainly worked for Rudolph Besier in his play, The Barrets of Wimpole Street. Unfortun-ately, the only poet in Laura's life is her brother, Tom, an aspiring writer, who works in a warehouse. Not being one of those poets with great career prospects and reserves of personal strength, his rescuing her is unlikely.

     Tom, sensitive as well as poetic, feels very guilty about not being able to save his sister. It's not, however, his only source of guilt or the only way in which he is being tortured. Standing head and shoulders above his sister is his mother, Amanda. Abandoned by her husband, Amanda is wedded to her past. A not inconsiderable past as she never tires of reminding us.

        Amanda was no mere southern belle, she was the southern belle exercising her whim of iron on an endless stream of obeisant gentleman callers. Now, though, all the whim is gone and her children must contend with the iron. They react differently. Laura is pushed so far in that her voice is barely an echo. Tom is pushed violently away, yet being the only man in his mother's life, she refuses to let go. She won't let him grow up, either, lest he become like his old man. No wonder Tom feels trapped and has to go out every night.

     Not comic gold, I'll grant you, but not beyond hope. There is lightness at the end of the tunnel. Hidden in the midst of all of life's worst situations is a door into a secret garden of guffaws: it's called being Jewish. Not that Tennessee was Jewish, his father was a minister. (I know, I know, you thought he worked for "the phone company." That's only in the play. Although, it depends on how you define "long distance.") All I'm saying is that a Jewish writer would have made this play a comedy. 

     A loving mother with a strong personality and a baleful effect on her children? Not unknown in Jewish culture. Weak or absent fathers? One or a million. Force them to share the same cramped quarters until they drive each other crazy? It's
almost impossible not to laugh. Make them two divorced men sharing a New York apartment and you've got The Odd Couple by Neil Simon. (I'll bet his father wasn't a minister.)

     Please don't list all the sad plays written by Arthur Miller. I don't consider him Jewish. Look at Death of a Salesman. You won't find boys named Biff or Happy in Hebrew school. Loman is not a Jewish name. (Loehmann, maybe.) Besides, what kind of Jew marries Marilyn Monroe except in his dreams. Most inglorious (Pronounced ime-goyish) is that he lived in Connecticut.

     Ultimately, the difference between The Glass Menagerie and, say, The Laughs Menagerie is a difference in outlook. Williams prefers a world lit by candles and the soft glow of nostalgia. As he has Blanche DuBois say in A Streetcar Named Desire, " I don't want realism, I want magic!" It's hard to be funny about that - especially when a feeling of being permanently excluded feeds your poetic yearning. To see the comedy in Amanda Wingfield and her children, you have to accept - not in a resigned, tragic way - you have to embrace a world lit by lightning - when it strikes people on a golf course! Caddyshack (1980) being a hilarious example. 

     Again, there's nothing wrong with the way The Glass Menagerie is written. It's gripping enough without electrocuting someone on stage. Yet, like the funeral guest who keeps insisting that the deceased be given chicken soup, "It couldn't hurt."