This tense drama of family secrets, friendship, sex and death is set in mid 20th-Century Southern USA. An embittered family gathers in the house of a wealthy patriarch, 'Big Daddy,' (Michael Dacre) who is dying of cancer. He is blissfully unaware of his predicament and that of his favourite son, 'Brick,' (James Corbet Burcher) who is drinking himself to death. Brick's wife, 'Maggie,' (Emily Jenkinson) loves Brick desperately but can't get close to him. Why?

The Claus Moser theatre is intimately small and this feature lends itself well to the claustrophobic tension that runs throughout this production. On the other hand, the flimsy cardboard set rattles, wobbles and rather undercuts the solid performances of the cast. At one moment during the performance a 'door' creaked open, revealing 'Maggie' talking into thin air when supposed to be on the telephone.

But that's nit-picking. In this age of technically stunning graphics and production values, a terrific plus-point of theatre, as opposed to cinema is that you're not told where to look. It is easy to let your gaze wander over the cast and note the many tiny details of candour and posture which gives this play its energy and vitality.

Singled out for applause are the performances of Big Daddy and Maggie, who both handle impressively long monologues with near-faultless grace and a surprising range of expression. The rest of the cast display solid acting chops but, given the nature of the script, are not allowed more than a token chance to shine.

The play clocks in at a whopping three and a quarter hours (including two ten-minute intervals) and this may be too much for some people's brains and bums. As for me (and mine), it was just about the right length to be engrossing, without outstaying its welcome.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof slips down like Southern Comfort, whilst portraying anything but.

Stewart Hardy