Daisy Edgar-Jones as Maggie
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Almeida Theatre, December 2024
Photo by Marc Brenner
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Footnotes
The Footnotes that accompany our episode on Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof include observations on Maggie’s desire for Brick; Brick’s feelings for Maggie; what happened between Skipper and Maggie, and Brick’s denial; how Williams projected his own torments into his characters; the subjugation of the women; Gooper and Mae’s performances; and Brick and Big Daddy’s existential battle.
Not listened to the episode yet? You’ll find it here.
Maggie’s desires
One of the most powerful and poignant elements of the play is the strength of Maggie’s unsatisfied sexual desire for Brick. She spends much of the first act essentially trying to seduce him. She refers half-jokingly to Big Daddy having a “lech for her”, telling Brick that he “drops his eyes down my body when I’m talkin’ to him, drops his eyes to my boobs an’ licks his old chops”. There may be some truth in this – but it is said to provoke Brick, to make him focus on her sexual attractiveness. She eggs him further by saying that other men still find her attractive.
But it’s Brick she wants, telling him that he was “a wonderful lover“ and that “if I thought that you would never, never, never make love to me again – I would go downstairs to the kitchen and pick out the longest and sharpest knife I could find and stick it straight into my heart, I swear that I would!” We are left in no doubt about her desire.
How humiliating and wounding it is for her to be rejected by him. Williams signals the understandable frustration and pain it causes her in a stage direction that reads, “It is constant rejection that makes her humor ‘bitchy’.”
But Maggie not only desires Brick, she loves him. As she says to him, “Later tonight I’m going to tell you I love you an’ maybe by that time you’ll be drunk enough to believe me.” It’s not that she doesn’t love him, but that he doesn’t love her or believe in anything. And most poignantly she knows it, “Living with someone you love can be lonelier – than living entirely alone! – if the one that y’love doesn’t love you…”.
The more that she tries to coax him in to bed, the harder he pushes back, reminding her of the deal that she agreed to,”the conditions on which I agreed to stay on living with you”, he says. Which we assume are that he will not end the marriage, if she leaves him alone – doesn’t press him to make love to her. But for Maggie, this is intolerable. “They’re impossible conditions”, she cries,”I can’t live on and on under these circumstances.” Except that she does, like “a cat on a hot tin roof“, the victory is “just staying on I guess, as long as she can.” And she is hanging on, fighting her corner with Brick and the family, no matter the heat or the pain.
As a footnote, the title of the play came from Tennessee Williams’s father, who according to his son, “had a great gift for phrases.” His father used to say to his wife, “Edwina, you’re making me as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.” Williams has turned the table here, with it being the wife caught on the roof, and the metaphor standing for a more profound anguish.
Daisy Edgar-Jones as Maggie
and Kingsley Ben-Adir as Brick
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Almeida Theatre, London, December 2024
Photo by Marc Brenner
Kingsley Ben-Adir as Brick
Photo by Marc Brenner
Brick’s feelings
But what of Brick’s feelings for Maggie? Williams himself raised the question, “Did Brick love Maggie?” He provided one answer, writing, “can we doubt that he was warmed and charmed by this delightful girl, with her vivacity, her humor, her very admirable pluckiness and tenacity, which are almost the essence of life itself?”
Given what we see of Brick’s feelings now, this is hard to imagine, to the extent that one might question why he married her in the first place. It can’t have been for social gain, as we know that Maggie was poor. He may have been attracted by her vivacity, but there is certainly doubt about the depth of his passion for her. As we noted in the podcast, Maggie refers particularly to what she called his “indifference” in their lovemaking, and Brick goes even further, saying to Big Daddy that he and Maggie “never got any closer together than two people just get in bed, which is not much closer than two cats on a – fence humping.”
One possible reason for his marrying her, could be that it gave him cover for his true sexual inclinations, even perhaps subconsciously. Marriage would certainly have been expected of him in social terms.
Whatever their history, Maggie’s role in Skipper’s death has left him in the terrible place that he is now repulsed by her. He betrays a sign of his visceral disgust when he unconsciously wipes her kiss off his mouth, a move Big Daddy catches him out on. Even without explicit acknowledgment of anything more, Brick puts his friendship with Skipper above whatever feelings he had for Maggie: “One man has one great good true thing in his life, one great good thing which is true. I had friendship with Skipper, not love with you Maggie, but friendship with Skipper”.
Skipper
Of course, Maggie saw that there was more to it than that, at least on Skipper’s part. She confronted him: “Skipper! Stop lovin’ my husband or tell him he’s got to let you admit it to him”. To prove her wrong, Skipper attempts to make love to her, but according to Maggie, it was a “pitiful, ineffectual little attempt to prove that what I said wasn’t true.”
And as Brick tells it to Big Daddy, when “it didn’t work out…” Skipper…”thought it was true”. In this account, Brick seems to be trying to tell himself that Skipper got it wrong, but it is more likely to be his projection onto Skipper – a further denial that Skipper could have been queer or had been conscious of it.
Maggie was partly driven by jealousy – she wanted her husband to make love to her again. “And so we made love to each other to dream it was you, both of us!”, she tells Brick. What a telling line that encapsulates her and Skipper’s respective longing. Maggie believes that her pushing Skipper to face the truth destroyed him, “by telling him truth that he and his world which he was born and raised in, your and his world, had told him could not be told”. A truth that as a product of this world, Brick also cannot accept.
Maggie understood that Brick could never allow it to happen. “it couldn’t be anything else, you being you, and that’s what made it so sad, that’s what made it so awful, because it was love that never could be carried through to anything satisfying or even talked about plainly.” Maggie realised that what they felt “had to be kept on ice”, and as it turned out “death was the only icebox where you could keep it.”
For Brick however, Maggie has gone too far, “naming it dirty”. But it is a truth he cannot now unknow, nor properly admit, whether he was previously conscious of it or not. Williams wrote to director Elia Kazan in advance of the Broadway production, alluding to Brick’s lack of consciousness of his potential homosexuality, referring to people who “have deep attachments, idealistic, romantic: sublimated loves… Their innocence, their blindness, makes them very, very touching, very beautiful and sad…But if a mask is ripped off, suddenly, roughly, that’s quite enough to blast the whole Mechanism, the whole adjustment, knock the world out from under their feet, and leave them no alternative but – owning up to the truth or retreat into something like liquor.”
Kingsley Ben-Adir as Brick and
Seb Carrington as the ghost of Skipper
Photo by Marc Brenner
Tennessee Williams in 1955
the year of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Photo by Ara Guler
The battle between Maggie and Brick
Tennessee Williams’s biographer, John Lahr, describes the battle between Maggie and Brick as a projection of William’s own internal war between creativity and self-destruction. The metaphor is embodied in Maggie’s desperate desire to conceive and Brick’s alcoholic self-abnegation. Williams wrote, “There is torment in this play, violence and horror – it is the under kingdom, all right! – that reflects what I was going through, or approaching, as I wrote it.” He was projecting his own self-destructive alcoholism, his preoccupation with death, and his inveterate anguish into the act of creating these characters. “Perhaps if I had not been so tormented myself it would have been less authentic”, he observed.
The women
It must be said that the women in this play don’t have a very good time with their men. Big Mama and Maggie are both with men who don’t want their love, and don’t love them back. In fact, the men are actively revolted by their wives, and the women subjugate themselves in the face of their cruelty.
Big Daddy is especially vicious to Big Mama, and she just keeps on taking it. A stage direction describes her “simple-minded devotion to Big Daddy”. She says doggedly that she loves him, “I even loved your hate and your hardness.” One can understand the irritation caused by her grandiose faux happiness and fussiness, but it is hard to watch his relentless assault and her vain attempts to deflect him or downplay his meaning. Another stage direction signals the pain that she absorbs from his attacks: “Big Daddy is famous for his jokes at Big Mama’s expense, and nobody laughs louder at these jokes than Big Mama herself, though sometimes they’re pretty cruel and Big Mama has to pick up or fuss with something to cover the hurt that her loud laugh doesn’t quite cover.”
Her husband’s abuse feels all the more unjust given that she has kept everything going while he has been ill, for which perversely he does not thank her but blames her. In the end, we can’t but admire Big Mama for taking a stand against Gooper and Mae’s pre-emptive inheritance claim, fighting to retain her authority and primary legal rights.
Likewise, Maggie fights her corner. As she says, “my hat is still in the ring, and I am determined to win.” Even when Brick hurls his disgust in her face – “how in hell on earth do you imagine – that you’re going to have a child by a man that can’t stand you?” – she does not retreat, “That’s a problem that I will have to work out.” Finally, as the play closes Maggie even feels stronger than Brick. It is hard to bet against her.
Gooper and Mae
Gooper and Mae may also feel hard done by. They think that they’ve played the game by the rules and are unjustly treated. But Williams doesn’t let us sympathise with them. They try too hard – their currying for favour is just too obvious. The way that they push the “no-neck monsters” forward to perform for Big Daddy is excruciating, and in fact ineffective. Big Daddy doesn’t even know how many kids they have, and he hates their noise.
One may have some sympathy for Gooper, who having done everything his father asked of him in his life, knows he is not the favoured son. A fate made searingly explicit when Big Mama cries “Where’s Brick? Where is my only son?” in her distress at having been told of Big Daddy’s cancer.
Williams rather loads the moral scales against Gooper and Mae, however in Act 3. Their premeditated plan for succession comes across as cold and grasping. The shine of their performative propriety is undermined by their ordering the servants about, and fighting amongst themselves – Gooper repeatedly telling Mae to shut up. Their behaviour is shown to be mendacious, in keeping with the play’s moral theme.
Ukweli Roach as Gooper and
Pearl Chanda as Mae
Photo by Marc Brenner
Kingsley Ben-Adir as Brick and
Lennie James as Big Daddy
Photo by Marc Brenner
Mendacity
Speaking of ‘mendacity’, I’d like to return to the fabulous scene where Big Daddy and Brick square off, each consciously or unconsciously suppressing uncomfortable, existential truths. As they dance around one another, they both acknowledge their habitual failure to talk openly with each other. Big Daddy laments first, “Why is it so damn hard for people to talk?” To which Brick agrees: “When we talk, it never materializes. Nothing is said…We’ve always …just talked around things…it’s always as if something was left not spoken, something avoided because neither of us was honest enough with the – other…”
This reminded me of that famous line in the film Cool Hand Luke, “what we have here is a failure to communicate”. They spend the first part of their exchange holding back from addressing things head on. Big Daddy likes to think he is straight talking, and he wants to put Brick back on course, but he has no understanding of what is truly wrong with him. And all the time that Big Daddy himself keeps returning to the fear he had that he was going to die, and now his relief, Brick knows the truth but doesn’t say.
It is only when Big Daddy tells Brick that Gooper and Mae have suggested that “there was something not right..not…exactly normal” in Brick’s friendship with Skipper that Brick is pierced into addressing his truth. It is at this pivotal point that Williams gives us the clearest clue possible as to Brick’s mendacity in the extraordinary long stage direction:
Brick’s detachment is at last broken….The thing they’re discussing, timidly, painfully on the side of Big Daddy, fiercely, violently on Brick’s side, is the inadmissible thing that Skipper died to disavow between them. The fact that if it existed it had to be disavowed to ‘keep face’ in the world they lived in, may be at the heart of the ‘mendacity’ that Brick drinks to kill his disgust with.
Brick and Skipper were unable to acknowledge what was between them. They and the world they lived in could not accept it. Brick knows he was, and is, living a lie. By way of defending himself, ore more truthfully still fighting himself, Brick lashes back at his father, telling him that he is dying of cancer: Only this could even the score between them: one inadmissible thing in return for another.
It is a fabulous scene – their assaulting each other with the truth they don’t want to hear. As Arifa suggested in our conversation, perhaps illusion and pretence are necessary. Disguising the truth is the most pragmatic way to live. A principal that Maggie has recognised and accepted – “life has got to be allowed to continue even after the dream of life is – all – over.”
The Texts
112 – Glengarry Glen Ross by David Mamet
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David Mamet’s modern American classic, Glengarry Glen Ross, is a blistering commentary on the cut-throat reality of the American dream, and its poisonous impact on those who have bought into the myth and machismo of that dream. The play had its world premiere in the small Cottesloe theatre at the National Theatre in London in September 1983, and was first performed in New York the following year, winning the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Mamet also wrote the extended screenplay for the star-studded 1992 film version.
As we recorded this episode a new production of the play was playing at the Old Vic theatre in London, with an all-female cast. This is a particularly provocative idea, because one of the primary themes of this play is masculine identity, and the salesmen in this Chicago office do not hold back in their display of machismo.
To explore Mamet’s unflinching slice of 1980s dog-eat-dog capitalism, I am joined by arts journalist Mark Lawson.
111 – The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui by Bertolt Brecht
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Bertolt Brecht’s ‘gangster spectacle’, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, is both an exuberant and funny piece of theatre, and a chillingly topical political satire. Set in the 1930s Chicago of Al Capone, Brecht presents a parody of the rise of Hitler through the character of the gangster Arturo Ui. The play is a universal cry for vigilance against the rise of unscrupulous, populist leaders who threaten democratic societies and global peace.
As we recorded this episode a new production of the play by the Royal Shakespeare Company was playing in Stratford-upon-Avon, starring Mark Gatiss as the title character.
I am delighted to be joined by both the show’s translator, playwright Stephen Sharkey, and by Brecht scholar, Professor Tom Kuhn, to guide us through Brecht’s political parody.
110 – Our Town by Thornton Wilder
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Playwright Edward Albee described Thornton Wilder’s Our Town as “the greatest American play ever written.” In fact Wilder’s quintessential portrait of rural America in a bygone time has somehow transcended its iconic American setting to become a universal meditation on mortality, community, and how we live our individual lives, wherever that may be.
The play premiered on Broadway in 1938, winning Wilder the Pulitzer Prize, and it has been a staple of school, amateur and stock performance ever since. In fact, according to critic John Lahr writing in the introduction to the text of the Penguin edition, “the play is performed somewhere in the world every day.”
Howard Sherman, author of Another Day’s Begun – Thornton Wilder’s Our Town in the 21st Century, joins me to explore this American classic.
Michael Sheen as the Stage Manager in Our Town, Welsh National Theatre, photo by Helen Murray.






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