But maybe “Cat” doesn't bear the scrutiny that frequent revivals demand (it's only been a few years since its last Broadway production, in which Ashley Judd and Jason Patric played pretty mannequins). And its central conflict—a family quarrel over who'll inherit a Southern plantation—never quite comes to a boil.
But “Cat” does have sex. Maggie (Anika Noni Rose) lounges in her scanties in a cavernous bedroom (looking more like a luxury hotel suite, designed by Ray Klausen). Maggie's horny, hungry and undeniably alive—as the subtext-less script has her proclaim. But as embodied (very attractively) by Rose, her driving force is really avarice. She lusts for her husband Brick's bod (played by Terrence Howard) more so she can claim her father-in-law's inheritance than to scratch her sexual itch. Rose isn't afraid to be unlikable, but she can't find her character's arc through nearly an hour of what's essentially a monologue. She's left stranded by her director's inexperience.
She's also slowed down by Howard. “Cat” is his first time onstage, which shows: he's subtle and introverted, as fits a good screen actor but not one on Broadway. Again, a more experienced director could've trained him for his debut, wooing or bullying a grander performance from him. Plus, Brick is a fiendish role: a man full of self-loathing and ambiguous sexual desires and fears. It's no surprise that a neophyte like Howard clutches his liquor as tightly as his character does.
Howard will probably improve through the run, however, because he listens to his stage partners. And in the second act, he's partnered with James Earl Jones's Big Daddy. Jones may be in his mid-70s and a decade older than the character, but his stage power is undiminished, and he relishes his character's profane mouth. His Big Daddy is a sonofabitch who's fascinated and repulsed by human behavior. As a man with lusty appetites, he recognizes a kindred spirit in Maggie, while remaining baffled but compassionate toward the fumbling Brick. It's not a revolutionary interpretation, but it anchors the show.
That sense of an anchor is missing from the final act. Williams deflates the tension with a meandering family meeting and some lazy Southern caricatures. Howard sails into a drunken sunset and Rose talks fast to keep her portion of the estate, while Big Mamma (Phylicia Rashad, grand but over-emphatic) makes her own bid for relevance. But it all goes unnoticed in the chaos of Allen's staging.
“Cat” needs a martinet to keep Williams' script in line. Allen is undoubtedly the wrong director. In a script that already underlines its points, she adds emphasis with a live saxophone at the top of each act (it's sultry, see?). Her best decision is to avoid imposing race on a script where it's not an issue. The color-blind casting isn't a stunt, which tempts you to imagine other realistic plays—by Ibsen, O'Neill, Mamet or Chekhov—with black casts. If it's not a true artistic triumph, “Cat” marks a step forward in American theater, by freeing roles up for more actors.
'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' plays through June 22 at the Broadhurst Theater (235 W. 44th St., 212-239-6200). 2 hours 45 minutes.
Photo: Anika Noni Rose as Maggie "the Cat" and Terrence Howard as Brick/Joan Marcus
