I read this along with a bunch of other plays from the 40s which I think was a good idea because it helped me put it a bit more in context, how revolutionary Williams’ non-naturalistic approach was at the time. It’s a small but beautifully self-contained piece with a knock out role for the mother that builds to its climax of disillusion. The smashing of the menagerie seemed to owe a debt to Chekhov.
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