
WILLISENCYCLOPEDIA OF POPULAR CULTURE
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Williams’ late plays, sometimes find peace of spirit after they can lose
little else. Arthur Miller once declared Williams’ most enduring
theme to be ‘‘the romance of the lost yet sacred misfits, who exist in
order to remind us of our trampled instincts, our forsaken tenderness,
the holiness of the spirit of man.’’
The relationship between Williams’ work and popular culture is
long and varied. Many of his plays—The Glass Menagerie, A
Streetcar Named Desire, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Sweet Bird of Youth,
and Night of the Iguana—became major films of the 1950s and 1960s.
Williams’ films were immediately popular with mainstream audi-
ences despite their focus on the darker elements of American society,
including pedophilia, venereal disease, domestic violence, and rape.
Williams was one of the first American dramatists to introduce
problematic and challenging content on a broad level. Some of the
playwright’s subplots border on sensationalism, with scenes of im-
plied cannibalism and castration. Consequently, Tennessee Williams
had the curious distinction of being one of the most-censored writers
of the 1960s; Baby Doll, Suddenly Last Summer, and other films were
thoroughly revised by producers before general release. The modern
paradigm of film studios, celebrating fame while editing content, can
be seen in the choices made with Williams’ work, as Metro Goldwyn
Mayer produced his films and at the same time feared his subject
matter to be too provocative for audiences.
Tennessee Williams nurtured a public persona that gradually
shifted from shy to flamboyantly homosexual in an era reluctant to
accept gay men. Williams’ fears of audience backlash against his
personal life gradually proved groundless. Even late in life, however,
Williams was reluctant to assume the political agenda of others. Gay
Sunshine magazine declared in 1976 that the playwright had never
dealt openly with the politics of gay liberation, and Williams—
always adept with the press—immediately responded: ‘‘People so
wish to latch onto something didactic; I do not deal with the didactic,
ever . . . I wish to have a broad audience because the major thrust of
my work is not sexual orientation, it’s social. I’m not about to limit
myself to writing about gay people.’’ As is so often the case with
Williams, the statement is both true and untrue—his great, mid-career
plays focus upon relationships rather than politics, but the figure of
the gay male appears in characters explicit (Charlus in Camino Real)
and implicit (Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof) throughout his works.
As is noted in American Writers, Williams took a casual ap-
proach toward the hard facts of his life. In the early period of his fame,
Williams intrigued audiences by implying that characters like Tom
(read Thomas Lanier) in The Glass Menagerie represented his own
experiences. Elia Kazan, a director whose success was often linked to
Williams, promoted the Williams myth once by declaring that ‘‘eve-
rything in [Williams’] life is in his plays, and everything in his plays is
in his life.’’ Tennessee Williams’ connection with the outside world
was often one of gentrified deceit, beginning early as the Williams
family sought to hide his sister’s schizophrenia and eventual lobotomy.
In the closest blend of reality and art, the playwright’s attachment to
his sister, Rose Williams, has been well documented by Lyle Leverich
and others. The connection between Rose and Tennessee Williams
was profound, and images of her mental illness and sexual abuse often
surface in Williams’ most poignant characters. The rose rises as a
complex symbol in his plays, a flower indicative alternately of
strength, passion, and fragility.
The 1970s saw a gradual decline in Tennessee Williams’ artistic
skill, but he continued to tinker with the older plays and write new
works until his death. Williams was highly prolific, crafting over 40
plays, 30 screenplay adaptations of his work, eight collections of
fiction, and various books of poetry and essays. He won the Pulitzer
Prize twice, once in 1948 for A Streetcar Named Desire, and again in
1955 for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. His work continues to command
considerable social relevance—in 1998, a play on prison abuses, Not
About Nightingales, was staged in London for the first time.
—Ryan R. Sloan
F
URTHER READING:
Leithauser, Brad. ‘‘The Grand Dissembler: Sorting out the Life, and
Myth, of Tennessee Williams.’’ Time Magazine. Vol. 146, No. 22,
November 27, 1995.
Leverich, Lyle. Tom: The Unknown Tennessee Williams. 2 Vols. New
York, Crown, 1997.
Murphy, Brenda. Tennessee Williams and Elia Kazan: A Collabora-
tion in the Theatre. New York, Cambridge University Press, 1992.
Phillips, Gene D. The Films of Tennessee Williams. Philadelphia, Art
Alliance Press, 1980.
Savran, David. Communists, Cowboys and Queers: The Politics of
Masculinity in the Work of Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams.
Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1992.
Spoto, Donald. The Kindness of Strangers: The Life of Tennessee
Williams. Boston, Little, Brown, 1985.
Unger, Leonard, editor. American Writers: A Collection of Literary
Biographies. 4 Vols. New York, Charles Scribner’s and Sons,
1960, 1974, 378-398.
Willis, Bruce (1955—)
Bruce Willis first came to prominence as David Addison in the
mid-1980s television show Moonlighting. With its appealingly ec-
centric mix of throwaway detective plots and screwball romantic
comedy, the show was an ideal showcase for Willis’s often bemused
and often in control, wise-cracking action man. It seemed with his
first two films, Blind Date (1987) and Sunset (1988), both directed by
Blake Edwards, that Willis was going to follow the comedy route, but
after Die Hard (1988) Willis became instead one of the leading action
stars of the 1990s. Early attempts to break free of the John McClane
character and action man image met with failure and it is only since
Pulp Fiction (1994), perhaps, that Willis has been able to extend his
range, now alternating action with the occasional touch of character.
It is, however, easy to see why the Die Hard films succeeded, and how
Willis’s image was established through them.
Expertly directed by John McTiernan, the first Die Hard gave a
new boost to action films, the rough and ready American hero fighting
international terrorists in a disaster movie scenario leading to two
sequels, numerous imitations, and bringing stylish action and vio-
lence to the genre. And for his part, Willis seemed to embody a new
sort of action hero; in contrast to Rambo and the Terminator, John
McClane was a vulnerable family man. Up against high-tech crimi-
nals with nothing but his wits and a gun, he is brutally beaten and his
spirit is wearing thin. Of course, McClane wins the day, dispatching
the terrorist mastermind with his cowboy catchphrase, ‘‘Yippy kay
yay, mother fucker,’’ but he still has a few problems to face. The
skyscraper dynamics that recalled the film Towering Inferno were
followed up by the brutal airport action of Die Hard 2: Die Harder