The Night of the Iguana (1964)

I think most people would consider A Streetcar Named Desire as the best film made from a Tennessee Williams play; it is certainly the most famous. But don't forget 1964's The Night of the Iguana, directed by John Huston. While without the fanfare of Streetcar, it has big stars at their finest and is immensely entertaining.

I discussed the play here, and don't want to go over old ground. The play is pretty much intact, though the German family has been excised (the play was set in 1940, but the movie seems to set in the present). The play is opened up, though, to some extent, in that a scene of Shannon's (Richard Burton) crack up is shown, complete with exiting parishioners. Because we see more of the tour than just the end point, we also see more of the tension between Shannon and the prim Miss Fellowes (Grayson Hall, who received an Oscar nomination). Boy does Hall knock that one out of the ball park. You've never seen someone wound so tight.

Ava Gardner, older but still radiantly beautiful, is the slatternly Maxine, the owner and manager of the hotel where Burton brings his tour group of Baptist women, including a teen (Sue Lyon, following up her role in Lolita) determined to seduce Burton, much to his consternation. Also staying there is Hannah Jelkes (Dorothy Kerr) a quiet scene-stealer. She plays a chaste spinster, but Burton is drawn to her, suspecting that they share the same kind of soul.

Huston, who was enamored of Mexico, and even gave up his U.S. citizenship to live there, directs nimbly. His philosophy was to direct as little as possible, and since he worked with big stars he wanted them to find the characters. Burton is especially funny, a man who says he is at the end of his rope (as is the iguana being fattened for the slaughter) and constantly besieged. He seems to want nothing more than quiet time on the hammock, at least until he meets Kerr.

Williams hated most of the film adaptations of his work, but did visit the set and added a key scene. When Lyon bolts into Burton's room, he drops a glass, and paces the floor, oblivious to the cuts on his feet, giving him something of a Christ-like stature. He is not Christ, of course, and will give his cross necklace away to Kerr, so she can hock it. But there is something of Christ deep within him, yearning to break free.