Although Amy is carer, cook and handyman, all rolled into one, she becomes the object of scorn when her sister Lecy (Belinda Wollaston) descends on the old home. Now living the glamorous media life in the city Lecy fails to understand why her sister is holding on to the hard and gainless farm life. One sister unable to change her ways and one changed so much she is completely unrecognisable – that is the scope of character development in this piece and its textured exploration of the women’s desires and worries is a welcomed change on a theatrical stage. Stewart’s Amy with her self-denying earnestness provides a great contrast to Wollaston’s initially vapid Lecy who gets all the good laughs and outrageous lines. And then there are the men. Brother Shaun (Iestyn Arwell) struggles with his past and seems unable to take his future into his own hand. When the ruggedly handsome Burke (Shaun Rennie) visits the farm long needed change in the family’s life kicks into motion. Rennie gives a grounded performance linking the other characters desires and anxieties without becoming a cypher.

Mathew Frank’s songs swing between very conventional modern musical theatre style and a slightly-off Sondheim experiment. They tell the story efficiently and among them are some really beautiful pieces. The energetic ‘What The Hell’ is a lot of fun and the ballads ‘As Far As The Eye Can See’ or ‘Patch Of Dust’ are genuinely touching. A good book by Dean Bryant although some of his lyrics are quite a mouthful for the performers and sometimes the sincerity of the story takes over and the drama can feel a bit excessive. Effective lighting by Seth Rook Williams and an impressive set by Christopher Hone that changes from patio to roof top within a matter of seconds conjure up the Australian outback on the King’s Head’s small stage.

After playing in Australia and America it took a good five years to bring this show to a UK stage and with its specific focus on family farming it’s easy to see why it would be a hard sell for European audiences. However, the well-drawn characters will manage to reel you into this foreign world and if you didn’t think a quip about a water pump can be suitable end gag for a musical wait until you see Amy’s redeeming moment. She douses herself with the sparse water – is change after hardship possible after all?

This is a very solid production allowing a glimpse into life in the Australian outback that’s neither cliché nor trite. Not all the humour and topics translate smoothly to British audiences but there is enough meat around the family story with its strong female characters to make this a watchable show. Add some good tunes and you have a rather enjoyable evening.

Tennessee Williams’ Vieux Carré is, like many of his late works, an odd play. Written in 1978 it defies not only conventions of genre but offers a poetic richness of characterisation that is rarely to be found in a theatre these days. In a dilapidated New Orleans house surrounding an old court yard the confused land lady of a guest house, controls the comings and goings of her tenants with a sharp eye. Among them is a young writer (Tom Ross-Williams) who struggles with his sexuality and ghosts from the present and past.

In its style Vieux Carré is very reminiscent of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road with it’s accumulation of little stories and motives rather than focusing on strong narratives. Set in the infamous French Quarter of New Orleans, establishing a certain tone takes precedent over conflict and motivations. It’s a melancholic social study that doesn’t fall back on a social realism devoid of any poetic beauty. Set designer Nicolai Hart Hansen and the prop department have done a wonderful job giving it a colour and effectively using the intimate space of the King’s Head. Three bedbug-ridden cots and a piano dominate the stage and represent the rooms of the residents of this madhouse in 722 Toulouse Street. Capturing the decay of moral and society, the set is wistful but unobtrusive so that the Williams’ text can shine.

Set in the Great Depression and at its heart a play about sickness, the light-heartedness of the beginning is probably one of the most surprising things about this piece. David Whitworth as the ageing artist Nightingale, who tries to seduce the nameless writer, has great comedy timing especially in the first half. But then of course Williams doesn’t really do light-hearted, and as time passes it all transforms into a horrible cesspool of human failure and disease. Everyone is this play is plagued with some sort of ailment: lungs, brains and eyes are failing them. However, there are so many beautifully crafted facets to all these characters that it is a twisted joy to bathe in their misery.

Standing out is Paul Standell’s over-sexualised Tye, a rather simple-minded being who initially doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. As the only character who is not physically lacking (actually very far from it, I might add) and aided by Standell’s convincing performance, the production is forcefully anchored outside of a mere dream sphere. When it’s his time to let his guard down and we discover his depths it’s horrifyingly violent and heart-breaking at the same time. There is a great bit of casting with Anna Kirke and Hildegard Neil as the two starving old ladies who are malnurtured and yet still obsessed with food. Sadly their story isn’t taken to any sort of conclusion, but that’s also part of the morbid magic of Tennessee Williams’ writing – he knows how to pick at the scabs of humanity and leaves the audience itching.

It’s a bit of a theatrical sleight of hand by both writer and director to create a melancholy the audience is drawn into and repulsed by at the same time. There are one or two strange stylistic decisions that are a bit jarring, but they don’t really deter from the fact this is a bold revival.

I could never quite understand why Williams had fallen into disrepute in the late stages of his writing life, but then again I wasn’t even born when he died. His experimental style, his outlandish ideas and his twisted, dancing language deserve to be heard and seen – not because of unquestioning reverence for the man himself, but because issues like self-worth in the face of sickness and decay of society are relevant now as they were when this was written. Williams might have been ahead of his time in 1978 and with this production director Robert Chevara has done much more than simply staging a stylistically daring play; he has proven that a Tennessee Williams renaissance is truly in order. There is still much more joy to be had and more pain to be suffered.