Wailing jazz horns puncture the still night air in a raucous opening to Andre Previn’s setting of A Streetcar Named Desire with Freeze Frame Opera at Liberty Theatre this weekend.

Tennessee Williams’ gritty drama of old-New Orleans opens with soprano Hattie Marshall as femme fatale Blanche Dubois arriving off the titular streetcar to meet mezzo Caitlin Cassidy as Eunice Hubbell, both larger than life yet crystalline in diction.

Music director-pianist Tommaso Pollio’s sparse scoring and the versatile talents of Sophie Curtis (cello), Craig Pedersen (trumpet) and Geoffrey Bourgault du Coudray (clarinet-saxophone) fill out a demanding soundscape while leaving clear air for the artists on stage.

Love runs through this family tragedy as hick sister Blanche seeks out younger sibling Stella (soprano Prudence Sanders) in the big city.

Love is redemptive for Stella, her passion for Stanley (baritone Lachlan Higgins) dripping from every pore in “I Can Hardly Stand It”. But to Blanche it is destructive, viewed through a liquor bottle lens and erupting in “You Left! I Stayed and I Struggled!”, a monstrous display of self-obsession carried off with disconcerting assurance.

Buff, tough, and tuneful, Higgins’ war-veteran Stanley cuts to the chase, questioning Blanche’s personal and financial integrity, much to Stella’s chagrin.

Age-appropriate casting aids the drama. Blanche is from old money with her finery and entitlement, while Stella has embraced Stanley’s Kowalski clan of hard-scrabble migrants, a demographic reflected in his poker-playing cohort.

The poker players use a musical interlude to set their own scene, one of many pieces of fast-paced direction by Matthew Barclay that keep the plot rolling, with surtitles by assistant director Penny Shaw to aid comprehension.

Kohsei Gilkes as Mitch, the only single man at the table, strikes a nice balance between bravado and vulnerability to Blanche’s cougar appetite, while Noah Humich (Steve) and Vin Trikeriotis (Pablo) complete the card school with focused aplomb, restraining Stanley when he lashes out.

Higgins channels the heart of hubris in his remorseful cry, “Stella! Stella!”, a signature moment in Stanley’s struggle for dignity and sanity. Next morning Stella’s redemptive love has arrested his fall, though Blanche is perplexed; the sister act frayed by friction and desire.

After the interval, jazz-inflected riffs and crushed chords frame the curious menage a trois. Stella’s pregnancy is showing and Stanley grows bolder as he and Blanche clash.

Blanche’s aria “Soft People Have Got to Shimmer and Glow” shines a light on a tortured soul; Marshall smoothing the edges of her character much as a shade masks a naked electric globe.

A young newspaper subscription collector (Euan MacMillan) disturbs the equilibrium, his boyish charms awaking Blanche’s inner predator. “Don’t You Love These Rainy Afternoons?” is a torch song in all but name, delivered with tantalising guile in stark contrast to the naivety of youth.

Mitch’s arrival with roses restores some calm, though Blanche’s French tease “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” falls on deaf ears (audience excepted).

It’s a nuanced pairing of two needy parties in a psychological dance macabre, delicately portrayed over a constant soundtrack as spare and effective as the setting by Rhiannon Walker and lighting by Jerry Reinhardt.

Stanley ensures the dance is doomed, dishing the dirt on Blanche to Stella and Mitch on Blanche’s birthday, no less. Higgins contrives to be scheming without showing full intent while Marshall remains charming without being sincere, and Sanders wanes on the sidelines.

Williams’ 1947 playscript is full of stage directions — the poker players are “at the peak of their physical manhood”, Blanche is “neurasthenic”. Previn’s 1995 revival supplies that information with musical effects to complement often pithy dialogue, lending extra depth.

Alarms sound as Stella is rushed to hospital and dark chords accompany Mitch’s late arrival, demanding truth. “Real, Who Wants Real?” Blanche pleads, “I Want Magic.”

Confession is good for the soul but Blanche can’t handle the truth and begins to disintegrate, needing only Stanley’s return to tip her into self-delusion while he spirals into drunken sexual violence.

Harsh light and strident music seal the scene as the poker players return and Stella reflects ruefully on her plans for Blanche, who recoils further into paranoia; passion now transmuted to pathos, desire to despair.

At the last, a doctor and nurse arrive from the asylum like undertakers at the saddest committal.

Only the doctor’s sympathy can steady Blanche, eliciting the fateful signoff: “Whoever you are — I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” the refrain echoing over ominous chords as her memory fades in a mist of smoke and tears.

A Streetcar Named Desire runs until Sunday at Liberty Theatre.