Theatre
Death of a Salesman
Lyric Shaftesbury, London
Michael Billington
Tuesday May 17, 2005
The
Guardian
Death of a Salesman: 'Epitomises the hollowness behind
America's eternal optimism'.
Photograph: Tristram Kenton
It has taken six years for Robert Falls' production of Arthur Miller's
masterpiece to reach us from the Goodman Theatre, Chicago. But it was worth
the wait as this is as fine a rendering of the play as one could hope for:
one that realises that the key to the play lies in the word dream.
Willy Loman, Miller's archetypal salesman-hero, is described accurately
as "a man who lives in his dreams" and it is that inability to confront the
reality about himself, his son Biff and his society that makes him a tragic
figure.
But Falls recognises that the whole play is structured with the fluidity
of a dream. In the opening moment, when Willy unexpectedly returns home
from an abortive trip to New England, his wife's anxious voice seems to
be resonating in his head.
And, as Mark Wendland's ingenious designs whirl round, Willy's past and
present merge in a nightmarish kaleidoscope.
But Miller's play is also a critique of the debased American dream and
the substitution of salesmanship for the old ideals of hard work and
courage. Willy tries to commodify his own personality; and, in that sense,
the key scene in the play is the one where he confronts his young boss,
Howard, who is more interested in his new tape-recorder than in Willy's
crumbling sense of self.
When Willy despairingly cries "you can't eat the orange and throw the
peel away", you realise he is sadly wrong: that is precisely what happens in
any business that depends on salesmanship.
But the strength of Falls' production also lies in its casting. Brian
Dennehy plays Willy superbly as a man who has lived all his life on a level
of fantasy. Dennehy is a man of titanic proportions; but what he brings out
wonderfully is the contrast between the agonised, ageing Willy, forever
beating his temple with his right hand, and the younger self who believed
that he could smile, josh and kid his way to success. You can play Willy as
a little man with big ideas; but what Dennehy gives us is a physical giant
facing up to his own vulnerability.
Clare Higgins also highlights the hidden strength of Willy's wife, Linda,
vehemently thumping the table when telling us that "attention must be paid".
There is impeccable support from Douglas Henshall as a neurotically insecure
Biff who finally cuts through the miasma of deceit, from Howard Witt as
Willy's shrewdly kind neighbour, and from Jonathan Aris, as the neighbour's
nerdy son who finally makes good.
In the year of Miller's death, it is good to be reminded what a great
playwright he was and why this of all his plays epitomises the hollowness
behind America's eternal optimism.
· Until November 5. Box office: 0870 890 1107
