Though I’ve spent decades studying and teaching American lit., I never cared much for Death of a Salesman … until I saw Nathan Lane and Laurie Metcalf do it on Broadway.
When someone later asked how it was, I borrowed from a long-ago critic and said, “It was like getting hit by a truck — and enjoying it.”
Written in 1949 and now enjoying a high-profile revival at Manhattan’s Winter Garden, Arthur Miller’s drama has been called America’s greatest play. Personally, I had found it so drenched in fatalistic despair as to be almost unwatchable.
Now this new version is certainly gut-wrenching; but as directed by Joe Mantello, the whole thing rests on bedrock of heartfelt humanity and compassion.
It’s tough to pinpoint the source of this, because I’m no expert on stage acting (if I were, I’d probably be doing that instead of this!); but I suspect it’s related to Lane’s frank and likable persona, which somehow imbues his floundering Willy Loman with a sort of grace — and dignity.
Metcalf, one of our greatest living actresses, has played so many roles so well that I’m not sure she even has a default persona. In this case, her deeply grounded empathy and devotion to Willy provide another wellspring that allows us to feel like we can, as it were, still get back up after the truck has run us down.
For those who somehow missed Miller’s play in school, I should explain that it’s the disarmingly simple tale of a traveling salesman who has reached the end of the road. Physically exhausted and unable to admit that he somehow missed the American dream, Loman clings to a hope that his two boys (especially his older son, Biff) will make something of themselves — though we can tell right away, this is never gonna happen.
While Willy comes mentally unglued and keeps cycling through past hopes and failures — which we watch onstage — his professional and familial life goes from bad to worse. As in great Greek tragedy, we can see that he is partly to blame, but that outside forces beyond his control also seem to be arrayed against this decent but badly flawed human being.
Besides Lane and Metcalf, the show’s great strengths include its supporting cast and production design.
Naturally, my party of four was drawn to this staging because of its titanically talented leads. But it turns out that Christopher Abbott and Ben Ahlers — as, respectively, Biff and younger brother Happy — match Lane and Metcalf step for step. The climactic scene with a weeping Biff laying his head on Willy’s lap is in and of itself worth the admission price; and Ahlers has a smoldering James Dean-type charisma that not only holds the viewers’ attention, but also makes it clear why Hap is such a hit with the ladies.
I also loved K. Todd Freeman as Willy’s friend Charley, while John Drea is scarily slimy as the salesman’s stingy, self-centered boss.
Scenic designer Chloe Lamford strips down the visuals, so the Loman home has just a few plain metal chairs; and it seems to be located in the basement or garage of an aging warehouse — with bricks and pillars standing darkly around. I’m sure this sounds weird, but it’s almost Shakespearean in its spareness, and it has the twin effect of manifesting the family’s loss and despair, while also allowing us to focus entirely on the acting.
Well — except for that car!
Willy’s burgundy-red Chevy Impala drives right out onstage and stands there throughout, almost like another character. Yes, the sixties muscle-car doesn’t quite match Miller’s original time period, but somehow, it works — with its headlights going eerily on and off and serving sometimes as a prop or platform for the actors.
The whole production succeeds so brilliantly that the audience absolutely leapt to its feet the moment the final lights went down; in all the Broadway shows I’ve attended, I’ve never seen a standing ovation executed with such speed and unanimity.
Originally scheduled through June, this popular revival was recently extended to Aug. 9.
Here in Central PA, we’re lucky to be close enough to NYC to do something like this as a day-trip (assuming you choose a matinee, of course). For us, the trek was a 13-hour odyssey that started before 8 a.m. and covered nearly 400 miles.
It was worth every minute.
