Death of a Salesman
Reviewed by Holly Bartges
August, 2005
Perhaps in the history of Arthur Miller’s quintessential comment on the “American Dream” with his play Death of a Salesman, a production comes along that isn’t about Willy Loman.
Written in 1949, Willy Loman made Miller a household word, and vice versa, because of Miller, Willy became a household name. Shining a bright light into the eyes of Willy, Miller poked jagged holes into the American Dream. The American Dream that said anyone could be anything they wanted if they dreamed big. Anyone could have anything they wanted by dreaming big. The American Dream happens, but it takes more than big dreaming.
Miller had eyes to see, ears to hear, and words to record the false ramifications. He popped the hot air balloon in society’s dreamy eyed face that success sat on every fence post waiting to be transferred into reality.
At the John Hand Theatre, The Denver Repertory Theatre sets the stage for Willy, Linda, Biff, and Happy Loman to walk once more through their torrential lives.
It is the Death of a Salesman script written by Miller. Because of an awesome powerful performance by David C Riley as Biff depicting detailed nuances in expressions, physical stance, and character embodiment, Willy played by Timothy Englert, actually takes a back seat.
With every twitch of an eyebrow, clenched jaw, and curve of the mouth, Riley claims ownership of Biff, setting his story on the edge of the stage to be seen, heard and absorbed. Of the many Death of a Salesman productions I have seen and participated in, Riley gives one of the best Biff performances ever.
Englert and Ellen Ranson, who plays Linda, give us Miller’s words with precision and poetic cadence, neglecting to delineate the inside of the tormented people.
At the very beginning, when Englert brings Willy through the front door in defeat because be couldn’t keep the car on the road, the words tell us about the defeat, the fear, and the anxiety, but the walk is too fast, the shoulder don’t slump far enough, the physicality says “My direction is to walk through the door and sit at the kitchen table.” It needs to say, “I’ve been through a horrific experience. I’ve had to give up, and face a cruel reality that has been staring me down for some time and I can’t bring myself to look it in the eyes.”
The ultimate housewife, the staunch loyalty, Ranson gives us Linda’s words of sympathy, and a pat of compassion without showing her inside torrential storm.
There is the temptation by some to assume a classic play constructed by a giant wordsmith; the words alone will carry the message and the power. It doesn’t. Words are meant to have souls for power, not just punctuation.
Biff’s brother Happy, played by Phil Newman, becomes a body on stage only. As the younger of the two brothers, Happy has always played second fiddle in the eyes of his parents, always trying to prove himself, to be noticed. Charismatic, womanizer, wobbly moral character, looking for a good time, never finding it, clinging to Willy’s shirt tail, a dreamer without substance, Newman fails to give the inside out look of Happy. He has the words, but frequently reveals he is uncomfortable. There is a strong difference between a character sowing discomfort and an actor feeling unsure. This time we see too much of Newman and too little of Happy.
Strong characterization is displayed by Kenny Storms with sharp as a tack nerdy Bernard and professional eager waiter Stanley. Making his stage debut after a three-year hiatus, Storms demonstrates he has not lost his edge. Ed Schoenradt provides a memorable Howard the now owner of the company that has taken Willy off salary, placing him on commissions. Willy begging for a New York position where he doesn’t have to travel finds a Howard obsessed with technology over a new fangled device, a wire recorder. Epitomizing the corporate angle of the money god, Schoenradt takes Howard slightly beyond the corporate structure. Within his scattered eyes, he reveals a side that feels empathy toward Willy, a fearful anxiety of confronting Willy, a sadness to have to fire him, a depth he probably would not reveal to anyone, much less himself, a fine-line of forced detachment. This turns Schoenradt’s performance into a brilliant piece of work showing both sides of Howard at the same time. No small trick, except for an actor who knows how to meet his character head on.
Sally Nell Clodfelter fills the air with superficial celebration as the The Woman, the object of Willy’s loneliness, the desperate hole in Willy’s life, filled with silk stockings by the box, stockings he never thinks to give Linda. Clodfelter’s sharp joyful edgy laugh cuts through the self-justified tragic memories flying inside Willy’s head.
Tom Doyle wanders in and out of Willy’s imagination as Ben, the older brother who heads for Alaska and ends up in the jungles of Africa, walking out rich with diamond mines stringing behind him. Ben’s richness dogs Willy’s lament of failure, showing up in the most inopportune moments. Doyle gives Ben substance, a hard-core reality, sending Willy further into despair.
On a set designed by Sarah Spencer the scenes flash from one memory to another. The set design allows for quick-change artistic melding of the interloping memories without confusion. With an eye for design, Spencer turns the small stage into a vital scenario of time and space.
Directed by Madge Montgomery, some of the direction and actions rub with staccato, aimless movement. How long would a restaurant allow patrons to run around tables before asking them to sit down or leave? Some of the mincing steps especially between Biff and Happy seem contrived for action without purpose.
In spite of it all, Biff’s secret world of collapsed success after finding his father in a compromising position sits on his shoulder throughout the entire play. Riley’s performance takes the breath away, and he’s worth the three plus hours of performance. Because of the emphasis on some actors allowing the words of the script to guide their power, there are some long moments of tired boredom, wanting the end to come until Biff’s driving force grabs hold.
Death of a Salesman is Willy’s lament of swinging on an ungrounded star, a salesman who lived in the past, a salesman who wanted the world to keep up with him, never once thinking he needed to keep up with the exploding technological world. This production shines the spotlight on Biff with a microscopic searchlight in a performance that should not be missed.
With this production, large signs pointing to the theatre have been placed along 1st and 2nd Avenue off of Quebec, taking the confusion out of finding the theatre. This is a much needed and helpful asset to this small theatre that grows with commanding attention.