Miller classic resonates in Denver Repertory production
By Janine Gastineau, For the Camera
August 5, 2005
DENVER — "Death of Salesman," directed by Madge Montgomery for the Denver Repertory Theatre, reveals the shadow side of the American Dream and the dark territory between fathers and sons.
Arthur Miller's play follows 63-year-old Willy Loman (Timothy Englert) over several days in 1949 Brooklyn. Decades of hard work on the road have not led to the kind of success he expected. His two sons, Biff (David C. Riley) and Happy (Phil Newsom), also have failed to fulfill their early promise and founder in menial jobs, unable to commit to a career or a relationship. On the edge of despair but simultaneously denying it, Willy has taken to talking to himself and driving erratically, and only his devoted wife, Linda (Ellen Ranson), is fully aware how fragile Willy's hold on sanity and life are.
Miller's play follows Willy's final trajectory, his waltz between hope and despair as he looks back over his life. While each member of the Loman family loves the others, theirs is a flawed love, burdened by conditions, expectations, false beliefs, broken promises and betrayals.
Though this production is presented by Denver Repertory Theatre, "Death of a Salesman" boasts strong connections with Lafayette Community Players. Montgomery is LCP's artistic director, the cast includes several actors familiar to LCP audiences, and the play previewed at Lafayette's Mary Miller Theatre last weekend.
Englert's Willy is a sad sack of a man, old in years, holding onto the childish hope that he can still, somehow, come out ahead. What happens to Willy — reduced to working on commission, then fired without notice after serving his company for 40 years — is indeed a tragedy, but what resonates more through this production is what a poor father Willy has been. He is partly to blame for his sons' immaturity, a responsibility he continues to dodge.
Deep down, he knows he's failed as both father and businessman, and Englert's entire performance is a compelling back-and-forth between abject failure over this realization and abiding hope that it's not too late for things to turn in his favor.
David C. Riley's Biff is magnificent, the most convincing and heartbreaking of the four Lomans. Churning with frustration and a sense of failure, Biff feels impotent in the business world, and resents Willy for trying to make him something he isn't. His rage towards Willy battles his compassion for him, and Biff's final confrontation with his father, delivered through rage and tears, is wrenching.
Newsom is also terrific as Happy, Biff's younger brother, and his scenes with Biff resonate deeply with that simultaneous note of closeness and competition universal among brothers. Continually overlooked by his parents in favor of the more dynamic Biff, Hap clings to Willy's dream of success and repeatedly swears to fulfill the dream for them all. Handsome and charming, Newsom gives Happy the slick maneuverability that Biff has long since cast aside. Weak on follow-through, Hap nevertheless means well, and Newsom makes him likable.
As Linda, Ranson is the weakest of the four. The backbone of the family, Linda coddles Willy, and through her unquestioning support enables many of his weaker traits. Nevertheless, as peacemaker and go-between, her love holds the family together. Ranson, however, turns in an oddly unfocused, disconnected performance, both physically and emotionally. She doesn't seem to be fully invested in the story.
Two actors offer memorable supporting performances: Bill Graham as the patient, long-suffering Charley, and Kenny Storms, double-cast as Biff's lifelong friend Bernard and the waiter Stanley in Act II. Storms imbues both roles with a quiet dignity and honor unique to each character.
Costumes designed by Jackie Tisinai are largely effective, with a few glaring exceptions. One is Willy's suit, which looks too new, too modern, and too expensive. Second, costuming Charley in an extremely unflattering kilt — rather than the golf plus-fours the play calls for — is both demeaning to the actor and a puzzling artistic choice. Finally, several of the supporting actors sport haircuts that are too long (or short on top) for the play's time period.
Rick Tisinai's live jazz guitar underscoring adds a wonderfully poignant dimension to the unfolding tragedy. Sarah Spenser's minimalist set design and Brian Miller's lighting are functional and flexible.
One more technical quibble: characters pretending to smoke on stage. It looks as ridiculous as it must feel to do, and detracts from the action. Editing the dialogue to remove smoking references seems a stronger choice.