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Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller. Lyric
Theater, London.
New Life for Willy
Loman by Jo Ann Skousen
Sometimes a director's staging changes the meaning of a
play without changing a single word of the dialogue. Such is the case with Robert
Falls' production of "Death of a Salesman" currently in London, starring Brian
Dennehy as down-and-out salesman Willy Loman, and Clare Higgins as his
long-suffering wife Linda.
| | Jo Ann
Skousen is a writer and critic living in New York.
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Arthur Miller's Salesman is often called the Great American Tragedy, but I've
never been a big fan, with its dark moralizing on the evils of capitalism and its
despairing, dysfunctional family. Willy badgers his sons into occupations they
don't like, belittles his wife, and hides his failures. He's not just a loser,
he's an abusive loser victimized by an uncaring boss. The name says it all: Willy
Loman is "low man" on the totem pole. Robert Falls' masterly direction,
however, skyrockets this Willy to the top of the pole. Every character is
changed, just by inflection and delivery. Dennehy enters the stage with a stooped
shuffle, the fingers of his right hand slightly clinched, his lips moving before
he speaks as though he is reaching for language itself. This is no overbearing
abuser, but a befuddled old man who has suffered a minor stroke or the onset of
Alzheimer's. Clare Higgins turns Linda into the heart of this production, no
longer a cowering abused wife but a woman who loves her husband passionately and
demands that her sons respect him too. When she tells her sons, "Don't upset your
father," it's not because she fears his abuse but because she doesn't want him to
suffer any more anguish. Yes, Willy cuts her off mid-sentence, and it irritates
Biff to see his mother treated that way. But it doesn't bother Linda. She loves
Willy. She appreciates him. And she wants to protect him from the confusion that
has come over him. |
| Dennehy's Loman is no
overbearing abuser, but a befuddled old man who has suffered a minor stroke or
the onset of Alzheimer's. |
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When the play was first written, Miller's producers were concerned about how
to stage the flashbacks. Would audiences understand, or would they be confused?
Dennehy's performance leaves no doubt. Midsentence he turns his stooped back on
the audience, shuffles a few feet into the scene, and straightens into a robust,
powerful, lighthearted businessman 20 years younger, throwing footballs with his
sons. As the scene ends he turns back, his shoulders droop, his fingers clinch,
and he pulls at his eyebrow distractedly. He is in the present once more. During
these flashbacks the other characters change costumes and hairstyles to indicate
the earlier time period, but Willy remains in his gray suit throughout the show,
a subtle reminder that these events are taking place inside Willy's tortured
memory. One aspect of the play that does not change is Miller's Marxist
interpretation of money as a measure of self-worth. According to Marx, using
money as a medium of exchange separates the laborer from the end product,
dehumanizing the worker. Being a mere salesman, not involved at all in the
production of any good, would then be the basest form of capitalism. But even
that concept becomes more alive and personal in Falls' interpretation, which
emphasizes the family's admiration of and appreciation for Willy's home repairs
and renovations. Biff, who wants to be a rancher instead of a salesman, has more
in common with his father than either of them realize; the tragedy is that Willy
has been pushing them both in an unnatural direction their whole lives, instead
of embracing their natural talents in working with their hands.
| One aspect of the play
that does not change is Miller's Marxist interpretation of money as a measure of
self-worth. |
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Who is the real Willy Loman? Is he the forlorn failure of the capitalist
system Arthur Miller created, worth more dead than alive when he can no longer
sell useless gadgets? Or is he the triumphant Willy Loman Robert Falls has
created, who heads to his death with a sparkle in his eye, ready to earn another
$20,000 as he sets out on one last road trip. In the penultimate scene, son Biff
cries, "Pop! I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you!" Willy responds angrily, "I am
not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman, and you are Biff Loman!" It's a pitiful
irony from a man who has become a nobody. But midway through the line in this
production Dennehy turns center front, opens his arms wide, and proclaims to the
balcony, "I am Willy Loman!" Overwhelmed by the passion of the moment, I thought,
"Yes, you are indeed." This play has been forever changed by the stamp put on it
by Robert Falls and his remarkable cast. I shall never read it the same way
again. If you are going to London in the next few months, or if it transfers to
Broadway as many West End plays do, don't miss it.
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