Death of a Salesman
Reviewed by Stephen Fife
The Ruskin Group Theatre Co.
Extended through September 15
There are four great plays that modern American Drama has been built upon: The Iceman Cometh and Long Day’s Journey into Night by Eugene O’Neill, A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, and Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller.
All these plays deal with the three great American themes: family (where do I belong?); truth vs. illusion (who/what can I trust?); and money (or power). In the absence of a controlling state, a national religion or a social class system telling us what to do or who we are, these plays all dramatize the promise of the American Dream, or what the Constitution calls our “pursuit of happiness.”
(I would contend that Awake and Sing by Clifford Odets belongs in this elite group, as it dramatizes that other great American subject, assimilation; but I also admit that it is not quite the masterpiece that the other four plays are.)
One other thing these plays have in common is that they are long, multi-layered and difficult to produce. Or at least to produce successfully.
The Ruskin Group is currently presenting what amounts to a chamber version of Arthur Miller’s play on their tiny stage. The production is directed by Mike Reilly and built around Rob Morrow as Willy Loman. Morrow is known to many of us over 50 for playing Dr. Joel Fleischman on the network show Northern Exposure, and to many others for playing FBI agent Don Eppes on Numbe3s, another network show. He’s also an acting teacher at the Ruskin School.
This formula of a celebrity-driven production has worked well in the last 40 years with such diverse actors as George C. Scott, Dustin Hoffman, Brian Dennehy and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. I saw the first three productions, and what made them compelling was the depth of desperation and disillusion that each actor brought to the role. (My favorite performance of Willy was actually given by Los Angeles actor Eddie Jones, who exploded one emotional grenade after another, leaving devastation in his wake.) This is the challenge for Rob Morrow, and — at least on opening night — he does not show himself to be up to the task.
Though he’s almost 57, Morrow, much like Paul Rudd, has an eternally youthful quality. Director Reilly has tried to counteract this by putting Morrow in a fat suit, combing his hair back and graying it. This might have worked in in a larger auditorium with a proscenium stage. But in the thrust stage at the Ruskin, we are right on top of the action, and Morrow looks like an able-bodied 40-year-old man in a fat suit.
More importantly, Willy Loman is an exhausted man in all senses of that word — physically, emotionally and spiritually — and Morrow simply does not convey that, no matter how many times he tells us about it in Miller’s vividly harrowing language. Although Dustin Hoffman was only 49 when he played the role, his Willy — while overly-mannered — was believably defeated — a small, scrappy man who had fallen victim to capitalism’s emphasis on productivity over compassion. I don’t see any of that in Morrow. He shines in the flashbacks to his heyday as a traveling salesman, when he was idolized by his sons but still haunted by insecurity and a lack of self-worth. But his death spiral doesn’t ring true.
The outstanding performance on the Ruskin stage is given by Lee Garlington as Willy’s wife, Linda. Garlington brings Linda to life as the emotional center of the troubled Loman family, who does everything she can to reverse her husband’s downward spiral while blaming their sons for having abandoned him. She looks age-appropriate for Linda, but comes off here more like Morrow’s older sister than his wife. (This is underscored by the absence of sexual chemistry between them.) I kept wishing for a more believable husband for this Linda, one who might have pushed her work to the next level.
The rest of the cast are all astute, capable actors, some better than that. Robert Adamson does a convincing job conveying the terrifying lostness of the Loman’s older son, Biff. Darrin Hickock is excellent as Willy’s young boss who discards him as easily as a used-up tube of toothpaste. And Jack Merrill plays a winning hand as Charlie, the Loman’s next-door neighbor, who has gone from the object of Willy’s scorn to his only real friend.
Set designer Stephanie Kerley Schwartz does everything she can to suggest various locations, from the Loman’s backyard to a ritzy Manhattan hotel, but the venue still feels claustrophobic. This makes a certain amount of sense, as Willy’s world has indeed shrunk down to almost nothing, but it also lessens the scope of Miller’s play and diminishes its impact. Finally, director Reilly has the actors whisper in the graveyard scene so that even in the small space they are barely audible. I can see what he’s going for, but all it accomplishes is to have audience members turn to each other and ask, “What did she say?” Probably not the ending that Miller envisioned.
The Ruskin Group Theatre, 3000 Airport Ave., Santa Monica; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; (dark 8/29-9/2); extended through Sep. 15. (310) 397-3244 or www.ruskingrouptheatre.com. Running time: two hours and 45 minutes with one intermission.
