David Thacker Directs a Riveting ‘American Buffalo’ at The Kings Arms, Salford: A Mastery of Mamet’s Intense Drama

The Kings Arms is a small venue, little more than a room above a pub; but it is space that has long punched way, way above its weight, perhaps playing a similar role in the Greater Manchester theatre ecology to that of the Finborough Theatre in London’s scene. Even so, Producer and publican Lisa Connor has pulled of a major coup in engaging David Thacker as Director of this great David Mamet play; as anyone who has seen any of David’s work will know, he’s simply one of the very, very best in the business.

Although the older play by almost a decade, American Buffalo feels in many respects like the younger brother of Mamet’s perhaps more famous play Glengarry Glen Ross. Not that this is a criticism – though both have similarities in theme and style, American Buffalo is a leaner, tighter piece, and even more of a pressure cooker; so much so, it might arguably be the better play. 

There’s more than a whiff of rancid, curdled testosterone in the potent mixture of misogyny, aggression and homophobia in this 1975 drama, to the extent that it might today be described as portraying the effects of toxic masculinity; but the play also works on other levels – shining a light in the darker corners of the American Dream, for example, where life’s inevitable ‘losers’ are locked in a dog-eat-dog struggle for survival.

The action all takes place in a junk shop, the used and unloved low-value items on sale giving a clear indication of the status of the characters portrayed. Having sold an American buffalo nickel for far less than he now suspects it is actually worth, Don, the junk shop owner, is planning to rob the buyer’s home and steal his whole coin collection. Initially intending to have his rather inadequate gofer Bobby help with the heist, Don is persuaded by poker buddy Teach that he himself would be the better partner-in-crime. There is, however, little criminal acumen between them, and even less honour amongst thieves; so even this very minor enterprise goes completely awry.

In John O’Neill’s capable hands, Bobby comes across as a grown-up version of Charlie Brown, if Charlie Brown’s life had taken such a downward trajectory he’d had to sell Snoopy for a few bucks somewhere along the way. It’s a rare actor who can play a character that isn’t the sharpest tool in the box, and is so clearly driven by the need to please others, without slipping into caricature; O’Neill has precisely the right grace and lightness-of-touch to make this huge challenge look easy.

Dave MacCreedy’s Teach is likewise well-drawn. A bullish individual whose faith in his own felonious abilities is somewhat misplaced, Teach’s inability to make so much as a simple phone-call might make him a figure of fun, were it not for his deep-seated misanthropy and aggression. 

Colin Connor pulls off another of the play’s great challenges with aplomb, making the seedy minor criminal Don a far more sympathetic character than you might otherwise expect. In the hands of a lesser actor, Don’s obvious love for Bobby might make him seem too much of a soft touch, and his reluctance to believe Teach’s reports of the dishonesty of one of their poker-playing pals might appear to be the mark of a mug. Instead, we have a rich portrayal of an individual who is as human as he is flawed, adding immensely to the tragedy of the piece.

As with much of his writing, Mamet’s brilliant ear for dialogue is in full effect throughout, the language itself being one of the many factors that make this production a richly theatrical experience. With not a word wasted, the deceptively simple, raw, often deeply unpleasant language and modes of expression help create a world as vivid and as vital as any painting, albeit of a subject most artists would never consider committing to canvas.

Perhaps the most impressive thing of all in terms of Mamet’s writing is the way the whole play operates as a gestalt. We’re presented with pieces of an unfinished puzzle, with hints that the unseen action isn’t all as it seems, and parallels between different parts of the story act almost like one of those ‘magic eye’ pictures where, if you allow yourself to see it, a 3D image forms that isn’t at first apparent. Discussions of the previous night’s card-game are a case in point: without spoon-feeding us, they leave us knowing for sure that none of the events of the play happen by mere chance, which is in turn part of why all of the pieces of the drama fit together to create such a satisfying whole.

I’ve always found David Thacker’s work to have such a beautiful narrative clarity, fine subtlety, exquisitely-drawn detail, and resonant emotional truth that it’s impossible not to be totally engaged and deeply moved by it. This production of American Buffalo is no exception.

If I lived just a tiny bit closer to Salford I’d already have booked tickets to see it again.