Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman tells the story of travelling salesman Willy Loman, chewed up and spat out by the way the American dream turns into a nightmare. No longer having the energy or the charisma needed to earn a living from what has become a commission-only job, he still tries to convince himself and others that he is ‘well liked’ by both his employer and by potential customers; in truth, they now see him as a pathetic figure, if they notice him at all.
In other productions I’ve seen, Willy has been more bullish, more energetic, more present, almost as if Joe Keller from Miller’s All My Sons had wondered in to the wring play by mistake. Here, David Hayman gives us a Willy Loman who is halfway between a shadow and a ghost, as washed out as he is washed up. Here is a man defined by daydreams of who he once was, by delusions of who he wants to believe he still is, and by the way others see him, leaving little of him left to actually exist in his present reality.
It’s a brave decision from both Hayman and Director Andy Arnold to have a figure so worn-out he’s almost see-through at the centre of the story, but it’s one that really pays off.
Daniel Cahill is outstanding as Willy’s older son Biff, who struggles to free himself from the orbit of Willy’s self-deception. Such is his total immersion on the character that – even from halfway back in the auditorium – you can virtually smell his desperation, and the alcohol he uses to dampen it.
By contrast, younger son Happy refuses to see his father as he really is; an entirely believable decision, smacking as much of loyalty as of wilful blindness in Michael Wallace’s very capable hands.
Beth Marshall is brilliant as Willy’s wife Linda, who does her best to keep her husband at least partly connected to the real world, though she too refuses to confront certain aspects of reality, preferring to think things will be okay as long as they can keep going until they’re no longer in debt.
Benny Young gives a fine performance as Willy’s friend Charley, as does Gavin Jon Wright as Biff’s and Happy’s friend Bernard, each providing vivid examples of who Willy and his sons could have been in an alternate universe.
As Willy’s boss Howard, Simon Donaldson brings some harsh (though dramatically much-needed) reality to the piece, whilst Stewart Ennis as the memory of Willy’s idolised brother Ben pulls in the opposite direction, with fine performances from the pair giving the impression that Willy is stretched between them like a violin string about to snap.
If one or two of the more minor female characters seem a little less three-dimensional, then this is clearly because that’s how they appear in Willy’s memory, and in the eyes of his sons.
Such is the emotional truth of what’s presented to us here by cast and crew alike that everything else on stage somehow gains more presence as the performance goes on, to the extent that I’d swear that the beautifully painted trees on the backdrop were real trees by the end of the play.
I was likewise impressed by the contribution made by the live musical accompaniment, provided by Simon Donaldson on mandolin and dulcimer, Fay Guiffo on violin, and Gillian Massey on flute. It might have been easier to use recorded music; I’m very glad they didn’t.
For as long as I’ve been familiar with the work of Arthur Miller, I’ve known that Death of a Salesman is unarguably a masterpiece; but despite that, I’ve always had the feeling that – though it comes very, very close – it doesn’t quite match the genius of (say) All My Sons or The Crucible. It’s great to have been proven wrong.
I left the the theatre not only with the feeling that I might walk out, not into the plaza of Lowry Centre in 2025, but into the Broadway of 1949.
I also left knowing I’d seen a very, very special piece of theatre.
Death of a Salesman is on at the Lowry until Saturday 3rd May, when the tour ends. Catch it while you can.
