Brooks Atkinson, the legendary American critic who it was said for 31 years on the drama desk of The New York Times had the power to make or break a Broadway opening, described the original 1949 production of Arthur Miller’s Death Of A Salesman as an “elegy in a Brooklyn sidestreet” which “looked with compassion into the hearts of some ordinary Americans and quietly transferred their hope and anguish to the theatre”.

They didn’t do star ratings in those days, but judging by Atkinson’s superlatives – “a superb drama”, “rich and memorable” – we can assume he would have rewarded Elia Kazan’s “masterly direction” with five shining stars. As I do of director Joe Douglas’s meticulous and moving production at Dundee Rep Theatre with Billy Mack giving a terrific performance as the tortured Willy Loman and Nikola Kodjabashia’s soundscape, for the most part performed live on stage by the nine-strong cast, elevating Miller’s diamond-cut dialogue to poetic heights.

Equally impressive is Neil Warmington’s simple but striking set. From back to front: a raised platform with a bed; a table with two chairs; a refrigerator with “the biggest ads”, which at one point opens to reveal the blinding white light of consumerism; an open grave from which Willy is raised and into which he jumps; flanked on either side not with the “towering, angular shapes” or “angry glow of orange” of Miller’s stage directions, but a boulevard of trashcans from which smoke flatlines and fades like Willy’s American Dream.

The vocal orchestration and physical choreography of the opening duologues – first between the “little boat looking for a harbor” Willy and his anchor of a wife Linda (Irene Macdougall), followed by a bout of bravado between their thirtysomething sons “lazy bum” Biff (Ewan Donald) and “philandering bum” Happy (Laurie Scott) – are a sign of the quality of direction and performance to follow. From the moment Sergey Jakovsky’s excellent lighting design fills the expansive stage till it zooms in and fades to black on Linda’s face as she sobs “We’re free… We’re free…”, the dialogue is scored like a piece of music with only the most important notes piercing the fourth wall.

“You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away — a man is not a piece of fruit!” and “Attention, attention must be finally paid to such a person.” were lines written in the aftermath of The Great Depression when average family incomes plummeted by 40%, unemployment rose to a staggering 25% and, fittingly, the hit song of the day was Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? Given the austerity-driven policies of the last decade and the ideologically-driven rhetoric pitching “shirkers” versus “workers” which gave rise to I, Daniel Blake, Miller’s Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize-winning drama, which Brooks Atkinson described as “a wraith-like tragedy”, is more relevant now than ever.

Video courtesy of: Dundee Rep Theatre

Peter Callaghan
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