The brass plaque on the back of seat D26 in the dress circle of the Theatre Royal in Glasgow, a spot normally reserved for the names of donors and corporate sponsors, reads: “Say hello to the stranger next to you and don’t forget to smile.”

A courtesy which is in stark contrast to the foul-mouthed farewells which punctuate David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning black comedy of 1984 Glengarry Glen Ross which include: “F**k you and kiss my ass”, “F**k you, f**k the lot of you, f**k you all” and the more concise but equally caustic “You stupid f**king c**t”.

Opening with a rapid-fire duel in which the down-on-his-luck salesman Shelley Levene (Mark Benton) begs and bribes his play-it-by-the-book office manager Scott Sparrow (John Williamson) to release premium leads, director Sam Yates anchors his cast to the fixed seating bank of designer Chiara Stephenson’s Chinese lantern-lit restaurant. Thus allowing the cut and thrust of Mamet’s razor-sharp dialogue to take centre stage.

In the second of three opening act scenes which run at a brisk 35 minutes, the blustering Dave Moss (Denis Conway) then employs another exploitative sales technique beginning with the letter B – blackmail – to manipulate his dithering colleague George Aaronow (Wil Johnson) to steal leads from their unseen bosses Mitch and Murray who at the end of each month reward the top salesman with a Cadillac and punish the bottom two with a Trumpian “You’re fired!”

And in the final scene before the interval curtain falls on the colourful gantry of liquor bottles which under the intimate candlelight of Richard Howell resemble a shimmering horizon of skyscrapers, the smooth-talking Ricky Roma (Nigel Harman) persuades the hesitant James Lingk (James Staddon) to sign a sales contract which in the second act he tries to annul.

It may be real estate these “members of a dying breed” are literally selling. But what they are actually selling is hope; the dream of a brighter and better tomorrow; a once in a lifetime opportunity to boost happiness and comfort. But the effort that goes into spinning their stories and weaving their spells is exhausting. And by the end of the second act, set entirely in their ransacked office, the fireworks of back-stabbing and point-scoring fizzle out like a sparkler in the rain as they return to their empty lives in their empty apartments – spent!

Director Sam Yates does a terrific job of orchestrating the musicality of Mamet’s deliciously acerbic dialogue. And each member of the seven-strong cast, which includes Zephryn Taitte as Detective Baylen, perform their roles with tongue-lashing and eye-twinkling relish. Their characters may be bastards, but their brashness is captivating. As is this touring production which is a swaggering walk on the wild side of cutthroat capitalism.

Peter Callaghan
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