Death of a Salesman


The Mike Nichols production of Death of a Salesman is the best Broadway play I expect to see during my time in law school. After waiting for two hours, I successfully rushed a pair of thirty dollar student tickets this past Friday.

I had heard good things about the production, but didn't expect to connect to the material in a very meaningful way since I am a Miller novice. After seeing the terribly staged mid-century play, Look Back Jin Anger, a couple days ago, I was worried that I was in store for athree our snoozefest. sitting down in a partial view box seat with my friend as the curtain went up, I was also skeptical of the casting. Though I love Philip Seymour Hoffman, isnt he a bit too young to play Willy Loman, the sixty year old salesman drifting into senility? His sons, Biff and Happy, the inheritors of his hopes and dreams, are portrayed by the too-young looking Andrew Garfield and Finn Wittrock.

But ten minutes on, I was hooked. Philip Seymour Hoffman carries his heft around convincingly as a man who has eaten unhealthily for thirty five years as a traveling salesman. He first enters the stage, muttering "boy oh boy" quietly, after returning early from a failed sales trip. There's no sense that he's aware of an audience, but rather is just inside his own head. When his wife, Linda (Linda Emond) hears him shuffling around, she comes and persuades him to go to bed in the manner of the lifelong partner who just wants to make things easier for her husband near the end.

As a first time viewer of any production of the play, I was also drawn in by the writing and the plot. set in the 1940s, Miller's story is eerily resonant today. People of Willy Loman's age were the most susceptible to losing their jobs during the recent recession, no matter how loyal they were to the firm for the past thirty five years. I know many Biffs today--though generally from more affluent families--whom, having been raised by the school of self esteem, now find themselves unable to do anything. But the story is both general and specific.

Despite the global issues it addresses, Death of Salesman focuses on one specific family. Though everyone can relate to Willy's tendency to ask what could have been had he taken a different road, his plight is unique. We see Willy's life and motives through the hallucinated conversations he has with his brother (John Glover), a man who had gone to Alaska to make his fortune off the land. Now Willy, overweight and tied to the trappings of a middle class existence--- nice house in Brooklyn, a refrigerator, and other appliances--he wonders if should have gone the way of the other Loman and inhabited a new frontier.

The play's success must ultimately be attributed to the Mike Nichols, the director. Though I'm new to Miller, there were several scenes that were conducive to melodrama. Many scenes where people could be yelling at each other are toned down to reveal several notes of both disappointment and anger. The only person who overacts at times is Andrew Garfield, who shakes his head in anger a few too many times in the final twenty minutes of the play.

Death of a Salesman is a must see show. My only regret is that I hadn't seen other productions to compare it to.

The Inanity Coming-of-Age-in-the-Age-of-Rock Movies

Now that the boomer generation is getting old, and the generation that remembers where they were when the Beatles premiered on Johnny Carson is getting really old, nostalgic movies are coming out about the birth of rock. Two such films, Taking Woodstock and Pirate Radio, cover much of the same material. Young, straight and narrowish people are suddenly exposed to romantic hardships, hidden secrets of the past, and forced to grow up all with music in the background. Taking Woodstock, which aims to vaguely trace the history of Woodstock, centers on twenty-something Elliot Teichberg, and his journey to bring a music festival to his town of Woodstock while gaining independence from his parents. Pirate Radio, which aims to trace the history of off-shore radio stations in Great Britain in the 1960's, centers on a teenage Carl's stay on the Radio Rock ship while he discovers sex, the identity of his father, and civil disobedience.

Neither film is particularly insightful. Both revel in cliche and heavy-handed delivery of messages. Taking Woodstock tries to tell people to believe in themselves, and break loose by having Elliot (Dmitri Martin) discover his homosexuality and get high on acid to Jefferson Airplane's "Red Telephone." Long sequences of haziness illuminate the freedom of drugs. Similarly, Pirate Radio tries to sell people on the idea of fighting for what you believe in by having Radio Rock's entire crew agree one by one to stay on the ship even after the government shuts it down. Elgar's Nimrod swells in the background. Long montages of random Brits enjoying Radio Rock illustrate music's liberating effect. We get it: music equals love, democracy, and all that is good in the world.

The one thing that makes Pirate Radio more entertaining to watch than Taking Woodstock is that Pirate Radio takes itself way less seriously. Maybe it's the British sense of humor, but the film seems to wink at us during a ship-sinking scene that reminds one of the drama of Titanic. Things are resolved a bit too easily, but also with humor. In one set piece, two DJ's play a game of chicken by climbing on to the mast and then jumping off. Plus, the music selection is fabulous. Pirate Radio hits all the Sixties greats aside from the Beatles, including Cat Stevens, the Beach Boys, and Leonard Cohen. Taking Woodstock only has some snippets of Woodstock acts. Though Pirate Radio is a bit long clocking in at 2 hours, its soundtrack makes an otherwise vapid movie bearable. Too bad Woodstock can't say the same.