The curtains of Her Majesty’s Theatre open on Neil Armfield’s magnificent production of Arthur Miller’s Death of A Salesman to reveal a towering grandstand; rusted and weather-stained, ‘Ebbets Field’ printed across the top of its commentary box. All but one of the 14-strong cast are sitting on the bleachers, waiting. "Willy?", Linda Loman asks as her husband limps on stage holding two suitcases. It’s one of the most recognizable images of 20th-century theatre, and it’s keenly watched by the entire ensemble.
Miller’s Pulitzer Prize-winning script seemed like a death knell for the American Dream when it premiered in 1949, but 70 years later it’s still ringing on, louder than ever. That it has only become more relevant over time adds to its tragedy. An Australian audience, for instance, will find it sadly unsurprising to hear that our titular salesman, Willy Loman, is unable to retire at 63 when a cost-of-living crisis is currently forcing many of our ageing population below the poverty line.
Armfield’s iteration represents the third national revival in less than two years, but every production has unearthed new depths to the contemporary classic. With sterling performances and an inspired set, Armfield’s triumphant show breaks new ground by bringing attention to the collateral damage that follows in our salesman’s wake.
There are many things that make Miller’s Willy Loman a tragic figure: his inability to see a life beyond his work, his ego-led self-delusions, his growing senility. Still, "attention must be paid" to a man like Willy, Linda Loman tells us in one of many monologues delivered with fiery zeal by the resplendent Alison Whyte. The cast, poised on rusted bleachers expertly designed by Dale Ferguson, heed her command. In this production, their attentive gaze is a near-constant presence.
Watching on from the bleachers as Willy’s delusions – of fatherhood, masculinity and success – unwind, their gaze switches from haunting and judgmental to pitying and mournful. In Act One, they appear like an audience mocking his many public outbursts. But when, in Act Two, they watch on beside the Loman family as Willy plants seeds that will never grow, their mournful expressions suddenly read like a reminder of the tragic ripple effects that come from seeing a loved one lose themselves completely.
It helps that the ensemble cast assembled here make the most of every moment they’re given, whether in the spotlight or behind it. Direction by Armfield uses the different levels of Ferguson’s set expertly, creating arresting tableaux that ensure these voyeurs remain in our eyeline at all times. Niklas Pajanti’s lighting design favours bright overheads that cast their faces in often ominous shadows, while switching beautifully from warm sepia tones to greyscale to signal the changes from memory and reality that structure Miller’s writing.
Under the ensemble’s watchful eyes, Anthony LaPaglia delivers a standout performance as Willy Loman. LaPaglia won a Tony Award for his turn as Eddie Carbone in Miller’s A View from the Bridge, but the pitiful Willy is a more sensitive counterpoint to the cocksure Eddie. Willy’s bravado masks a vulnerability that LaPaglia performs to heart-wrenching effect here. An incredible sensitivity thrums beneath his deep bass and domineering stature. There’s a slight tremulousness to his gravelly timbre, as if every screaming outburst saps Willy’s strength a little, while his limping gait and sunken eyes make him appear more fragile by the minute.
As Biff Loman, Josh Helman strikes a similar contrast. His powerful stature masks a child-like insecurity that comes out in a whimpering screaming match in Act Two. Even Happy, played by Sean Keenan with impressive comedic timing, regresses to a similarly child-like delusion to feign his own success in the end. The ideals of masculinity they reach for require self-delusion, it seems – a fact they learn from their father.
No matter how many productions of Death of a Salesman you’ve seen, its ending will always manage to pack an emotional punch. Good productions like this one find ways to make its tragic conclusion feel like a fresh wound; a shock, no matter how familiar you are with it. It’s the equivalent of sitting on the bleachers watching a football game you’ve seen play out before, hoping against all odds that you might witness a different outcome and feeling the loss hit even harder when it inevitably, tragically, comes.
'Death of a Salesman' is showing at Her Majesty's Theatre until October 15, 2023. For tickets, head to the website.