May 24, 2012 was BobDylan's 71st birthday. It was also day on which I wrote "Me and Willy: The American Play of Death, " on this very site. My subtitle was a play on words on Jessica Mitford's book, "The American Way of Death," her mordant take on the mortuary business, an ever-thriving enterprise kept alive (pun-intended) by virtually every segment of our increasingly discordant society. At the time, I confessed to having "Salesman-related Withdrawal Syndrome" ("SRWS"), an affliction from which I apparently continue to suffer.
I really didn't expect to see (yet) another production of "Salesman," as I didn't think it had anything else to say to me (or I to it). My oldest friend and his wife wanted to visit New York and (in part because they would be staying with us) wanted to treat us to join them in seeing the latest production of "Death" before its closing. And so, on August 7th, a blisteringly hot and humid day followed by torrential rains, we went to the cavernous Winter Garden Theater to see Joe Mantello's production of the Arthur Miller classic starring Nathan Lane as Willy, and Linda Edmunds as Linda. It was, by the way, a fine production and well worthy of its tradition. There is not much I can add to what I said fourteen years ago, but here goes.
Seeing this play at different stages of one's life always gives us differing perspectives. Where once, I was younger than Willy's adult sons and where my own sons were younger than Biff and Happy as teenagers (and are now almost Willy's contemporaries), I am now even older than the eponymous salesman Willy salutes in his fruitless appeal to his young boss, Howard. I speak of Dave Singleman, who at 84, could place orders from his hotel room dressed in a velvet robe. This was the man whom Willy wanted to emulate, a man 21 years older than Willy at the time of his forced retirement at 63.
The current production reprises the "tradition "of having Charlie and Bernard being people of color. When this was first done in 1975, I observed its cultural dissonance. Back in the bad old days of segregated Brooklyn, it seemed unlikely that Willy would have next-door neighbors who were black in 1932, let alone 1949. But, I suppose any production supposedly set in 1949 that features a 1963 Chevrolet can be allowed some poetic license in the name of color-blind casting. In this context, one must acknowledge that the car was meant to play a supporting role in the production and surely contributed to its "Tony" for set design.
Interestingly, once we accept Charlie and Bernard as black, it adds a new wrinkle (clearly not intended by the playwright). Viewed in this light, however, mightn't it now seen as a reason why Willy could never bring himself to be in Charley's employ as well as why his sons looked down on Bernard? The most recent (prior) production starred Wendell Pearce and Sharon D. Clark (as Willy and Linda), the first to feature black people in its leading roles. Fittingly, I suppose, Charley and Bernard were now white, allowing Willy to bristle when Charlie asks Willy "When are you going to grow up, boy?" substituting the racially charged "boy" for the original script's "kid." While I don't much care for changing the words of plays to please the sensitivities of evolving audiences, the literary estate of Arthur Miller agreed to the changes. That said, I guess we'll have to watch how future productions sway in the cultural winds.The casting decision to have different actors play Biff and Happy as teenagers and men in their 30's was an interesting one, but I'm not sure it was necessary. If everyone else can sucessfully play themselves at different stages of life, why not Biff and Happy?
The 2026 audience, just as with the 2012 one, inappropriately laughed when Linda chastised Happy as "a philandering bum--that's all you are, my baby." Maybe I'm (still) missing something, but there's nothing funny about that line other than the audience reaction. Over the years, each version has succeeded in bringing tears to my eyes. This one, however, was more of an intellectual than emotional journey for me. That said, late in the second act, Biff's confessions to Willy were as poignant as any I'd ever heard. When he says "Pop! I'm a dime a dozen and so are you," it moved me profoundly. When Biff (finally) embraces Willy, we know (to use a very 21st-century word) Willy will have "closure," and will come as close to dying happy as he could ever have expected. Ah well, time and "Death of a Salesman" live on, as do I. At this stage of life, I'm glad to still be seeing good theater with good people. In 2012, I joked about seeing Justin Bieber and Adele starring in a 2030 revival. With 2030 now only four years away, we are most fortunate to be seeing actors of the caliber of Nathan Lane and Linda Edmunds performing the latest take on this superb and very American tragedy.
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