cast list
Jonathan Pryce
Aidan Gillen
Paul Freeman
Matthew Marsh
Peter McDonald
Tom Smith
Shane Attwooll
directed by
James McDonald
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After the recent revival of Patrick Marber's Dealer's Choice at the
Menier, here comes another deeply masculine play, equally riddled with
desperation. Over twenty years old now, David Mamet's terse study of the
world of real-estate salesmen is undimmed in its power and an edge of frenzy
and fear is palpable in nearly every line of dialogue.
David Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross was written in 1983 and still
carries a strong sense of aggression and anger with it; the oily lure of
money coats everything in sight. The play concerns a group of salesman
trying to flog Florida land-plots of dubious appeal, all chasing the vital
'leads' that might cement a sale and a chance to win a Cadillac and, more
importantly, hang on to their jobs.
Contracts and cheques are all they care about, signatures are coaxed,
coerced and manipulated out of people using every game going; there's no
tactic too low, no deception they won't attempt.
Jonathan Pryce plays Shelly Levene, clearly once a white-hot salesman,
though his magic touch has long since left him. He exudes panic and
desperation in every gesture, still reveling in the past and unaware of how
pleading and pathetic he has become. Your pity for him is tempered however
by the knowledge (Pryce's eyes light up, his posture improves, his whole
demeanor changes when he reminisces about the beautiful moment of getting a
sale) that when he was good, he was clearly just as ruthless as the
younger, brasher Richard Roma, played by a superbly greasy Aidan Gillen. I
really loved his dementedly aggressive performance, sweaty and volatile, a
man who will latch on to a potential customer like a rabid animal. I also
liked Peter McDonald's turn as the calm but cold office manager.
This is the first stage production of this play I've seen, though the
film version, starring Jack Lemmon and Al Pacino, casts something of a long
shadow. At times, especially in the earlier scenes of James McDonald's production, it
does seem the actors aren't quite in sync with Mamet's rapid, rhythmic use
of language, but this impression soon passes.
The play is a short and powerful one. It runs to just over an hour and
half, and this is including an interval, there presumably to allow for a
dramatic second half set change. The first half consists of a series of
booth-based conversations carried out in an anonymous restaurant, while the
second half opens out the stage space to create a striking and detailed
recreation of a grim American office space, a harsh, grey and unwelcoming
room strewn with files and papers, the lighting making everyone appear more
sickly and sweaty than they already do. Indeed, this switch between sets was
considered dramatic enough to warrant its own round of applause on the night
I saw it.
I must admit that Mamet's work sometimes leaves me cold, it's just too
aggressive, too cock-centric for my liking, but this play is a lean, sharp,
surgical thing, with a rattling love of language and a necessary sense of
the absurd; it whips you into a bleak, brutal, utterly cynical world and
spits you out the other side, leaving you feeling a more than a little
morally mucky, but undeniably satisfied. The cast work well, verbally
jousting with each other, egos exposed, and the whole thing still feels
fresh and vital, even in the stuffy environs of a West End theatre.
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