Catherine Bennett resumes the weekly look at the performing arts world, with the sad end of Jerusalem, the luck of a cabbie, and French revolt. Do you hear the people sing?
Adam Alcock reviews Nigel Kennedy playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons and his own Four Elements at York Opera House.
Catherine Bennett highlights the trends in the performing arts world today.
Jonathan Cridford reviews 'Ghosts', one of the Freshers' plays for this year.
That man never knew who he was.
The modern tragedy that is the life of Willy Loman is brought vividly to life at the Theatre Royal in this excellent staging of Arthur Miller's play.
Having worked as a salesman for the same company for over thirty years, Willy is physically and mentally exhausted. His wife is terrified by his recent suicide attempts. His sons are embarrassed by his bizarre behaviour, and struggle to accommodate their responsibilities towards their father with their own hope and dreams. In the centre of this dysfunctional,uncommunicative family, Willy stands alone, an object of both pity and laughter.
Making full use of the Theatre Royal's capabilities for revolving set, the staging was eye catching if a tad distracting at times. I couldn't help but feel that it wasn't entirely necessary to have quite so much twirling and whirling that distracted from the plot somewhat. The emotionally fractured and cracked nature of the Loman family home was mirrored well by its harsh, jagged angles, while minimalist lighting emphasised the loneliness of the characters. Most effective, however, was when the complex set was removed, leaving Willy's fragile form alone against the cheerful billboard which screamed 'It's LUCKY when you live in America' with barely concealed desperation.
While George Costigan's brilliantly bumbling Willy Loman was both absurd and poignant, it was really Eileen O'Brien who stole the show as Linda. Her portrayal of the ever-suffering, always-waiting wife achieved the perfect balance between meekness and inner strength, continually drawing the eyes of the audience towards her even when silent. In a surprisingly large cast, it was hard not to feel that the older performers were running rings around their younger counterparts, although Joseph Rye's Biff proved an exception to this.
Death of a Salesman is not, nor could ever be, a happy play. You leave feeling uncertain of who to pity and who to blame for the whole messy scenario. As the curtain falls, Miller's gloomy conclusion that we're never really in control of our life hangs heavily in the air, warning us not to kid ourselves with delusions of independence. Despite this, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance, and would recommend it to anyone who fancies seeing an excellent piece of drama by one of the greatest playwrights of the modern age.
Death of a Salesman is showing at the York Theatre Royal until October 29th. Tickets are £5 for students and under-25's.
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