Depression comes in many forms, but it always tries to escape through dreams. Andy Arnold and Trafalgar theatre’s production of the classroom classic, Death of a Salesman, in collaboration with Raw Material Productions, proves why this play hasn’t been put down in 80 years.
We are greeted by a bare set, consisting simply of two windows, a wooden back panel and side-lining chairs for the performers to sit-in, when not on stage. This simple Brechtian device allows for the full width of the stage to be used and contributes to the small moments of subtle metatheatricality that are interwoven throughout. Neil Haynes’ bare set is overshadowed by a beautiful back panel painting of the two elm trees which Loman reminisces for. Typical of a realist adaptation, here symbolism is heavily infused into every theatrical decision, and as Beaton’s lighting expands across the trees, their meaning evolves from familial and nostalgic to a lost world, or even a world that might have never even existed in the first place. Beaton’s lighting is incredibly effective ensuring the most simple sceneology and flexible transitions as patches of light illuminate different sides of the stage for different scenes. As we descend into Loman’s confused psychological world, it is lighting that conjoins the imaginary and real, diffusing any physical borders or distinctions between the two.
David Hayman’s lead performance from the very start shines through. He balances the tightrope of psychological breakdown in a convincing and compelling manner. With little set or costume change, his pure physicality, even in a realist performance, allows for clear temporal jumps from his middle-aged hay-day to his current aged self. The suicidal ideation is delivered seriously but not dramatically and his final scene and monologue is a breathtaking example of this. When Beaton’s strobe lights flood the audience to signify Loman’s death, my tears, and I’m sure the tears of many others, were exposed in the spotlight. But it is Daniel Cahill, in the vital role of Biff, that really makes the piece vital. He prowls across the stage, with years of anger brewed up just below the skin, with an electricity that feels ready to explode at any moment. And yet, the tragedy is found in the way Cahill explores hope. It is not through the delusions of Willy, but the dreams of Biff that carries the seed of hope, the most necessary part of a tragedy, to the audience.
Arnold’s Death of a Salesman is an ode to dreams. In a time when little feels possible and most hope feels lost, Arnold does not imbue us with false optimism, but tells us a wonderful story about a family who dreamed. The dangers of this and the joy in it too. The painting of the two elms perfectly encapsulates this homage. An artistic impression of what we hope is still corporeal, but has long been cut down.
Image courtesy of Capital Theatres