Nearly 75 years after its original premiere, what many consider to be the defining play of modernism comes anew to Columbia. While he may not be Willy Loman, Patrick Michael Kelly (Director) certainly seeks to make his intangible tangible as he brings Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman to a 2022 Columbia, South Carolina, audience.
It's surely nearly impossible to predict the audience for this particular production of Miller’s 1949 work—in this city you could draw anyone from curious supporters unfamiliar with the play to longtime lovers and scholars who have chased it to Broadway and published work on it. What’s pervasive though is the tale itself and what it says about the America we live in.
As Kelly asserted in our show preview, his goal was to tap into this relatability of the play through the act of “decoloniz[ing] and deconstruct[ing]” it, which he did through diverse casting and a simple, shifting stage. The casting of the actor that performs best versus the one who may be expected is always refreshing—and this cast certainly is incredible. The stage design highlights this cast, with the small stage (designed by Patrick Faulds) being used smartly, its minimalism emphasizing the failure of the house—an image so important to the story—with rooms feeling collapsed and seemingly every space and place in the play existing on top of itself. At the same time, some added claustrophobia to the apartment or some more emphasis on the monolith that is New York City could have added to the character of the piece, and some set choices, like the decision to use a briefcase in lieu of a headstone in the closing scene, feel a bit on the nose.
Right on the money are the costumes, led by Andie Nicks, which fit the period while also having a somewhat timeless quality. All-in-all, though, they are understated and wisely don’t overwhelm the characters. Characters and outfits alike were clear in the lighting (also led by Faulds), which was consistent throughout the show, with the occasional flourish, though some variation in the opening scene would have been apt; for instance, going lights down on the bedroom with inactive parties and lights up on the bedroom with active dialogue could have added dimension.
Fortunately, character dimension is not something this production is lacking. Deon Turner and Jon Whit play convincing brothers as they step into the shoes of Biff and Happy, respectively. Potentially recognized by Columbia audiences as recent lead and supporting actors in Trustus’ True Crime Rep, Turner and Whit bring heart and passion into the Loman sons. Turner, specifically, aptly embodies the bubbling rage threatening to spill over on his father at any given moment.
Libby Campbell is a tour-de-force as Linda, not surprising giving her varied, lengthy background as a performer in the city. She is gentle and firm, protective of her husband to a fault, but still very much her own person. Campbell has a distinct control and mastery of her facial expressions that are both easily readable and consistently poignant. And stepping into the shoes of Willy Loman himself is Paul Kaufmann, another Columbia acting veteran who convincingly throws himself into the desperation of a man losing every ounce of hope and possibility he once saw in the world. Kaufmann plays Loman loud but delicately; he has a presence on stage that is electric though not exactly nameable—he’s one of those figures you can’t really look away from, which is perfect for portraying the failing salesman.
Rounding out the cast is a delight of supporting characters, who each hold their own in a script of individually perceived larger-than-life figures. Jeff Smith plays an almost mythical Uncle Ben; Ripley Thames and Jonathan Yi excel as the neighboring father-son duo; and Roderick Haynes Jr., Emily Meadows, and Caroline McGee succeed at making individual their multiple characters each.
The four main cast members play well off of each other, feeling very much like a family, though one in which there is disconnect. This disconnect, for the most part, does feel intentional, as this is a story about people who just can’t see each other regardless of how hard they try. What the audience is left longing for, though, is added nuance in the performances. Whether a result of directorial decisions or simply logistics of performing without mics, there isn’t much variation in the level/tenor of speaking. Sure, during the arguments and climactic moments the yelling is quite distinct—and quite good—but there’s a certain consistent bravado to everyone’s performances that doesn’t quite seem earned.
This is a play about four people who are constantly struggling to know who they are, who are building themselves from foundations that were never stable, and over the course of only a day (about 2.5 hours sans intermission in real time), slowly hurtle (oxymoron intended) towards the reckoning of their foundational façades. This movement asks for a similar movement in the performances, which is not always present. Happy, for instance, is a little too, well, happy. Happy Loman is an ironic figure because he is so desperate to please that he doesn’t even realize how inherently unhappy he is, which is pervasive throughout the script, but only comes out in glimpses in the production. More quiet movements and comfort with silence and pauses in all the Lomans may have created a more apt tone. In fact, there are few plays where the tone is as important as this one.
And, ultimately, even amidst the strong acting, the tone is where the play falls short. There appears a desire in this production to make the play humorous—not to make it a comedy, but to lean into potential comedic moments and emphasize tone and brief beats as if to elicit and expect laughter. Willy’s comments on arresting those who cut down his trees or his anger at Charley for playing a card that he thinks is his aren’t meant to be funny. Of course, this is completely up to the director to interpret; however, it’s disconcerting hearing the audience laughing along when you know what’s to come, and although this isn’t inherently problematic, the humor minimizes the bone-chilling persistent longing and desperation throughout the script. These moments feel in conflict even with elements of the production itself, like the sound design, also led by Kelly, which keenly upholds the eerie nature of the script.
Perhaps the director and cast wanted new audiences who enjoy various genres to have multiple avenues of entry into the story. Perhaps the goal was to highlight the humor to make even starker the dark moments. However, this is a play about a man who has given all of himself away for a dream that never existed, a reality that never was or will be. He has projected it onto his wife and his children, created a rot that seeped into the house and that this family may never be fully free from—mortgage paid or not. This play ends with Willy Loman’s final attempt to make his way ‘into the jungle,’ to make tangible its distant diamonds by giving away the only thing he ever really had a stake in: his own life. The script knows this. The family knows this. This rooted rot has not just now begun to seep. Every word spoken by a member of this household is speaking with the pervasive, inherent knowledge that disillusion can no longer be staved off—regardless of to what degree they explicitly recognize it. The continued distractions of this through making light of certain lines of dialogue or interactions may make the play appear dynamic on the surface but, in the end, misses the mark. Even whipped cheese and bad flirting cannot cut through the tendrils wrapped thick around this family, which makes these decisions feel out of place.
The attempts to bring this story into 2022 are best done through the moments that stay the truest to the script itself. Willy and Biff’s climactic shouting and crying match strikes right to the heart of the audience. Happy’s assertion that he will be able to avenge his father’s death fills the viewer with dread and unease. And Linda’s echoing, closing “we’re free” only convinces the audience that they certainly are not. In these moments, the production shines—it’s effervescent.
The fact of the matter is, though Death of a Salesman may be a relic of its time, it is simultaneously timeless. It doesn’t need tonal flourishes to bring it into an era it is still so reflective of. We all already are the “dime-a-dozen” Willy Lomans whose only potential way forward is to accept who we are—and even in that there is no promise. There is nothing bigger than that. There doesn’t need to be.
Miller’s play has and continues to speak for itself, and Kelly’s production at times aptly emphasizes this, and at times undermines it. The strength of its actors is sure to strike pride in Columbia audiences, and it’s a feat that, even with its occasional moments asking for more nuance, locals should not miss out on. For those new to the play, it is likely to be an experience rife with passion that fills viewers with a spectrum of emotions. For Death of a Salesman lovers, however, the heart of Miller’s script, though there, remains, in part, intangible.