Sunday, July 20, 2008
It’s every man for himself at this real estate business.
The most surprising — and depressing — news about “Glengarry Glen Ross,” David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning 1984 play, is how relevant it still seems. Written during the “greed is good” economic boom cycle of the early ’80s, Mamet’s masterpiece held up a none-too-flattering mirror to all of the junior league .
Gordon Gekkos hustling their way to ignominy, or worse. The smallish, but wildly enthusiastic audience that greeted the Youngstown Playhouse’s brilliant, all-star production of “Glengarry” on Friday night was clearly familiar with the play, or at least the justly lauded 1992 movie version starring Al Pacino and Jack Lemmon. During intermission, I overheard several theatergoers comparing notes on the Playhouse versus Hollywood version. It’s a testament to veteran director Joseph Scarvell and his illustrious cast that the Playhouse’s “Glengarry Glen Ross” seemed to be the clear winner.
Set against the backdrop of a Chicago real estate office over two tumultuous days, Mamet’s drama isn’t really about the real estate business per se.
Instead, it’s a lacerating metaphor for any workplace environment where surface joviality and camaraderie masks an every-man-for-himself Darwinism. Ricky Roma (John Cox), Dave Moss (Christopher Fidram), Shelly “The Machine” Levene (Tim McGinley) and George Aaronow (John Holt) are all ruthlessly vying for their office’s “Salesman of the Month” prize.
The competition has reduced George to a blubbering mess, and whiny Shelly wears his craven camouflage gear. If Ricky is the most brazenly upfront about his deviousness and treachery, closet snake Dave appears to be the most venal and vindictive of an unsavory lot. Sitting on the sidelines and watching them stew in their misery is office manager John Williamson (John Pecano) who takes an unhealthy delight in his god-like status.
The title refers to some Florida real estate property that the sales team is trying to dump.
But the Glengarry leads — and it’s all about the “leads” for these doubletalking charlatans — is ultimately as meaningless as Godot was in Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot.” What Mamet is addressing here is the heart of darkness lurking in every man’s soul when the clock is ticking and their backs are against the wall. The timelessness of the play’s theme makes this very ’80s-centric work (notice the lack of cellphones and laptops in the office) seem as if it could have been written yesterday instead of a quarter century ago.
Mamet’s genius for writing dialogue — particularly gleefully profane dialogue copiously laced with “f-bombs” — was at its peak in “Glengarry Glen Ross,” and the superb Playhouse cast doesn’t miss a staccato beat or (Harold) Pinter-ian pause. The ease with which they slip under the skin of their slimy characters is an enviable feat of theatrical alchemy.
Cox brings a refined sleaziness to Ricky that’s as hilarious as it is frightening. When he snaps his gum, it almost sounds like a gunshot. During a Chinese restaurant scene in Act One, Cox plays with a set of chopsticks, brandishing them like they were nunchucks.
Genius.
Holt again proves he’s a master of understatement as the groveling, weak-willed, George; Fidram’s bullish, blustering Dave simmers like a teapot threatening to explode at any minute; McGinley bravely refuses to sentimentalize or soften old timer Shelly the way that some actors have done (including Lemmon in the “Glengarry” film); and Pecano glowers contemptuously as the unctuous John. Every word out of his mouth is like a stealth missile.
Jack Ballantyne cuts a suitably abject figure as Ricky’s latest mark, and David Wolford makes every second of his limited stage time count as the hard-nosed cop investigating a suspicious office break-in. In an opening monologue nimbly borrowed from the movie version (it didn’t exist in the original play), David El’Hatton delivers the kind of scathing “pep talk” that would make even the most experienced sales rep duck for cover (“I’d wish you luck, but I don’t think you’d know what to do with it”).
Scarvell, a master of taut pacing and crackerjack timing, continues his winning streak over two terse acts. And the spartan, stylized set with its fluorescent lights pitilessly beating down gives the office the look and feel of a waiting room in hell (Scarvell, Jim Lybarger and Pecano were responsible for the scenic and lighting design).
It’s always bracing to see a local theater company tackle an uncompromisingly adult play that makes no concessions to the dinner theater crowd. It’s even more exciting when they actually manage to pull it off. This is a “Glengarry Glen Ross” that people will be talking about for years. I’d strongly advise you not to miss it.
(Final note: “Glengarry Glen Ross” also inaugurates the Playhouse’s new 7:30 curtain time, a most welcome addition to the community theater scene.)