Closers

Glengarry Glen Ross at the Schoenfeld Theater

 

            If it was not clear before, it has become abundantly clear now—Al Pacino is Glengarry Glen Ross.  Of course, he is so many other things—the Godfather, Tony Montana, and Scent of a Woman’s Colonel Frank Slade, to name a few—but truly Mamet’s brilliant depiction of a 1980s real estate sales office has become inexorably tied up with his name and face.  In 1992, when the critically acclaimed film version was released, Pacino played Ricky Roma, the hotshot young salesman who inspires a strange combination of jealousy and reverence in his coworkers (played in the film by, among others, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, and Jack Lemmon).  Today, in the masterful, enticing, and perfectly cast Broadway revival, he plays elderly, washed-up salesman Shelly “The Machine” Levene, in a true sign of the times.  It’s no coincidence that in the film, Roma seemed to be the main character.  A mysterious and indefinable enigma, Roma was the office’s God—vengeful to some, benevolent to others.  Nor is it coincidence that in the revival, Levene becomes the main character.  He’s a kind man, a man whose egotism you can forgive because you are (strangely for a Pacino character) so unequivocally on his side.  Yes, Al Pacino is Glengarry, and he’s back in business.

            That’s not to say Pacino is the only attraction in this cast of brilliant, shining stars.  Bobby Cannavale applies his own high-society, well-groomed take to Ricky Roma, and John C. McGinley puts all his fire to use as the angry, spiteful Dave Moss.  Other highlights include David Harbour as a cruel yet oddly sympathetic John Williamson, and Clybourne Park’s Jeremy Shamos as Roma’s weak-willed mark, James Lingk, but the cast shines as a whole.  Together they perform Mamet in a new and exciting way, as a piece that deserves to be heard rather than “experienced.”  Most Mamet is rapid-fire and could be said to charge at you with the vigor of a rhinoceros, but this production allows you to truly hear the words and feel the emotions of the shockingly talented group at work on stage.  Perhaps, after almost 30 years and six productions, the cast feels that we should truly appreciate the genius at work in the effortless words Mamet wrote.  I happen to agree.

            The story is one of crime, redemption, and soul-crushing failure.  Moving from a Chinese restaurant in the first act to the sales office in the second (both built, averagely, by scenic designer Eugene Lee), Mamet penned the tale of desperate Chicago real estate salesman who would do anything to get a signature on the dotted line—lie, cheat, steal, or fight to get ahead.  The loud, angry, and utterly profane battle is fought in furious tirades directed at whomever the character feels is keeping them from his goal.  (The cast of the film jokingly referred to it as “Death of a Fuckin’ Salesman.”)  Soon enough, it becomes clear who the worst of the bunch is, and how little or how much the rest of them will net in commission along the way.

            In short, Glengarry is an adventure, if a limited one, but a memorable one.  Each line is perfectly formed, as a Shakespeare couplet had he known a few more four-letter words.  Among the great two-act plays in the theater world, and among modern playwrights, there is little to nothing like Glengarry or David Mamet.  And as Mamet moves further and further into the late years of his career, and begins producing only plays like the universally panned The Anarchist, we must savor Glengarry Glen Ross even more each day.

They Look Happy to Meet Us

The Sound of Music at the Paper Mill Playhouse

            The principal feeling upon exiting Paper Mill Playhouse’s new production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s exuberant masterpiece The Sound of Music is relief, but it would be fair to say that it is mixed almost evenly with revelation.

            The Sound of Music is, of course, perfect, and this production is, in kind, perfect.  Most productions of the musical have two faults—one being that the actress portraying the lead, Maria von Trapp the singing governess, is not nor will ever be Dame Julie Andrews.  The other—and this is nearly irrefutable—is that children cannot act.        
            Thankfully, Paper Mill overcomes these constant aesthete’s tribulations with the greatest of ease, casting as Maria the lanky, energetic, and appropriately tomboyish Elena Shaddow, who, while not (sadly) being Dame Julie Andrews, is equipped with an altogether different set of tools, which go excellently to work on the Paper Mill’s mammoth stage.  She can sing, act, and dance without any misguided assumptions about the character or any lighthearted but unnecessary ebullience.  She goes at the part with a satisfied and admirable determination, joyously and with the power and stage presence of a (dare I say it?) Dame Julie Andrews.

            As for the other issue, the von Trapp children (respectively, Chelsea Morgan Stock, Sean McManus, Amanda Harris, Hunter A. Kovacs, Maya Fortgang, Gracie Beardsley, and Greta Clark) can—glory be—act!  Such rapturous magic is at work on the stage that one could break down and weep!  Here is a musical to make you believe in God!—or in such a vein were my thoughts upon their entrance.  So rare is it in musical theater to find a child with actual dynamic ability that these von Trapps are ones to make your hair stand on end.

            And truthfully, I thank whatever power oversees musical providence (or casting agents Tesley and Company—whoever reads this first) that someone is doing The Sound of Music justice, because that is exactly what it deserves.  In the halls of musical history, Rodgers and Hammerstein stand alone, and The Sound of Music stands alone in their works.  It is a musical bordering on the divine.  The libretto, music, and lyrics are all equally sublime (no surprise it later won the Tony for Best Musical and, as a film, the Academy Award for Best Picture).

            It is a constant reminder, however, that nine months after its Broadway premiere, Oscar Hammerstein died of cancer, breaking up a composing duo legendary in the annals of the Jewish-American Broadway mogul.  It is fair to say that when he is mourned, a part of his fans’ dismay is that he and Richard Rodgers would never write another Sound of Music, let alone another Oklahoma! or South Pacific.  When Hammerstein died, the final true testament to his lyrical brilliance in conjunction with Rodgers’ light, lilting, altogether cheery music was this ingenious contribution to American cultural history.  Rodgers wrote other musicals later in his life, with other contributors (Do I Hear a Waltz? with Stephen Sondheim, Rex with Sheldon Harnick), but they were never the same.  They didn’t have the same je ne sais quoi as songs like “Edelweiss,” that could be played over and over again and never become mind-numbing.  The gist of it is that they weren’t perfect.

            But we can get down on our knees with the nuns of Nonnberg Abbey that a theater with as noble a tradition as the Paper Mill Playhouse is performing this magnum opus.  We should all feel lucky that, though today we are void of comparable geniuses, we can enjoy perfection from the past written by those who have long left us behind.