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.