Playwright: Arthur Miller. At: Raven Theatre, 6157 N. Clark. Phone: 773-338-2177; $25-$30. Runs through: Dec. 5
Most playgoers know Willy Loman primarily through textual analysis in the classroom. So even when viewing his sorrowful story on the stage, we tend toward academic detachment, blurring our awareness that we are witnessing the last 24 hours—yes, it all happens that fast—of a fundamentally good and innocent man hovering on the brink of a spiritual abyss.
It has always been the American way to chase a dream of betterment for oneself and one's kin. Willy chased the dream, not as an artisan like his father or an adventurer like his brother, but as a purveyor of the dream's seductive promises. After a life devoted to bluff and braggadocio, however, he now finds himself, at age sixty, still pursuing a satisfaction that continues to outpace him.
The first thing we see, entering the auditorium, are a pair of barn-like garage doors, upon which later a video sequence will be projected, sharing with us Willy's long drive down the highway before arriving in the night. The doors then swing open, caliper-style, to reveal the interior of the refuge that is now little more than a mound of debts. Thus are we immediately caught up in the consciousness of this lonely man who exhorts his reluctant children to fulfill his thwarted ambitions, who seeks guidance from the ghost of his enviable brother, and whose loved ones are helpless to halt the anomie that will lead, inexorably, to his destruction.
Which is just how Arthur Miller wanted it. ( Look at the directions in the script, if you don't believe me. ) In a welcome return to the aesthetic that made the Raven Theatre Company what it is today, director Michael Menendian has forged an ensemble dynamic steeped in emotional urgency devoid of study-guide signposts. JoAnn Montemurro rejects Edith-Bunker clichés to make Linda Loman a wife whose loyalty to her spouse remains unswerving despite his flaws, while Jason Huysman and Greg Caldwell convey the heartbreaking frustration of Willy's sons, confronted with their sire's deterioration.
Andrei Onegin's scenic design and Michael Tutaj's score of wistful incidental music keep our universe firmly established in our hero's subjective perception, allowing for a fluidity of movement facilitating Chuck Spencer's vigorous performance as an angry Willy Loman overwhelmed by disillusionment, regret and, ultimately, despair. You may have seen this American classic staged before, and will probably do so again, but never will it haunt you like this timely lesson for a restless society.
