Glengarry Glen Ross

Glengarry Glen Ross
By David Mamet. Melbourne Theatre Company, The Sumner, Southbank Theatre (VIC). 5 July – 9 August 2014

This play is about: selling.  Fiercely competitive, testosterone-fuelled, live-or-die, dog-eat-dog selling.  Winning means bragging rights, (temporary) power and money.  Failure means emasculation and humiliation.  The ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ of the title is a housing development in the ‘mountains’ of Florida.  There are as yet no houses, only ‘views’.  In other words, it’s a con – but also, in this 1984 play by David Mamet, a device.  

‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ is what Mamet’s real estate agents (or ‘realtors’ in American English) in Chicago have to sell.  They, no doubt, have never seen the Florida site; they don’t care and it doesn’t matter.  Mamet adds a layer of irony in that what’s for sale is pitched as ‘the future’ and a wise investment, but is an illusion and a con. To add to the pressure on our four salesmen, their bosses – Mitch and Murray, never seen – have spiced things up.  Every month, you gotta get on the board – by selling, of course – and he who sells the most gets a Cadillac.  Second gets a set of steak knives.  Third gets fired.  To sell you gotta have the ‘premium leads’ – that is, to the likely customers.  The leads are very valuable; they can be sold to another realtor.  And so, Moss (Greg Stone), jack of his company’s management, plans to steal the leads, but he needs an accomplice.  He tries Aaronow (Rodney Afif), adding a little blackmail.  Meanwhile, Shelley Levene (John McTernan) is on a losing streak; he begs the office manager, Williamson (Nick Barkla) to get him those leads.  Williamson will – for a cut and $50 each up front.  And hotshot Ricky Roma (Alex Dimitriades) finds a mark in indecisive James Lingk (Brett Cousins). That’s the set-up for what, really, is a quite simple plot, established in three two-hander scenes in a Chinese restaurant.  Next day, at the office, the place has been trashed and the ‘premium leads’ stolen.  Mamet isn’t a writer for too many twists and turns.  For him, drama isn’t about ‘character’; it comes down to three questions.  Who wants what from whom?  What happens when they get there?  Why now?  Get that right and ‘character’ can look after itself.

As a play that rests on dialogue and therefore performance, the presentation here, by director Alkinos Tsilimidos, is wisely straightforward and no frills – although the set-up two-handers might be too static, denying the actors much body language and removing any hint that they might be overheard.  The trashed office of Act II (shabby and utilitarian - effective design by Shaun Gurton) is ‘real’ – and why do anything else?  Likewise, Nigel Levings’ lighting.  Tristan Meredith’s music and sound design must be good because it never draws attention to itself and I didn’t notice it.  There isn’t a lot of scope for Jill Johanson’s costumes with this show, but there are some nice touches: for instance, hotshot Roma’s fire engine red tie, Aaronow’s all brown ensemble and Levene’s Cuban heels and dowdy plaid sports jacket.

Mamet’s always very clear about ‘character function’: where does each character fit and how do they affect the action?  Greg Stone is an always strong performer.  Here he brings heft to the role of man who’s losing his mojo, setting up a crime and managing to whine and be aggressive at the same time.  I felt for Rodney Afif since his character really has no action to play; the poor guy is confused and bewildered and that’s about it.  Brett Cousins (Red Stitch veteran) downplays his usual cool presence to portray a vacillating schmuck.  Justin Stewart Cotta is the tough, no nonsense cop.  Nick Barkla plays the office manager without a hint of wanting to be liked and  I suspect that this is the character Mamet likes least.  He’s not ‘out there on a smile and a shoestring’ like the others (these guys are ten times more aggressive and offensive than Willy Loman).  Williamson ‘manages’ – that is, enforces the rules.  He’s sleazy, cold and opportunist, and when suspicion turns on him we really want him to be the culprit – or at least to take the fall.

An interesting and last minute cast change is John McTernan as the desperate Shelley Levene.  The role was meant to be played by Steve Bisley, who had to withdraw due to illness in the play’s opening week.  Mr Bisley would have been very interesting – even tragic - as the Bisley persona is not at all that of a loser.  Nevertheless Mr McTernan is ‘right’ even if we know from the start there’s no way he can win.  The actor is still carrying his text around – unsurprising given the complexity of Mamet’s dialogue – and that inhibits him in a few patches until he really takes off in the second act.  Like many actors, maybe being able to move helps in remembering and delivering the text.

The standout of the show, however, has to be Alex Dimitriades, although his character has no direct effect on the plot per se.  Mr Dimitriades exhibits the same hyper-masculinity as we saw in the best episodes of the television series The Slap.  A subtext of anger, beguiling by intimidation, cocky, strutting and menacing when thwarted.  Yes, Mamet gave him the words, but Mr Dimitriades makes the most of them.

When this Pulitzer Prize winning play hit the stage in 1984 it was a sensation.  It wasn’t just the constant ‘profanities’ (the word ‘fuck’ occurs over 150 times); it was the portrayal and examination of male aggression.  It’s male aggression not among soldiers or criminals, but among salesmen.  Like David Milch’s characters in Deadwood, obscenity is itself aggression; it’s the pre-emptive strike, it’s to overwhelm and defeat and demean.  The setting might be a realtor’s office in Chicago in 1984, but it’s a war zone without mercy.  Many people may remember the movie adaptation from 1992 with its fabulous cast.  This is the original before Mamet added and expanded a little.  As for it’s being from the ‘80s, the play hasn’t dated.  Nothing’s changed.

Michael Brindley

Image: Greg Stone (Dave Moss) and Rodney Afif (Geogre Aaronow). Photo © Jeff Busby.

Subscribe to our E-Newsletter, buy our latest print edition or find a Performing Arts book at Book Nook.