NEW YORK — The seismic “Death of a Salesman” revival now on Broadway begins with the crank of a garage door retracting and the crunch of a mid-century Chevy grinding to a stop. As the headlights flooded the Winter Garden Theatre at a recent performance, then dimmed once the ignition ceased, my vision readjusted to the dark, and I saw more than a few flashes.
I got stars in my eyes, in other words. What a way to reintroduce Willy Loman and his tragic tale of toxic idealism.
When Nathan Lane staggers out of that red 1964 Chevelle Malibu — one of several anachronisms purposefully peppered throughout this timeless revival — he dutifully carries the labored gait and wearied tenor of a man crippled by the fallibility of the American Dream. That much remains consistent with many stagings of Arthur Miller’s 1949 masterpiece, ever the incisive indictment of misplaced pride and suffocating capitalism.
Yet the man behind the wheel here has his own ideas. Steering this memory play into the abstract, director Joe Mantello hypnotically weaves through the traffic of Willy’s muddled mind — past and present, real and hallucinatory — without veering off the road. Chloe Lamford’s grimy industrial set leaves space for characters to linger around its edges, hauntingly waiting for their cues to enter the fray. Certain sights seem to appear out of nowhere, conjured in one understated coup de théâtre after another, and Caroline Shaw’s score rings of unsettling dissonance.
Although Lane may seem an unexpected vessel for such hardship, the casting proves inspired. Inhabiting a cash-strapped road warrior, grasping for purpose in a world that no longer sees any in him, Lane plays Willy like an aging song-and-dance man tired of singing for his supper. Brief pops of optimism — a flashback here, a joyful respite there — summon Lane’s inherent charm. It’s devastating to see such a paragon of joy crumble.
That the ever-reliable Laurie Metcalf proves his match as Willy’s wife, Linda, is inevitable. Channeling her unique brand of forceful exasperation, Metcalf delivers an “attention must be paid” monologue for the ages. Christopher Abbott plays the couple’s older son, Biff, with a simmering ferocity — sleeves rolled, jaw clenched — that spectacularly boils over. “The Gilded Age’s” Ben Ahlers is a firecracker as the chest-puffing younger brother Happy. That Mantello has added actors to play the younger versions of Biff and Happy (Joaquin Consuelos and Jake Termine, respectively) underscores the brothers’ disillusioned transformation.
Only three years have passed since these characters were last on Broadway, in an acclaimed Wendell Pierce-led revival. Yet Mantello’s staging has no trouble justifying its existence. Eerily atmospheric and impeccably cast, this “Death of a Salesman” finds vitality in the macabre.
Death of a Salesman Through Aug. 9 at the Winter Garden Theatre in New York. About 2 hours 50 minutes. salesmanbroadway.com.
Here’s a roundup of four more productions now on Broadway:
‘Cats: The Jellicle Ball’
The inherent absurdity of “Cats,” Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1981 musical about fantastical felines jockeying for rebirth (I think?), has become theatrical canon. Tom Hooper’s catastrophic 2019 film adaptation only amplified the perception.
So it’s a triumph of reinvention that the Broadway revival — a celebration of queer ballroom culture billed as “Cats: The Jellicle Ball” — imbues this (cat scratch) fever dream of a show with not just rousing exuberance but also, at long last, narrative cohesion.
Directed by Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch, this production reframes “Cats” as a series of dance battles and runway duels. Rum Tum Tugger (Sydney James Harcourt) is now a suave stud with a penchant for shedding his clothes, while Gus the Theatre Cat (Junior LaBeija) is a revered old queen. Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat (a mesmerizing Emma Sofia) is a MetroCard-flouting scamp. Grizabella (“Tempress” Chasity Moore) is a past-her-prime diva still lugging around a weathered trophy of yesteryear. As Old Deuteronomy, the inimitable André De Shields — whose Playbill bio, correctly, labels him a “Broadway deity” — commands the catwalk with gravitas that channels his 80 years and impishness that belies it.
As synth-powered entertainment, it’s exhilarating. As a display of loose-limbed fabulosity, it’s a marvel. As a beacon of gay liberation, it’s affirming. After relishing this production’s 2024 off-Broadway run, staged at the more immersive Perelman Performing Arts Center, I worried that something would be broken in its Midtown relocation. But the entire vision — Omari Wiles and Arturo Lyons’s vibrant choreography, Rachel Hauck’s sleek set, Qween Jean’s breathtaking costumes — feels refreshingly at home on Broadway.
Ultimately, that’s on me for doubting. I should’ve known that “Cats” would have another life.
Cats: The Jellicle Ball Ongoing at the Broadhurst Theatre. About 2 hours 25 minutes. catsthejellicleball.com.
‘Dog Day Afternoon’
A less-successful adaptation is “Dog Day Afternoon,” playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis’s take on the botched 1972 Brooklyn bank robbery that inspired the Oscar-winning movie with Al Pacino. Starring “The Bear’s” Jon Bernthal and Ebon Moss-Bachrach as the bungling crooks — whose in-and-out operation devolves into a 14-hour hostage situation — this Rupert Goold-directed pressure cooker foregrounds the farce that always underpinned the Sidney Lumet film.
It’s a perfectly valid formula that could have used significant recalculation. By funneling a barrage of quips and gags to our supporting players — an emasculated detective (John Ortiz), a plucky chief teller (Jessica Hecht) and a hapless security guard (Danny Johnson) — Guirgis delivers a giggly first act that undermines the bloody second. The play thus squanders fine performances from Moss-Bachrach, who portrays the underwritten Sal as a sad sack on the edge, and Bernthal, who expertly negotiates both Sonny’s unearned swagger and his stealthy soft side.
When “Dog Day Afternoon” does grasp at sincerity, it instead snags more laughter from an audience that has been conditioned for a different kind of play. Pressing Sonny for insight, Ortiz’s hostage negotiator puts it best: “What’s with the sudden shift of tone?”
Dog Day Afternoon Through July 12 at the August Wilson Theatre. About 2 hours 15 minutes. dogdayafternoon.com.
‘Giant’
Much of the buzz around “Giant,” Mark Rosenblatt’s blistering play about the fallout from Roald Dahl’s antisemitism, centers on John Lithgow’s depiction of the “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” author. Rightfully so: Lithgow plays Dahl like a powder keg, lacing his curmudgeonly tenor and literary loquaciousness with cold condescension. The transformative performance earned Lithgow an Olivier Award for last year’s London premiere and will probably net him a Tony Award come June.
But the merits of this character study by way of crisis management drama extend well beyond Lithgow’s towering presence. Precisely directed by Nicholas Hytner, the 1983-set “Giant” surrounds Dahl with intensely invested parties. Aya Cash convincingly spirals from nervy control to righteous rage as the American publishing envoy sent to coax an apology out of Dahl. Elliot Levey nimbly inhabits a British executive — ever pacing, his hands pocketed — who would rather not ruffle Dahl’s feathers. And Rachael Stirling deftly portrays Felicity Crosland, Dahl’s second wife, who plays both sides of the damage-control game.
Together, they execute a taxonomy of Dahl’s bigotry. For all the imagined discourse and diatribes, Rosenblatt shrewdly leaves space for Dahl to hang himself with his own rope and caps “Giant” with the most of chilling of real-life quotes. Want to separate art from the artist? Not on Rosenblatt’s watch.
Giant Through June 28 at the Music Box Theatre. About 2 hours 20 minutes. gianttheplay.com.
‘Becky Shaw’
Madeline Brewer as the title character doesn’t appear until late in the first act of “Becky Shaw,” but it’s clear enough why her name adorns the play: She’s the grenade thrown into a riveting game of psychological warfare.
Gina Gionfriddo’s biting comedy centers on pseudo-siblings — Alden Ehrenreich’s smug Max and Lauren Patten’s impulsive Suzanna, who grew up in the same house but aren’t related — and the aftermath of the messy decision to consummate their affections. Also caught in this tangled web of resentments and microaggressions: the sublime Linda Emond as Lauren’s straight-talking mother; “The Pitt’s” Patrick Ball as an earnest man who storms into Lauren’s life; and Brewer as Max’s hot mess of a blind date (who may be more Machiavellian than she appears).
Trip Cullman oversees a sharp production that will leave you in stitches, anchored by Ehrenreich’s delicious performance as a man unafraid to be insufferable. “If you look hard at anyone,” Emond’s character observes late in the play, “you will be revolted.” And in this case, undeniably entranced.
Becky Shaw Through June 14 at the Hayes Theatre. About 2 hours 30 minutes. 2st.com.
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