Old Vic, London
16th March, 2019
“The main thing about The Depression is that it
finally hit the white people”
Arthur Miller’s plays seem to have
eternal popularity. This year, productions of some of his major plays – All My Sons, Death of a Salesman and The
Price – are being staged, the former of which is the Old Vic’s next
production featuring a cast including Bill Pullman and Sally Field. The Old Vic
has paired this with one of Miller’s lesser known plays, The American Clock. First staged in New York in 1980 (opening and
closing in the same month), it’s not one of Miller’s finest. His sprawling view
of Depression-era New York lacks potency, perhaps because of its lack of focus
and (usually a Miller staple) plot, something not resolved in Rachel Chavkin’s
production. Nevertheless, I was fully engaged by the production’s steady grip
of the vaudeville style and atmosphere of the era.
Miller’s memoirs Timebends give an idea of the breadth
and scope of Miller’s life. His depiction of growing up in New York surrounded
by a large family is especially vivid. Miller himself, then, from living
through that time and in that place brings authority to writing about the 1930s
and the Crash’s effect on ordinary people. But Miller also draws on Studs
Terkel’s Hard Times: An Oral History of
the Great Depression. There are occasional nods to this, most notably when
characters address the audience with ‘This is what happened’-style asides. Perhaps
this should give the play a flare of docudrama, perhaps to add to the
authenticity, but it quickly loses conviction and can detract from the drama.
I keep reading this being described
as a ‘kaleidoscopic social history’ play, but we only get a brief glimpse of
the boom pre-1929. After that, Miller documents the breadth of the struggle: top
floor hotel rooms being hired out for bankers to jump from, the average family
having to pawn jewellery, the young aspirational having to put aside his dreams
for something more practical. The realisation that there were a system which
was now failing with widespread effect is reflected in this kaleidoscopic form.
But rather than a panoramic view of America, it feels more localised to New
York City. Yes, we see people threatened with lynching when trying to auction a
farm, as well as someone’s trip to the South where they’d been experiencing the
Depression all their lives. But most of the play seems to be split between
Manhattan and Brooklyn, where peoples’ zeal for life is largely undeterred.
Memorable characters include a Marxist cartoonist drawing Superman stripboards;
and a wannabe Cole Porter, certain that he’s only one hit away from solving the
family’s financial woes. It’s testament to Miller’s writing that this optimism
still shines through, and that characters make an impression after only being
in one or two scenes.
The anchor of the play though is
the Baum family, the mother, father, son of whom are played here by trio of
actors. The effect of this, I suppose, is to stress that their story is also
the story of other families echoed across the cultural melting pot of New York
City. But this decision lacks coherence. This is not because it’s unclear that
they’re playing members of the same family because it is. But by adding to the
multitude of voices and characters, maybe it dilutes the drama. But then again,
some of the most memorable scenes are also the most fleeting. But when much of
the play is sprawling, some of it perhaps superfluous, I was yearning for the classic
Miller nuclear family.
But the production remains
enjoyable: Justin Ellington’s score is brought to life by a jazz trio, and
Chloe Lamford’s design, which also incorporates audience members at the back of
the stage, emphasises the Vaudeville element, further helped by Ann Yee’s
choreography. But just as the country actually belonged to the people in these
times, this production belongs to its cast, all bringing a pep and zeal to the
show that brings hope to hopeless times.
The
American Clock played at the Old Vic until 30th March
 |
| the cast of The American Clock. Credit: Manuel Harlan. |
No comments:
Post a Comment