Glengarry Glen Ross: The Really Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

I haven't heard it myself, but I've read several internet posts saying there's a radio commercial out pushing the sterling Broadway revival of Glengarry Glen Ross with the slogan, "Ladies, it's the show your husband wants to see." Personally, I wish the ad agency for Naked Boys Singing had thought of that one first, but obviously they're playing off the stereotype of women dragging their men kicking and screaming to Broadway shows.

But you know something... I'm not sure how comfortable I'd feel being married to someone who would say no to Doubt, The Pillowman, 700 Sundays, Spamalot and everything else between 41st and 66th Streets, but would be happy to attend David Mamet's comedy/drama of ruthless, self-possessed real estate brokers who would prominently list their abilities to lie, cheat and steal on their resumes. Yes, it could be that hubby developed a sudden interest in tight, economic playwriting performed by an exceptional ensemble, but just the same I'd make sure we had separate bank accounts. And I'd change my passwords every day.

Mamet's 1984 Pulitzer Prize winner is centered around the employees of a Chicago real estate office where every negative stereotype about men magically, and realistically, comes to life. It's an aggressive work environment which many would argue to be inherently masculine, where self-advancement is understood to be everyone's goal and it is acceptable to bend truths and play mind games with the guy who has what you want because, in all likelihood, he's trying to do the same to you. Loyalty is only valuable to the extent where it helps you and a weaker ally runs the risk of having his manhood questioned. Mamet neither glorifies nor vilifies these men, but rather lets us safely observe them at a distance.

The title refers to two tracts of Florida land, and the guy who earns the most unloading these lots is rewarded with, along with his sizable commissions, a new Chrysler. There's a chalkboard in the office showing the earnings of the top five salesmen; for the others its motivation by humiliation. Only the top salesmen are rewarded with the prime leads of hot customers. The others are randomly assigned prospects of varying degrees of disinterest. This is just before the time when the internet and cell phones would change the way we communicate forever, so most days are spend making personal appearances and trying to talk the good game.

Head of the list in every respect is Richard Roma. Good looking in an immaculately groomed fashion, he is unabashedly hard-sell, presenting himself as the masculine ideal that inspires leads to prove themselves worthy of his association. Liev Schreiber plays him as a bundle of exacting idiosyncrasies. Just a little broader and he'd be a character from a Saturday Night Live sketch, but under Joe Mantello's direction Schreiber remains disgustingly real. The latest fish he's about to hook is played by Tom Wopat, making his non-musical, dramatic debut. A fellow we're accustomed to seeing playing virile, masculine roles, Wopat is nearly unrecognizable as the nervous and humble prospective buyer.

Earlier in the play we meet Shelly (the Machine) Levine (Alan Alda), an elderly salesman who was a dynamo in his youth, but is now trying to break a long dry spell by bribing the indifferent office manager (Frederick Weller) to give him a few hot leads. Frail, with a continuous tremble, Alda plays Levine as a man physically supported by little more than his own determination, but in Act II he describes how he landed his latest sale with the youthful energy of a high school jock excitedly bragging to his buddy how he finally got the head cheerleader drunk enough to have sex with him.

Levine isn't the only one looking for hot leads. Salesman Dave Moss (a brash Gordon Clapp) cons timid colleague George Aaronow (Jeffrey Tambor) into joining him in a plot to break into the office and steal all the files of prospective buyers. Perhaps they pulled it off or perhaps someone beat them to it by the time Act II begins with the office having been robbed the night before. Set designer Santo Loquasto, who supplied a simple, but sufficiently tacky, Chinese restaurant cut-out for Act I, goes all out in Act II with a large, efficient and soulless office, seemingly given some life by the work of vandals.

Mantello's cast masters the musicality of Mamet's language throughout the perfectly played evening like a chamber ensemble, accenting eccentric rhythms of obscenity-packed dialogue. This is indeed an exquisitely ugly play performed beautifully.

Photos by Scott Landis: Top: Jeffrey Tambor, Jordan Lage, Tom Wopat, Alan Alda, Frederick Weller, Liev Schreiber and Gordon Clapp
Bottom: Alan Alda and Liev Schreiber