Perceval's set consists of a leather sofa, an armchair, a television set - and a forest, into which Ben enters and comes back a rich man. The forest, which discreetly overtakes the stage design, is at the same time a dense jungle and an over-the-top ornament. The family members and business clients who inhabit Willy Loman's life come out of this forest one after the other.
Willy does not even seem to realise that there is a forest, because he spends most of his time sitting on the sofa, staring at his television set. The TV takes on a role of its own in the play. It shows news broadcasts, commercials and quiz games, but the content is almost irrelevant. What matters is that whoever sits in front of the TV set starts watching it in a hypnotic state. The pulsating images enchant and fixate. One may interpret this as the criticism of media-driven society or even as a political statement. However, when Biff breaks into his rage, a rather different and more sensual interpretation emerges: while the distressed boy, who can hardly express himself with words, shatters everything and screams incoherently, Willy silently stares at the screen. It is beyond doubt that everyone in this family is challenged in some way - to use a politically correct expression. Next to the salesman, Linda (Carola Regnier) is the other "set object" on this stage. She spends the majority of the performance unconscious, sleeping in her armchair. Her noble and stark expression shows all the pain of decades with Willy. Whatever went on, she endured and kept at the pretence of a fragile order. We learn early on that she cannot even rely on her two sons, who are completely opposite in character, but equally unfortunate in life. André Szymanski presents a well-groomed and lazy Happy who embodies the combination of a professional orator and a repelling showman. He pours out his twisted stream of sentences without stopping for breath. Behind the rhetoric, there is no room for a soul. The robust Bruno Cathomas plays Biff. His body seems to encapsulate that of a child: the hyper-sensitive baby-giant who weeps and is unable to express himself in full sentences.
And above everyone stands, or rather sprawls, on his domestic throne, the almighty Willy Loman. Even after we put him down for a catatonic old man, this monumental leading figure played by Thomas Thieme brings surprise. For quite some time, he allows us to see only a heartless tyrant who knows precisely that whatever he says or does, he will leave the scene a winner. He is arrogant and cynical, conceited and vain, a pitiful character who does not even deserve pity. And only when I found myself thinking that in other performances of this play, at this point we are usually up to the neck in melodrama, Willy completely humiliates himself with a few half-sentences and gestures in front of his trendy boss (Christian Schmidt).
Perceval, who has directed the play by planning every minute of it, applies this method throughout the performance. He introduces a situation and seemingly offers us the means of interpretation, only to pull the chair from under us just when we are comfortably sitting. His ability to dig deep for true meaning and his complete sobriety are compelling characteristics, rarely found in our theatres.
