Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Death of a Salesman.

Death of a Salesman
Never struck me the way it did when I saw Mike Nichols' production this weekend.
You never really understand this play until you've worked in an office, dreaming of outside...

BIFF: And suddenly I stopped, you hear me?  And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this?  I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw - the sky.  I saw the things that I love in this world.  The work and the food and time to sit and smoke.  And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for?  Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be?  What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am!  Why can’t I say that, Willy?

1 comment:

  1. This brings back memories of a terrible job, in an office, and my escapes to Union Square to sit in the sun for a few minutes and drink a tiny bottle of S. Pellegrino. I recall really needing those escapes. Oh my, that job was miserable...


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