You see, there are these real estate agents, competing for business in a tight market, and the geezers are worried that the young hustlers are surpassing them in sales, putting their livelihoods in jeopardy - yes, it's Glengarry Glen Ross, David Mamet's 1984 Pulitzer Prize-winning study of greed, testosterone and white-collar male behavior. The author was writing of his times, of course, but conditions in today's society - economic uncertainty, skepticism toward land as an investment, hostility toward West Asians - are not dissimilar to those a quarter-century past. What's different is that juggling money in seven-figure increments is no longer the exclusive province of men, nor are the cutthroat tactics encouraged by such activity.
Mamet, speaking through his agent, granted permission to Redtwist Theater's selective cross-gender casting with the stipulation that "not a single word of the text [be] changed." Under Adam Webster's direction, the female actors retain their masculine names and pronouns but make no attempt to disguise their own vocal ranges or mannerisms. Rather than crippling the text's dynamic, however, this break with convention amplifies the psychological warfare unfolding before us. Office manager Williamson's phlegmatic veneer emerges as icier for residing in a severely suited schoolmistress-surrogate. Aaronow's meek capitulation to his colleague's bullying is far more apparent when he is allowed to collapse almost into tears. And if a bedazzled client cannot resist the seduction of a sleekly dressed stranger's graphic disquisition on body fluids, sybaritic sex and seizing the moment, imagine his response when Ricky Roma's sermon is preached by a statuesque woman wearing a Medusa hairdo and shoes with heels suitable for cardiac surgery.
Brian Parry's Shelly Levene, Eric Hoffmann's Dave Moss and Jeff Helgeson's James Lingk more than hold their own on the minuscule Redtwist stage. However, its restrictive dimensions reduce the action's physical demands, allowing performers the leisure of savoring their words while still bringing the running time to an unhurried 90 minutes. Jacqueline Grandt's Macchiavellian Roma dominates the stage nevertheless, with sturdy support from Erin Shelton as the flinty Williamson, Debra Rodkin as the wimpish Aaronow and Filonna Thomas as the blustering (but curiously passive) police officer, Baylen. The results make for a portrait of desperate corporate outlaws, relying on shit-eating smiles and spit-polished shoeshines, so intimate that we are relieved when the players relax at curtain call to reassure us that it was really - would I lie to you? - all just play-acting.
