By Toby Zinman
For the Inquirer
Bobby Cannavale could sell me anything—even some worthless land in Florida called Glengarry Glen Ross, even this less-than-sizzling Broadway revival of David Mamet’s iconic play called Glengarry Glen Ross. That the play is about real estate makes this an obvious candidate for relevant revival, given what’s on the national mind; that it stars showboating Al Pacino makes this too much of a star turn in a drama that requires ensemble work.
Glengarry Glen Ross is about a group of backstabbing men who see everybody as sucker to hustle—even each other--in an ongoing crusade to prove, daily, their masculinity in this “world of men.” Ricky Roma (Bobby Cannavale), a slick talker with slicked-back hair, is the office’s alpha male. Williamson (the excellent David Harbour) is the office manager, who here seems more beleaguered than repulsive; he is written off by the men who work in the field as “whitebread,” both despised and feared, and his “Go to lunch” scene is a famous opportunity for a virtuosic performance. Shelly “the Machine” Levine (Al Pacino) is a throwback who has lost his touch and is panicked for money. Moss (John C. McGinley) is the nastiest of the bunch, while Aronow (Richard Schiff in a deeply moving performance) is the most decent and—not coincidentally—the most clueless. The sucker du jour is James Lingk (Jeremy Shamos).