THE THEATER

Death of a Salesman (by Arthur Miller; produced by Kermit Bloomgarden & Walter Fried) had Broadway in a fever of excitement from the moment it drew out-of-town raves last month. Last week, on Broadway itself, it caused even greater excitement, drew even wilder raves--"superb," "majestic," "great," "a play to make history."

Death of a Salesman is no more than an altogether creditable play. But it is also a magnificent try, concerned with something so simple, central and terrible that the run of playwrights would neither care nor dare to attempt it. It reveals the tragedy of a typical American who loses out by trying too hard to win out; it chronicles the propless failure born of the worship of success.

At 63, Willy Loman, who all his life has been a salesman--and never a very successful one--is faced with what he cannot face: defeat. He has learned the go-getter gospel by heart, fervently played the goodfellow game, planted his sons along the broad winning highway, locked himself--and then lost himself--inside the American dream. His nerve going, his job gone, his boys slashing their way out of his dream, the truth clawing down one after another of his defenses, Willy Loman has no prop left except a loyal and loving wife. It is not enough. He can only kill himself. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.