Victor Franz (Bill Barry, right) introduces his wife Esther (Janelle Farias Sando) to his family’s antique Victrola phonograph and old recordings that he enjoys.
Within the broader body of Arthur Miller’s plays, The Price (1967) aligns with the playwright’s reputation for intense, timely, and provocative work. Director Noelle McGrath’s tightly crafted staging for the Village Theater Group’s inaugural production amplifies this intensity and the long-term impact of the Great Depression on its characters. The audience is left to peel back complex layers of each one’s subjective truths and enduring traumas.
Even in the 1960s, the Depression weighs heavily on Victor Franz (Bill Barry), a policeman and son of a deceased, once wealthy businessman and a frustrated harpist. Victor, contemplating retirement, finally decides to sell his parents’ furniture and belongings, in part because his wife Esther (Janelle Farias Sando) wants him to retire and realize his/their dreams. Victor’s hopes for a quick appraisal and generous offer dim after an elderly Gregory Solomon (Mike Durkin) appears to assess the value of the estate. As hard as Victor presses Solomon to nail down “the price” for all the possessions, the eccentric, Yiddish-accented appraiser stalls, sharing anecdotes and homespun advice:
I left Russia sixty-five years ago, I was twenty-four years old. I smoked all my life. I drinked, and I loved every woman who would let me. So what do I need to steal from you?
Gregory Solomon (Mike Durkin) recalls his family and years gone by. Photographs by Joe Pacifico.
Victor must also navigate his relationship with his brother Walter (Cullen Wheeler), a doctor who “made good.” Although they’ve been estranged for 16 years, Victor hesitates to sell the goods behind Walter’s back or deny him part of the profits. Just after Solomon offers Victor a lump sum for everything, Walter unexpectedly shows up, and then Esther returns. The genteel exchanges between the brothers rapidly deteriorate to mudslinging of guilt and recrimination, with Esther and Solomon running interference.
Long-held grudges about Walter’s neglect of their late father are met with Walter’s retorts about their father’s feigned poverty and Victor’s unnecessary, self-imposed sacrifice. Barry’s stellar portrayal of Victor and his visceral anger moves the play’s initial nostalgia for past pleasures (like fencing) to a pervasive disappointment in a past that drags everyone down with it. Durkin’s Solomon is, for the most part, the production’s light relief. Wheeler, with his feigned superiority, and Sandos, with her fading hopes for a higher life, offer strong performances, yet when Solomon closes the deal, his simple advice to Victor cuts through the negativity: “What stinks? You should be happy—now you can buy her a nice coat, take her to Florida, maybe.”
All the characters are frozen in time, to differing degrees. The price of the title refers not only to the price negotiated for ridding oneself of unwanted belongings, but also to the price one pays for the traumas of the past. Here they include suicide, mental instability, divorce, and the price paid for the successes and failures of the family’s next generation.
Walter Franz (Cullen Wheeler) stands by his late mother’s harp and recalls what her playing meant to her.
The Village Theater Group’s set design (with an assist from B&B Props) perfectly reflects the post-Depression legacy of hoarding. The room’s clutter is a shared characteristic of the once deprived, marred by their past but fearful of forfeiting its reminders. The accumulated “stuff” triggers both nostalgic and bitter memories. Victor’s fencing gear brings him pleasure in recalling his accomplishments and his mother’s admiration. Walter, in contrast, covets his mother’s harp and her sequined gowns, symbolizing her talent, glamor, and reaction to their bankruptcy.
Bridget McJohn’s costumes underscore class differences and pretensions among the characters. Walter is a physician, but his camel coat with velvet trim could render him a banker; it’s contrasted with Victor’s somewhat washed-out-looking uniform. Esther’s stylish red suit gets her compliments from the male characters, and she lets it be known that it was $45—likely quite a sum with Victor’s income. He has a good suit, but it is wrapped in plastic. Solomon’s clothing style is “early crumpled.”
Clearly, the family at odds with one another, and themselves, is a Jewish family, identified as such by a menorah in the bookcase. Solomon self-identifies; notwithstanding, his Yiddish accent is a giveaway, but that’s where religious identity seems to end. This story, like Miller’s other works, is an American story—tragic, with a slim possibility of redemption, one that cuts across cultures and generations. Miller’s secondary theme of capitalism’s deleterious effects on family and society is subtler. Cached as it is, one recognizes that Victor, a blue-collar guy, has more integrity than his self-important brother, and that the cumulative wisdom of Solomon’s generation, born into poverty, may have more to offer than modern-day materialism.
The Price runs through March 16 at Theatre at St. Clements (423 W. 46th Street). Evening performances are Mondays through Fridays at 7:30 p.m. and Saturdays at 8 p.m.; matinees are at 2 p.m. on Saturdays, and 3 p.m. on Sundays. For more information, or to purchase tickets, call the box office at 212-246-7277 ext. 44 or visit hello@stclementsnyc.org.
Playwright: Arthur Miller
Director: Noelle McGrath
Set Design: Village Theater Group
Lighting Design: Isaac Winston
Hair & Costume Design: Bridget McJohn
Sound Design: Andy Evan Cohen
