Grand Slam

Whipped, bedraggled Willy Loman is well on his way, it appears, to becoming as much a British as an American celebrity. Theatergoing Londoners last week welcomed Arthur Miller's Pulitzer Prizewining Death of a Salesman with raves and flourishes.

Traditionally hard-shelled British critics were moved to superlatives. The reserved London Times called it "this massive and relentless play." The Daily Express was ecstatic: "This play seems to lay the soul of America bare, throws across the footlights, flat in your face, all the hopes, fears, frustrations, inhibitions and terrible yearnings of a nation . . ." Stylish first-nighters, equally moved brought back Paul Muni (who played Willy) and his cast for 15 curtain calls. Said one sequined dowager: "I don't think I understood it all, but I certainly feel weak."

The critic for the News Chronicle raised a lone voice of dissent: '"Forgive me dear. I can't cry,' said the Salesman's wife over his grave . . . Forgive me, Paul Mum, but I can't cry either." The driest eyes of all, however, were those of the box-office clerks, busily selling tickets for ten weeks ahead.

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