Also check out the teaching resources and ideas offered here in the works section of the website (where we offer summaries of all the major writings).
From: Vol. 3 May 2001 p. 9-11
"A Satisfactory Realism"--Why High School Students Embrace A
View
from the Bridge
Report by Mike Kaufhold
Heh? Ya know what I mean?
Hey Beatrice. HEY BEATRICE!
In my high school's corridors, I'm seldom greeted with a
conventional, "Morning Mr. K," or "H'ya doin' Mr. K"? More often than
not, many students
simply let out with a pretty fair Brooklynese variation of one of the
above
clipped expressions of Eddie Carbone from A View from the Bridge.
And each time this happens, my day is a little bit brighter because I
know
that Arthur Miller's works live on.
Though I've included all or part of at least eight
of Miller's writings in my American literature classes over the
nineteen
years I've taught high school English, A View from the Bridge,
and
to a slightly lesser degree, The Crucible, remain unchallenged
as
the most popular selections as judged each year by the teen-aged
readers.
There are solid reasons for this phenomenon.
Setting the background for View for young
readers requires little or no hype, only a few facts from Miller's
engaging
biography--Timebends. After all, who in the canon of American
writers
has led a more extraordinarily interesting life? Timebends
contains
a wealth of anecdotes, which plumb the depths of Miller's
investment
in his creative works. Long before Act One of View when Alfieri
recounts to the audience that in this Red Hook neighborhood, "Al Capone
[learned] his trade on these pavements, and Frankie Yale was cut
precisely
in half by a machine gun . . . "(4), we know from Timebends
that
Miller lived and worked in the "dangerous and mysterious world at the
water's
edge"(149). Particularly taken in by the heroic efforts of a
young
dock worker named Pete Panto, who attempted a revolt against the
mob-controlled
unions and haunted by a story of lawyer-friend Vinny Longhi, Miller
seemed
to know subconsciously a play was unfolding before him. Disgusted with
the iron control of the hiring bosses on the docks, and beckoned by the
belief that "Europe was where the thinking was going on . . . and
America
was suspiciously becoming unreal" (155), Miller embarked on a trip to
Italy
with Longhi. Absorbing the culture with a keen eye and ear, Miller was
exposed to an even greater depravity of the common worker than he had
witnessed
in Red Hook. The hopelessness he witnessed is echoed in Marco and
Rudolpho's
accounts of Sicily throughout the play. Now steeped in Italian culture
and having survived a tension-filled chance meeting with famed gangster
Charles "Lucky" Luciano in Sicily, as well as other adventures, Miller
was able to admit that "Italy was giving me the courage for the play
that
was forming in my head" (164). For students who have been subjected to
a steady diet of Natural
Born Killers, Pulp Fiction, and
The Sopranos, not to mention the classic Godfather
sagas,
the link to underworld intrigue is an irresistible hook.
"A satisfactory realism"
Initially, it may be the language of the play that grabs young readers
like Coleridge's ancient mariner. A reaction by one of this semester's
junior year students is typical: "I don't usually like to read plays,
but
this one really hit home for me. I liked the way [the characters]
talked,
and I was interested during the whole story. I would like to see this
play
in a theater." To allow them to appreciate more of an actual
theater
experience, my students read along with a recording of the 1965 Ulu
Grosbard
off-Broadway run starring Robert Duvall as Eddie and Jon Voight as
Rudolpho.
(Caedmon TRS 317) This production Miller singled out as a
performance
that " . . . magically captured the play's spirit" (Timebends
373).
In his essay "About Theater Language," Miller delineates the difference
between conventional realism and poetic or prose realism. A play
leaps from the conventional to the poetic when it captures "the
language
of family relations . . . the inclusion of a larger world beyond"
(81-82).
The language of View is certainly "conventional" in a sense
that
it's the way a Brooklyn dock worker in that neighborhood would
talk.
Referring to Marco, Eddie allows, "Yeah, he's a strong guy, that guy.
Their
father was a regular giant, supposed to be" (33). Spoken by Duvall,
these
lines resonate with realism. However, what Miller refers to as a
"larger
world" and the "poetic" in his essay is the interplay between Eddie and
his family, and between Eddie and society as a whole. Thus, if we are
to
become entwined with the characters, we should note that the language
may
have "a surface of everyday realism, but its action is overtly stylized
rather than natural" ("About Theater Language" 95). Early in Act One, a
passage powerfully read by Duvall "overtly stylizes" Eddie’s protective
reaction to seeing Catherine's new skirt: "Now don't aggravate me
Katie,
you are walkin' wavy! I don't like the looks they're givin' you at the
candy store. And with them new high heels on the sidewalk--clack,
clack,
clack. The heads are turnin' like windmills"(7). Eddie's tone,
combined
with the stage note that Catherine is "almost in tears because he
disapproves"
(7) foreshadows the depth of the emotional attachment we will discover
between these two characters, an attachment that will, indeed,
eventually
bring on the "larger world beyond."
Later in Act One when Rudolpho shares his plan for
his message service and his blue motorcycle, Jon Voight's reading seems
to reflect what Miller labels in Timebends as that " . . .
fruity,
mangled Sicilian-English bravura, with its secretive, marvelously
modulated
hints and untrammeled emotions" (153). Voight extends the language into
the poetic by not only sounding like a young Sicilian immigrant, but
also
by capturing the deep-rooted nature of Rudolpho's entrepreneurial
skills,
as well as his admirable work ethic. When Rodolpho explains: " . . . a
man who rides on a great machine, this man is responsible, this man
exists.
He will be given messages" (26), he gives us reason to believe in his
sincere
intentions with Catherine and to thus reject Eddie's unfounded
dismissal
of him as "a hit-and-run guy" (37). It is at this point in the play
that
for many young readers A View from the Bridge becomes as much
Catherine
and Rodolpho's story as Eddie's. If I've noticed one thing over the
years
about young readers, it is that they seem to verify the theory that a
story
is not complete until the reader brings his or her own experience to
it.
And when Miller claims that if a play is to achieve a "satisfactory
realism,"
the story must contain "a certain amplitude of sound . . . and reflect
a deeply felt culture"("About Theater Language" 95), we find that A
View from the Bridge succeeds on both counts.
When Familiar Worlds Are Shattered
In discussing The Crucible in Arthur Miller and Company,
director Howard Davies suggests that "one possible approach to the play
is to see it as a rebellion of youth against age"(93). Certainly, young
and older readers alike can appreciate the accusatory power that the
young
girls of Salem Village enjoy, albeit for a brief but turbulent period.
But there is little to admire about their motives and/or their
intentions.
In A View from the Bridge, Catherine and Rodolpho give us two
characters
who, to be sure, also represent a rebellion of youth versus age, but
who
are likable and who triumph in the face of tragic circumstances. The
more
we are exposed to Eddie's petty suspicions of Rodolpho, the more we can
celebrate the words of Dr. Stockmann from Miller's adaptation of An
Enemy of the People: "It's a necessity for me to see young, lively,
happy people, free people burning with a desire to do
something"(25).
And while Eddie wrestles with the "trouble that would not go away"
(29),
young readers tend to gloat in his insecurities and his false sense of
self-importance.
The power of A View from the Bridge for
young
readers seems to lie in the recognition of the need for a different
kind
of "bridge"--an understanding that will bridge the generation gap. The
intolerance
shown by Eddie in his macho stance against Rodolpho is seen more as a
lack
of acceptance of anyone who is "different" than a sincere concern of a
father-figure for the welfare of his ward. In the eyes of youth,
Rodolpho provides us with a well-rounded character that, ironically,
possesses
one of the qualities that Eddie most admires--he can "scramble."
Rodolpho
has done manual labor, has worked in the fields, can cook, sew, and
sing,
and even holds his own in an impromptu boxing lesson with Eddie. And
while
Beatrice is entirely accepting of Rodolpho, younger readers do not
identify
with her unflagging obedience to Eddie's decrees, especially her
reluctance
to attend the wedding.
Furthermore, Beatrice's rebuke to Catherine, "What
ever happened we all done it . . . " (82), tends to ring a bit hollow
to
younger readers, who do not necessarily share her assertion of this
collective
guilt. In Act One, Catherine is "astonished" and "strangely moved" when
Beatrice points out that she must stop throwing herself at Eddie like
"when
[she] was twelve years old" (40). And when the stage notes suggest that
it is "as though a familiar world has shattered"(41), we begin to set
ourselves
for the inevitable explosion. Catherine's world is, indeed, obliterated
in Act Two with Eddie's kiss of betrayal. By rejecting her choice of a
life mate and turning his back on his entire extended family, Eddie has
betrayed not only Catherine's sense of unconditional familial love, he
has also distorted her wider understanding of communal love.
Most students agree that the passion that drives
Eddie to his taboo kiss is driven more by his homophobic dread of
Rodolpho
as a "son-in-law" than by any genuine feelings of desire for Catherine.
Readers also note that Eddie is described as "unsteady, drunk" (61) as
he enters the apartment. What Eddie seems to represent more than
anything
else at this point is what critic Steven Centola recognizes as "the
ideal
father myth" (57). Similar to All My Sons' Chris Keller and Death
of a Salesman's Biff Loman's recognition of this phenomenon,
Catherine
now understands Eddie's "absurd conception of himself as above the law
and his society" (Centola 57). And while it is well documented that
typically
many teenagers can communicate more freely with grandparents than with
parents, younger readers at this point in the play look for a voice of
truth. Enter the grandfatherly Greek chorus provided by Alfieri: "I'm
warning
you [Eddie]--the law is nature. The law is only a word for what has a
right
to happen" (65). This is a law that the youthful Rodolpho instinctively
knows--a "law" that he teaches to a willing pupil--Catherine. In
turn, they both triumph over Eddie's betrayal.
In 1991 when Arthur Miller visited Millersville
University to receive an award for excellence in the humanities, I
wanted
to do something out of the ordinary to somehow call attention to the
fact
that high school students appreciate and understand the impact he has
made
in American letters. I made arrangements to hang a large banner on a
fence
along a main street that Miller's limousine would pass as it entered
the
town. The banner read: "Dove Pete Panto?" Later, that day, I was
able to greet the playwright in a receiving line. While shaking
hands
with him, I asked him if he had seen the banner. "You did that?" he
asked
warmly. In the lingering second we stood there, a kind of knowing
twinkle appeared in his eye. I've always been glad I put up that
banner.
Works Cited:
Bigsby, Christopher. ed. Arthur Miller and Company. London:
Methuen, 1990.
Centola, Steven R. "All My
Sons." Cambridge Companion to
Arthur Miller. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1977.
Miller, Arthur. A View From the Bridge. New York:
Penguin Books, 1977.
__________. "About Theater Language." In The Last Yankee.
New York: Penguin, 1994.
__________. Arthur Miller's adaptation of An Enemy of the People.
New York: Penguin, 1979.
__________. Timebends. New York: Grove, 1987.
From: Vol. 7 June 2003 p. 5-7
Teaching Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman
By David V. Garey
In the fall of my junior year in high school, the Drama Club held
auditions
for its production of Death of a Salesman. My English
teacher
at that time, Mrs. Katz, after listening to my portrayal of Juror
Eight,
in our class reading of Twelve Angry Men, encouraged me to
audition.
After she assured me that I would not have to sing or dance, I
expressed
a mild interest. She handed me a copy of the script. When I
got home that afternoon I locked myself in my room and began
reading.
It was one of the most moving works that I had read. I determined
that I was destined to play Biff. After days of reading and
re-reading
excerpts from the play, the moment for my audition arrived. I
gave
it my all in front of the drama teacher, Mr. Dubin. The next day,
the cast list was posted on his door. I won the role of Bernard.
I was crushed.
Despite the trauma of having to wear horn-rimmed
glasses and a geeky cardigan sweater at my high-school debut, Death
of a Salesman remains one of my favorite plays. The script
from
high school remains on my bookshelf and I have continued to pick it up
at times to read scenes to myself aloud. More importantly,
however,
is my revenge, which has been more than sweet. A few years ago, I
was hired to teach English in the same high school I attended. My
classroom is next to, of all teachers, Mr. Dubin's. As Death
of
a Salesman is required reading for the curriculum we both teach, I
now have the pleasure of playing the role of Biff as often as I like,
next
door to the man who denied me the pleasure of doing it in the first
place.
It gets better. Last year, he and I were sitting in the faculty
room
when he said, "I heard you reading the other day. You
really
did a great job with Biff's lines. I imagine the kids really got
into it." I smiled and thanked him. Turning away, I caught
myself muttering, "What an anemic."
Maybe it is my passion for the play that lures my
students into it. I don't know. All I can say is that when
June rolls around every year, and I ask my students which of the
literary
works affected them the most, the majority usually replies Death of
a Salesman. When I ask them to explain why, they usually
respond
that they learned more about themselves from the remaining hours of
Willy
Loman's life than anything from most of the other characters that they
have studied. To me, this is the greatest compliment a student
can
give to a novel or play.
I begin my unit on Death of a Salesman with
the most compelling element of the play--its premise. My students
are fascinated once I tell them that we are going to watch a man, whom
we know is going to die, contend with the shadows of his past as he
navigates
his way through his last twenty-four hours of life. Before I
distribute
the books, start the video, or even mention the title of the play, I
direct
my students to freewrite, for ten minutes, from the perspective of
someone
who knows he or she is about to die. They are to write out the
thoughts
that they think would pass through their minds at that time.
Afterwards,
as we discuss their writing, my students invariably begin to express
their
regrets before they have even happened. I then write the title of
the play on the board and explain that Death of a Salesman is
about,
among other things, regrets and how we can overcome accumulating them.
When we begin reading the play, most students are
immediately drawn
into Willy's glorification of the past. They talk freely about
how
their parents and grandparents always refer to the "good old days" or
"how
things used to be." In general, they say that they find most of
the
stories boring, that they are obviously exaggerated. I then ask a
few students to tell me their favorite childhood tales. This
year,
Barbara, a young lady who always speaks up in class, happily recounted
the details of the playdates she used to have with Mary, one of the
other
girls in the class. In the course of reminiscing, she embarrassed
Mary a few times by divulging the secrets of Mary's elementary school
crushes.
We all laughed and shared similar stories. Eventually we began to
explore the significance of our discussion. We acknowledged the
value
of the present, for it will one day be the past.
As our study of the play progresses, most students
begin to detest Willy because of the way he treats people. They
jump
a bit when he snaps at Linda. They feel bad for Bernard.
They
want to see Charley knock him out. Above all, the children are
appalled
by Willy's extramarital affair, especially given the care and
dedication
with which Linda provides him. This leads to an engaging
discussion
on personal values. Most students, especially the young
men,
exclaim that they would never end up like Willy. I remember
Jonathan
talking about his alcoholic uncle, about his volatile temper and
abusive
speech. Willy bore too much of a resemblance to Jonathan's uncle
for him to feel anything but loathing for him. At this point, I
ask
students to reflect on their behavior, on the actions that they have
taken
against their parents, siblings, peers, and teachers. We discuss
fighting, betrayal, cheating, and disrespect. They come to
realize
that no one is innocent, least of all each of them. We talk about
compassion, and that we might regret our behavior today in the
future.
I often encourage students at this point to make amends to those that
they
have hurt. They see Willy as a man who has never honestly
evaluated
his actions and is now haunted by the demons of his past as a
result.
They grow increasingly uneasy as his denial slowly pushes him into a
corner
from which he will not be able to escape.
The dysfunctional home life of the Loman family
is another element to which some of my students unfortunately
relate.
Reading Death of a Salesman has been a cathartic experience for
a few of them. A student last year, Melissa, suddenly exclaimed
during
the fight at the end of the play, "Holy crap! We've got to stop
for
a minute. I feel like I'm at home." It was Brian this year,
though, that I will never forget. Apparently, his father had just
left him and his mother two weeks prior to Christmas without any
warning.
After Christmas break, Brian volunteered to read Biff. I spoke to
him privately about his decision, yet he remained determined to play
the
role. His performance was outstanding. After we had
completed
our study of the play, Brian came to me one day after school to thank
me.
He said it felt great to yell without catching hell afterwards. I
think he, as well as a few other students, learned about the importance
of venting their feelings.
Miller's portrayal of the relationship between
fathers
and sons is perhaps one of the most powerful and haunting aspects of
the
play. The boys in class, especially those that are athletes,
relate
deeply to the unrealistic expectations that Willy places on Biff.
When we talk about the Ebbet's field game or Willy's exclamation, "I am
not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman and you are Biff Loman!" the
boys just somberly nod. They empathize with the need to crawl out
from under the load that has been placed on them by their dads.
Another
group of boys, as well as some girls, relate to Happy's search for
approval.
They are the kids that never seem to measure up to the accomplishments
of their older siblings. When considering Happy's self-delusion,
especially at the end of the play, students recognize the dangers of
comparing
their abilities to those of others. At that point, I sometimes
assign
an exercise in which students must write a monologue that is set at
Willy's
grave five years after the end of the play. They are to portray
either
Biff or Happy. The results are usually predictable--Happy remains
a "philandering bum" in one way or another and Biff has somehow managed
to start his ranch out West. Either way, it is rewarding to
see students become aware of the shadows from which they must emerge
and,
in some cases, see them take a few steps towards that end.
As we approach our final assessment of the play,
we explore Willy Loman as a tragic hero. This class discussion
usually
focuses on Willy's tragic flaw--his lack of self-honesty. My
students
begin to see in Willy, as well as his sons and wife, the dangers of not
being honest with themselves about their abilities and dreams. I
teach this play to students who will be graduating from high school in
eighteen months and I've seen many young men and women view this play
as
a sort of awakening, that it is time for them to become more realistic
about their aspirations. This year, for the first time, I had two
students, both on the football team, write in their character analyses
of Biff that they both saw the need to look beyond high-school
sports.
Bernard's pointed comment, that Biff never trained himself for
anything,
struck home.
The most valuable lesson that Death of a Salesman
teaches kids, though, is to go on living, no matter what happens.
Suicide and the seriousness of depression are subjects that need be
discussed
in high school frequently. Willy's suicide troubles my
students.
No matter how much I prepare them for the play's tragic ending, most of
them are shocked when he drives off in the end. They were hopeful
that someone, somehow, might intervene, or that Willy's sense of false
hope, in the end, will prevail. They want to see Willy come to
his
senses; they mourn when they realize that he is too far gone.
When
I hit "stop" on the VCR and turn on the lights, my students are usually
silent for a few moments. As some begin to speak, they express
just
how disturbing Willy's suicide is to them.
Teaching Death of a Salesman has afforded me many
opportunities
to reach out to teens in a meaningful way. As we study the play,
I get to see kids reflect on their past, evaluate their behavior in the
present, and plan a little more realistically for their future.
By
the time we are done, I notice a stronger sense of purpose in some
students.
In others, I see a sense of relief. They have come to realize
that
they are not alone in their struggles. No matter how I look at it
when we are done, I think of Happy's final lines, "Willy Loman did not
die in vain." From the impact that I have seen him have on my
students,
I would heartily agree.