Show business is a heartless business, as everyone who has ever been involved knows. Blissfully ignorant audience members might think everything's perfectly fair and every movie star has a wonderful life, but that's far from the case. Just a tiny example: In 1949, Lee J. Cobb originated Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman on Broadway. While it won the Pulitzer Prize and Tony Awards for Best Play, Producer, Writer, Director, Supporting Actor (Arthur Kennedy), and Scenic Design, Lee J. Cobb didn't take home a statue. When Hollywood made a movie two years later, both he and Kennedy were passed over. He was Arthur Miller's favorite Willy Loman, and yet it took 17 years for Hollywood to let a larger audience see his performance in a televised live production. And even then, he lost the Emmy.
If it makes you feel any better, Fredric March, who played Willy Loman in the 1951 film version, lost the Academy Award to Humphrey Bogart's comical turn in The African Queen. Show business wasn't just out to get Lee J. Cobb; it's not fair to anyone.
Obviously, this story is very difficult to watch, and it's not for everyone. There are certain people (who have been salesmen, or who have had a close family member as a salesman) who probably can't sit through a performance. It's just too painful and too depressing. I only sit through it from time to time to appreciate the acting. Lee J. Cobb is fantastic. He's a stage actor at heart, and he could have taken the opportunity of a live performance by trying to reach the back row, but he was very quiet and realistic. From his entrance, he's obviously exhausted, so tired it's an effort to breathe, but he keeps going. You can see the decades of pain, disappointment, and expectations written on his brow, and if you'd never seen him in another movie before, you might think he was an actual salesman with a camera following him around.
I'd been very quick to criticize Mildred Dunnock's performance in the 1951 film, especially since she'd had enough practice from her original Broadway run. But either she really didn't like Fredric March, or she grew as an actress in 17 years. In the 1966 live version, she finally came across as a tired, loyal wife of a salesman. When she argues with her son, George Segal, about how he constantly antagonizes and disrespects his father, you can sense all the history she's had with Lee. She's emotional and tired, full of pity. Respect, and love. George's performance, on the other hand, was not my favorite. Hardly believable as a likeable jock with unlimited potential, he puts his usual smugness into the role and feels mean without motivation. With Kevin McCarthy (and obviously with Arthur Kennedy), he's still very much a son in his father's shadow, and you can sense his pain and residual desire to make his dad proud.
If you're able to watch this very painful and sorrowful story, try either this version or the 1951 Fredric March film. They're both tour-de-force performances by the lead actor, with so much sadness and pain, you just keep hoping someone will take it easy on him. But this is very heavy, so if you turn it off after half an hour or so, it's understandable.
If it makes you feel any better, Fredric March, who played Willy Loman in the 1951 film version, lost the Academy Award to Humphrey Bogart's comical turn in The African Queen. Show business wasn't just out to get Lee J. Cobb; it's not fair to anyone.
Obviously, this story is very difficult to watch, and it's not for everyone. There are certain people (who have been salesmen, or who have had a close family member as a salesman) who probably can't sit through a performance. It's just too painful and too depressing. I only sit through it from time to time to appreciate the acting. Lee J. Cobb is fantastic. He's a stage actor at heart, and he could have taken the opportunity of a live performance by trying to reach the back row, but he was very quiet and realistic. From his entrance, he's obviously exhausted, so tired it's an effort to breathe, but he keeps going. You can see the decades of pain, disappointment, and expectations written on his brow, and if you'd never seen him in another movie before, you might think he was an actual salesman with a camera following him around.
I'd been very quick to criticize Mildred Dunnock's performance in the 1951 film, especially since she'd had enough practice from her original Broadway run. But either she really didn't like Fredric March, or she grew as an actress in 17 years. In the 1966 live version, she finally came across as a tired, loyal wife of a salesman. When she argues with her son, George Segal, about how he constantly antagonizes and disrespects his father, you can sense all the history she's had with Lee. She's emotional and tired, full of pity. Respect, and love. George's performance, on the other hand, was not my favorite. Hardly believable as a likeable jock with unlimited potential, he puts his usual smugness into the role and feels mean without motivation. With Kevin McCarthy (and obviously with Arthur Kennedy), he's still very much a son in his father's shadow, and you can sense his pain and residual desire to make his dad proud.
If you're able to watch this very painful and sorrowful story, try either this version or the 1951 Fredric March film. They're both tour-de-force performances by the lead actor, with so much sadness and pain, you just keep hoping someone will take it easy on him. But this is very heavy, so if you turn it off after half an hour or so, it's understandable.