Review of ‘Broken Glass’: “Vitriolic premise and pane-stalking performances don’t fully crystallise”

London’s Young Vic presents this new production of Arthur Miller’s classic about a brittle Jewish-American marriage amid the rise of Nazism. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if this latest revival puts its themes through the right prism.

It’s not Arthur Miller’s finest play. Then again, it’s difficult to top anything as exquisitely written as The Crucible — or A View From The Bridge. The ingredients for a stirring, thought-provoking drama are there, and they make themselves visible throughout the narrative — but it’s not enough. And, as much as Miller’s piercing ethos still lingers, the overall feeling is one of an unpolished, unresolved work that doesn’t fully align with the maturity of an author of his stature.

That doesn’t make it a bad piece. At some points, Miller’s brilliance shines through with blinding strength. His signature insight and social commentary are the cornerstones of a somewhat solid creation — but some components are missing, and none of them is disposable.

The most arresting confrontational scene unfolds with unrestrained potency. A discontented wife named Sylvia, whose fear of the 1930s budding Nazism has paralysed her legs, reproaches her husband about his self-hatred as a Jewish man. It’s deliciously raw, sharp, and galvanising. Its poignancy captivates the heart while its philosophy enthrals the mind. And it prints an instant, indelible memory that should haunt the viewer for days to come.

Yet, those moments of absolute dramatic perfection are accompanied by stagnant segments that struggle to engage the audience. And sometimes, they fail completely. Although the story builds up its main premise deftly enough, there is a sense of sketchiness and inconclusiveness to several aspects of it.

Phillip’s revulsion to his own kind isn’t explored as profoundly as the character requires. His self-loathing sentiments are displayed through his obsession with hiding who he is, convinced that any wrong step would make others blame it on his ethnic background. Yet, the role comes across as archetypal. There’s a transformation at the end, but it’s so rushed that it doesn’t allow him to develop his own individual identity.

The same applies to Dr Harry Harman, who assists Sylvia during her illness while acting as a bastion of reason. He is also Jewish, and despite his chilled facade about the persecution of his people, there’s an element of suffering and desperation to him that remains almost untouched — much like his relationship with his wife.

All of this generates a feeling of unreadiness. The path is set, but it’s like it’s only been walked halfway. Its execution is unbalanced — some sections come off overdone and slightly aimless, while some pivotal parts, such as its ending, are not fleshed out sufficiently to make the impact they are designed for.

The production tries to convey some dynamism through its ensemble staging. The design meanders between figurative and symbolic, as a crimson padded area serves as the framework for the entire scenery. Auditorium-like benches delineate the space, which in some way resembles an office or a doctor’s waiting room, filled with overloaded piles of old newspapers, where Sylvia’s bed also lies.

Rarely does any cast member leave. Instead, they either sit around or watch quietly from an observation window located on one end, almost as if everyone performing was under psychiatric examination. It’s an interesting nod to one of the play’s core themes. And on many occasions, it vividly accentuates its subtext while creating a sense of seamlessness and intimacy. Yet, at other times, it comes off messy and ineffective.

The company honours the text with astounding prowess, with the only exception of Elli Gelb, whose portrayal of Phillip Gellburg is overly focused on the character’s outer layer, putting too much emphasis on appearance instead of delving into his true essence.

On the opposite side, Pearl Chanda’s interpretation teems with sincerity, nuance, and vigour. She displays unparalleled effortlessness and authenticity. And admittedly, it’s one of the best renditions audiences can witness all across the current theatre landscape.

It’s a reflective piece. It’s a resonant piece. However, Broken Glass‘s intermittent quality doesn’t mirror the splendour of Miller’s most reputed works, and neither does a production that exhibits a few competent strokes, but hardly any of genius. There’s a solid pulse in it — but even so, the audience will welcome it with a few glazed looks. And I must be transparent about it.

All pictures credit to Tristram Kenton.

Broken Glass plays at London’s Young Vic until 18 April. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara