"The Price' at Walnut Street Theatre (1st revi

A family reunion (in more ways than one)

ANNE R. FABBRI

Welcome to a homecoming at the Walnut Street Theatre. It’s long overdue for both the drama and the star of the show, Robert Prosky. The premiere performance of Arthur Miller’s The Price took place at the Walnut in 1968, 40 years ago, and Robert Prosky— born and raised in Manayunk, with a long career on Broadway— finally makes his first stage appearance in Philadelphia. Let’s hope neither will keep us waiting again for such a long time.

This is a play about a situation familiar to most of us: the dispersion of family goods following a death of the parents and breakup of the household.

“The average family they love each other like crazy,” observes Gregory Solomon, the canny 89-year-old used furniture dealer (superbly played by Robert Prosky), “but the minute the parents die is all of a sudden a question who is going to get what and in five minutes you’re covered with cats and dogs.”

Of course, that wouldn’t happen with your family. But you might have heard about it from a friend. It goes far beyond the material value of the stuff. Old sibling grievances, long simmering below the surface, flare up, and before you know it, you have a conflagration.

Pre-determined lives

In this instance, after 16 years without communication, Victor Franz, the policeman (capably acted by Andy Prosky), has left messages for his brother Walter, the successful surgeon (a superb interpretation by Andy Prosky’s real-life brother John), about the impending sale of all the family household goods, now stored in the attic of the house about to be demolished. An old wind-up Victrola that still plays records, a harp, the massive dining room table, old trunks and porcelains might have some cash value, according to Victor’s wife Esther (Leisa Mather). But that’s not the issue for the brothers. Their lives were determined years ago, and that’s what neither of them can live with.

Victor, the better science student, needed $500 (the equivalent of $8,000-plus today) to complete his college studies in 1936, the depth of the Depression. His brother was just starting out in his medical practice and, when Victor approached him for a loan, told him to ask their father, a broken, bankrupt, recent widower sitting mute in a chair all day just waiting for the evening news on the radio. We know the response; Victor became a policeman. Now, at age 50 plus he is eligible for retirement— but retire to what? For lack of any direction, Victor just keeps going. His son is on full scholarship in the honors program at MIT and his marriage feels warm and secure. But disappointment colors his life.

An old story that never changes

Walter enters in the middle of Victor’s deal with the aging furniture dealer. He appears outwardly self-confident, elegant and accustomed to commanding the situation. Walter’s feelings, if any, are well hidden until the recriminations begin. Yes, he has made it in worldly terms, but at what price? He is divorced, living alone, out of touch with his two sons who are frittering away their lives, and was hospitalized with mental problems for three years. He reveals that their father was not destitute. He had saved $4,000 ($60,000 today) that Walter had invested for him. Refusing to take the blame for Victor’s dropping out of college, Walter claims Victor could have found a way– by selling the harp, for instance– and he should have left their father to his own fate and pursued his career.

It’s an old story that never changes. What is one’s responsibility for the happiness and welfare of an aging parent? How far does the obligation extend?

“It’s impossible to know what is important,” observes Solomon. “The big decision is always the one you don’t realize you’re making until the results start coming in. And then you’re stuck with it.”

Born to the role?

Directed by Michael Carleton with perfect timing and with a family of excellent actors, the drama (set in 1967) is still timely despite the financial aspect that requires some mental juggling. As soon as Robert Prosky comes on stage, you can feel the audience relax, secure in the care of a real pro: one who delivers his lines as if he were born in the role. His jeremiad on our disposable culture and shopping as recreation struck home; and when he said, “I don’t have to tell you— the federal government is not reliable,” the cheers, laughter and applause almost stopped the show.

Arthur Miller held a mirror up to our materialistic culture and revealed its terrible void, an infinity that still confronts us. As Solomon observes, “We invent ourselves to wipe out what we know.”



To read another review by Dan Rottenberg, click here.
To read another review by Jim Rutter, click here.