I've never been so glad to see the curtain fall on any play in my life

This was the second Miller I’d seen in two weeks (A View from A Bridge, at the Tron) and towards the end of each performance I found myself asking, “How much enjoyment can I gain from watching a man break-down? Can I have any sympathy for blokes like Willy and Eddie who live to their death in a world of delusion?” And, perhaps most importantly, “Will the pizza shop on Clarence Drive still be serving?”

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The Miller plays, Salesman in particular, evoked a memory from a few years back of a Citizens production of Eugene O’Neill’s A Long Day’s Journey Into Night. Again, played out over 24 hours, it focused on a family’s addictions. And it was so depressing you hoped the theatre at least had a co-pro deal with the chemist next door for the supply of intermission Prozac.

Later on, however, I read of actor Brian Dennehy’s defence of O’Neill’s writing, (he had played James Tyrone on Broadway) and argued - perhaps incredibly - that audience pain was part of the enjoyment process.  “It’s like a religious experience,” he said of the play. “There is a pain in watching it, but audiences have to endure this to be able to relate to the emotions the actors are trying to convey.”

Was this what had been happening with the Millers? Had the Pulitzer Prize-winner been using his constant repetitions and flashbacks and longueurs and saturations of despair in order to instil empathy with his characters?

If he were, he clearly didn’t factor in the experiences of a Scottish audience.  Jeez, Arthur, you don’t need depression performed into you when you have to contend with incessant rain and a national football team that’s synonymous with under-performance. You don’t need theatrical sullenness when you’ve long been exposed to Sunset Song, the Blue Nile or John Swinney’s First Minister Questions.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Arthur Miller wrote about bleak stuff because that was the world he experienced. His wealthy garment business family lost the lot in the crash of ’29, (the Central Park apartment, the grand piano, the chauffeur-driven limousine) and had to flit from Manhattan to Brooklyn. And he once uttered the poignant line; “The whole idea of people failing is that they can no longer be loved.”

So, of course his writing is informed and full of dark home truths. (He was yet to be love-bombed by Marilyn Monroe, an experience he’d later call upon for play material).

But Miller wrote Salesman in 1949. And while his themes of lying, delusion and truth distortion are very much with us, haven’t they since been told in more layered, rather less miserable form? Didn’t Glengarry Glen Ross create the wrecked salesman world brilliantly - but with black humour? Didn’t Neil Simon write of crushed masculinity wonderfully with his dry but relatable Prisoner on Second Avenue? And James Graham’s current Boys From the Blackstuff adaptation certainly runs on despair, but Yosser and Chrissie and co aren’t delusion men. And their story features lorry loads of tar-black humour.

Miller, on the other hand entices his audience into an elevator - with one button - which reads Basement. And so, we descend into this damp, cold, unwelcoming world - and we’re dumped there. For ever. Which makes me wonder; is this entertainment entertaining?

A scene from View From a Bridge at the Tron theatre in Glasgow (Image: free)But here’s the thing; at the end of Death of a Salesman the audience gave a standing ovation and battered their hands together like seals being fed fish. And here’s another thing. I was one of those standing up and slapping hands together.

Now, we all know that Glasgow audiences love to be as performative as the actors on the stage and tend to go a bit mental with the showy praise (particularly with the socially aware plays). Were they really just glad the play was over, and they no longer wanted to bash their heads off the seat back in front? It’s hard to say.

And why did I stand up? Maybe Brian Dennehy was right, and we all need the pain to appreciate. Or perhaps it was David Hayman’s quite phenomenal performance?

No matter. We have to remember theatre experience is subjective and appears in all forms. And some audiences will wallow in such misery, and some like my text friend will wish it to be all over by the end of Act One. Yet, if most of us are standing, clapping emotionally at the end, audience and actors as one, it’s a fantastic, shared experience.

And if Arthur Miller’s social awareness misery is not for you there’s always Menopause the Musical.