The Man Who Had All the Luck

Few commentators have been able to resist comparing our current global recession to America’s dark days, so it would seem an opportune time for the Lyceum's revival of Arthur Miller’s Depression play. Unlike some of Miller’s more straightforward allegory plays, The Man Who Had All the Luck goes further, delving into the relationships between men, as well as the invisible arbitrations of fate and destiny. The play itself may not be as well crafted as Miller’s later and more famous works, yet it can possess a gravitas and tension that John Dove and the Lyceum Theatre Company fail to fully grasp.

David Beeves (Philip Cumbus), a young and idealistic mechanic, is on the way up. The obstacle preventing him from marrying his childhood sweetheart Hester (Kim Gerard) is removed, and a talented stranger helps him to repair the car of a grateful millionaire. His luck doesn’t stop there, however, and seems on the ascendant almost at the expense of those around him. Forced to question the balance of the universe, Beeves degenerates into a state of near madness, succumbing to a damaging paranoia.

The Lyceum profits from incredibly talented directors, designers and actors who have proved themselves time and time again in varied roles. However,  in addition to a couple of dodgy accents there is also a sense of complacency in this production that refuses to allow any of the grit of the play to show through. Cumbus brings great energy to his performance as the well-meaning, suggestible Beeves, but the slick veneer of the production belies the anger, resentment and near-tragedy of the play. There are, admittedly, gaps in Miller’s text, yet any possible scope for the passion of tragedy and euphoria of hope is not exploited by Dove and his cast. As usual the quality of the set and lighting design is exceptional, but there remains a lack of urgency to the play, which undermines Miller’s strongest themes. The weight of a man struggling against unseen odds, the crisis of the American family and the American dream feel like clichés that we have become used to, rather than been forced to examine, in this accomplished yet empty production.