When Glengarry Glen Ross was first performed in 1983, its power to shock was twofold. It told us about the world of work, how it can twist and break us. And it did so in a furious spill of words and foul invective. Somehow, it also engendered sympathy for estate agents.
Twenty years on and though the sympathy remains (we watch as Shelley Levene, a man crumpling into obsolescence, sips milk for his ulcer, begging for sales leads), the shock has diminished. Mamet's way with words has been too thoroughly emulated. And, despite strong performances in this production, the terror and fury at the heart of the drama dissipates in the second act.
The first act, however, seethes with tension. Set in a Chinese restaurant, its red-velvet booths lit like gaming tables, a number of exchanges - power struggles, really - take place between men. There is no sense of an external reality, no windows or fresh air, no clues about home life; nothing exists but doing the deal. Small talk is in fact a dog-fight, a series of battles between unequal opponents: the sales manager and a fading member of staff (Levene, beautifully played by Lou Hirsh), a lonely man caught up in the snare of Ricky Roma's sales patter.
The second half sees the shattering of dreams, the unfolding of the desperate truth behind the talk. Something is lost as we move away from the claustrophobic restaurant interior, and the office, trashed in a robbery, never quite convinces. "A man's his job" we're told, as we watch the jobs splinter and disappear. What we're left with, after so much talk, is a bitter, ferocious silence.
Until October 6. Box office: 0131-248 4848.
