The American Clock

One of Arthur Miller’s lesser known pieces, The America Clock, is playing at The Old Vic until the end of March.  It is known as a Vaudeville and, as such includes a jazz band, singers and tap dancer in its line-up.  Directed by Rachel Chavkin, this three-hour epic production depicts Miller’s view of America during the Great Depression.  This is not the only play concerning money and American history to recently hit our stages, The Lehman Trilogy being the other.  They couldn’t be more different. Stefano Massini’s play has just three actors in the cast and a paired down revolving set, whilst The American Clock has a cast of eighteen plus four musicians.  Whilst the latter is a fascinating insight into thirties America, it is nowhere near as affecting as the former.  Sometimes less is more.

The use of music very effectively counterpoints the bleakness of the action and lifts the spirits much like it must have done to those Americans going through this terrible time. Jim Henson must be applauded for his musical direction.  What isn’t so effective and is, in fact, rather confusing is Chavkin’s decision to cast three different sets of actors as the Baum family at the centre of the action.  The theory that this will heighten the cultural diversity of American immigrants and highlight the challenges they face (the families are, in turn, white Jewish, South Asian and African American) doesn’t quite work in practice. 

What works most effectively are the small private moments when Miller draws on his own experiences of this period.  It’s when we view the Jewish Baums – father Moe, his music-loving wife Rose and would be writer son Lee, obviously based on Miller himself – and their eventual decline that we feel emotionally connected.  The “bells and whistles” moments feel strangely detached and the scenes when the whole cast are involved feel cluttered despite the large Old Vic stage.

This isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the evening.  There are some striking performances.  Clarke Peters as the broker who sees the crash coming, brings a melancholic dignity to his job as the story’s narrator – his wonderful voice is a joy.  Golda Rosheuvel is a suitably fierce agitator and, as I love a bit of tap dancing, mention must be made of the dazzling footwork of Ewan Wardrop.

I can see why we don’t often get treated to this weighty and rather rambling piece by the great Arthur Miller.  It’s not an easy production to bring to life and despite Chavkin’s best efforts to show its undeniable relevance, I’m afraid it comes across as rather long and often preachy.