Capitalism Meets Austerity in Àlex Rigola’s “Glengarry Glen Ross”

Àlex Rigola first staged David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross at Barcelona’s Teatre Lliure twenty-one years ago. It was an epic, fast-moving staging realised in a gyrating fishbowl set, characterised by fierce choreography and a frenetic energy: a production of excess to capture the play’s world of excess. He has returned to the play in 2024 where the intimate location of Barcelona’s Heartbreak Hotel’s 72-seat theatre provides its own set, the words Glengarry Glen Ross chalked on the floor and a small poster pinned on the wall listing the salespersons in order of sales gains this month. The traverse staging provides a sense of claustrophobia – the audience as trapped as the characters, a team of four real estate salespersons who know that the top employee will win a BMW at the end of the month, while the two who have performed least well will be fired.

Rigola has opted to rename the Mamet’s characters; here they are addressed through their names as actors. Miranda Gas (Williamson in Mamet’s text) is the office boss, overseeing the salesmen and handing out leads. She explains the context and describes the location of the opening scene: a restaurant where she is dining with one of the salesmen, Francesc Garrido (Levene) whose bluster and bravado betray his desperation. He batters her with pleas for better leads – he won’t take responsibility for the run of poor sales, it’s all down to the poor hand he’s been given. He implores and flatters her; he insults her and opts for bribes but she won’t budge. With Miranda discernibly younger than Francesc, there is a generational shift that is clearly irking Francesc. The misogyny also belies Francesc’s underlying resentment of having a woman boss; she walks out leaving the imposing Francesc alone and annoyed.

Mamet’s characters are male, but Rigola reconceives two as women. Sandra Monclús presents Moss as a persuasive manipulator, calm in her ability to confuse the weak Andrés Herrera (Aaronow), and clinical in her attempt to cajole him into stealing the leads. She doesn’t have the extrovert qualities of Francesc or Pep Amorós (Roma) but she knows how and when to pounce; her persistent undermining of the aggressive qualities of Oriol and Emma, the absent agency owners, bamboozles Andrés. She resents the job and what it represents and her resentment spills out as poison in her calculating conversations with her colleagues.

Glengarry Glen Ross chalked on the floor of the stage. Photo: Angela Delgado

The overlapping dialogue is brisk and sly. Miranda and Francesc operate on the margins of one wall of the auditorium. Sandra and Andrés hover around the opposing wall. Francesc watches Andrés and Sandra from across the stage, neither appear to register that they are being observed. Andrés is currently at the bottom of the sales sheet and resigned to loss. He oscillates between Castilian and Catalan; the other characters speak predominantly in Catalan. It is clear he doesn’t have the linguistic dexterity of the other salesmen, doesn’t have the sophisticated grasp of Catalan. Sandra is cool and collected, practical and controlling; hands in her pocket, she is a visible contrast to the rattled Andrés.

The poster on the wall has Pep Ambròs (Roma) as top of the sales chart. Pushy, swaggering, confident and dismissive, Pep plays his game of seduction with the audience, picking out Àlex Fons as the unwitting client who he plans to sell to. The routine is perfectly choreographed, from the philosophical monologue to the song, where the other salespersons accompany him — a rendition of the Pet Shop Boys “Opportunities (Let’s make lots of money)” with Miranda on guitar, Francesc whistling and Andrés and Sandra popping in from a side door to make brief singalong appearances. It makes manifest what Pep won’t openly articulate: that he is out to scam Àlex and make lots of money.

Rigola’s production is a lean, focussed affair where moments such as the singalong rip through the surface appearances to expose the brutal reality of the salespersons’ intentions. The office break is signalled by Miranda and Andrés kicking papers across the floor. The second act has Francesc rushing in with a red file in hand to boast of a new sale of six units, regaling his colleagues with a tale of prowess in persuading a vulnerable elderly couple, Igor and Sam, to part with their cash. He is drunk on the success of ill-gotten success. The tall, imposing Francesc charges across the stage, seeking to take control again from top dog Pep. Miranda looks sceptical, staring him out, a discerning presence in her stillness. Pep knows he has little to fear; he berates Sandra; he evades Àlex when he returns trying to pull out of the sales deal and ropes Francesc in to play an American businessman that Àlex is working with and has to whisk to the airport. Francesc dons sunglasses and Pep’s baseball cap to create a ridiculous caricature of an all-too-busy client with his phone clamped to his ear delivering cliched lines that close down all conversations. It’s a wonderfully funny scene, marked by impeccable comic timing.

Andrés argues with Miranda; Pep viciously insults Miranda; Francesc lashes out at Miranda for ruining the game he and Pep were involved in to evade Àlex. But it is Francesc’s inability to put on a brake that exposes him as irresponsible, ruthless and arrogant; he inadvertently reveals he is responsible for the theft when he tells Miranda he knows she hadn’t filed Pep’s sale to Àlex. Miranda then pounces, ordering Francesc to see the policeman that is interviewing the office staff; in Rigola’s version the policeman never appears; he remains an offstage presence that the characters are escorted by Miranda to be interviewed by. Miranda, as in the opening scene, is unmoved by Francesc’s pleas or bribes.

Rigola gives the play a new currency in an age of austerity capitalism where everything is up for sale if the price is right. The actors wear their own clothes. The characters watch and pounce. The overlap between actor and role suggest that all are implicated in the culture presented in the 90-minute production. No one can be trusted, and the ruthless nature of this hard sell ruptures all compassion. ‘Oh god, I hate this job” is the production’s final line, delivered by Andrés as he looks at the devastation created by the competitive ethos promoted by the agency.

Rigola’s adaptation has no references to any specific currency, the pervasive ethos of the capitalist excess it chronicles has permeated all aspects of life across the globe. Misogyny and racism prevail, with Sandra and Miranda both targets of misogyny and upholders of the system that perpetrates such abuses. Seeing this clean, lean and powerful production in an age of austerity, in the week of a Trump presidential victory in the USA, is a reminder that the world it chronicles continues to thrive.

Glengarry Glen Ross plays at Barcelona’s Heartbreak Hotel theatre from 24 September to 17 November.