Thankfully, we were spared a deluge, but it highlighted a problem with this venue. Arthur Miller’s masterful study of corrosive crime, deceit and guilt, in which past deeds cast long shadows, needs to feel unbearably oppressive.
As the noose tightens round the neck of Joe, whose wealth is the result of illicit wartime business, we should share his sense of inescapable doom. But the tension dissipates in the open air.
We’re too far removed from the actors, miked to compete with ambient noise. Instead of subtle performance shifts, we get histrionic music cues and the random appearance of extras. It’s a particularly solemn show and tell.