Glengarry Glen Ross Broadway Reviews

Or so I thought. But in the weirdly limp revival that opened on Monday at the Palace Theater, something has flipped. As played by Kieran Culkin, leading a sales team that also features Bob Odenkirk, Bill Burr and Michael McKean, Roma is no longer the master of everyone else’s neuroses; he’s neurotic himself. Especially in the scene that ends the first act, as he winds up for a pitch into the soul of a schlub, he is so deeply weird and interior that any semblance of a confident exterior evaporates. The man couldn’t sell a dollar for a dime.

Individually, all give sharp-elbowed, effective performances even if, under the direction of Patrick Marber, this staging never quite develops the head of steam that could keep the tension rising throughout the play’s brisk running time of less than two hours, including intermission.

And if there’s a good reason to revive Glengarry Glen Ross again, and Mamet’s cavernously amoral depiction of immorality inside it, Marber hasn’t made that apparent either. One self-serving prick is just like the next? We knew that much already.

For Glengarry to land its hardest, we’ve got to feel a measure of that Arthur Miller anguish in Levene’s ultimate downfall, no matter the character’s moral worth: Odenkirk shrinks toward pathos rather than expanding toward tragedy. Burr, meanwhile, plays Moss with a comedian’s ear for rhythm, setting up each blunt force blow and devious jab like so many cans to be shot off a fence. It works — there’s not much soul in Dave Moss to go digging for.

After intermission, the play moves from the Chinese restaurant to the salesmen’s shabby office: plywood in part of the window, rust from a pipe bleeding down an upper wall. (Scott Pask’s sets for both acts are unimprovable, as are his costumes; the pale green shirt under Burr’s brown suit is a miniature triumph.) Culkin’s performance improves in this brighter environment, with greater mobility and action to play, but he’s still all wrong for Roma. When he loses control, there’s no menace to his anger; it’s just a peevish tantrum. To the extent that Marber’s job as a director here is, like John’s, to “marshal the leads,” it is only partly accomplished.

With such an impressive list of actors, audiences will likely flock to Glengarry Glen Ross simply because they want to see Odenkirk, Burr, McKean, and Culkin knock it out of the park — and that is what they will find in spades. Any further exploration into the play's themes of toxic masculinity, morality, and corruption, however, have been largely left at the wayside in favor of watching these men work. Which, of course, creates a thrilling experience, but also leaves something more to be desired.

While Mamet’s offstage persona may continue to provoke discomfort, this revival reminds us why his plays—at their best—remain so potent onstage. “Glengarry” still crackles with vicious energy, bitter humor, and brutal truths about American ambition. This sharp, superbly cast production doesn’t just close deals—it slams the door.

Culkin makes Roma a tightly wound ball of energy, puffed up with dick-swinging over-confidence; Odenkirk finds pathos in Shelly’s increasingly futile attempts to keep up a front while his career crumbles beneath him; and Burr bristles with resentment, making uproarious music out of Moss’ strings of expletives. It’s no surprise that the seasoned comic has flawless timing.

So, to channel Mamet, why the f–k has it been plopped onto the same stage that was home to “West Side Story,” “Legally Blonde” and “SpongeBob Squarepants: The Musical”? It’s a huge mistake. Any tension heads straight down the lobby escalator as soon as the curtain rises, and it’s challenging to become absorbed by the tale — even during the always-feisty second act.

In the play, the characters that say these words aren’t cautioned or castigated or proven wrong. Mamet simply has them say them; the response of the audience in 2025—laughing at them merrily saying the words—is its own telling-on-itself... The anti-Indian language was removed in a 2004 San Francisco revival, but not in this production. The cast and crew make their creative choices, and the audience pays its money to watch some high-class actors knock each other around with unrestrained verbal battery.

Still, you can't deny the sheer delight of watching the stars that Marber has aligned. With a dynamite cast firing on all cylinders, these 'Glengarry' leads are ultimately worth the investment.

Culkin, though, has a staccato delivery, a halting rhythm and an innate sense of vulnerability, all qualities that have made him a much-cherished star. But they don’t easily make a Ricky Roma, and his work in the role, although far from sloppy or embarrassing, throws off the rhythms of the play. He’s been miscast.

Director Marber clearly has a solid understanding of Mamet’s intentions, never favoring one character over the other or shining one in a more sympathetic light. Marber knows that if anything can be said about Glengarry Glen Ross‘ take on toxicity it’s that it comes in all shapes and sizes, whether it’s the good-buddy approach adopted by Culkin, the sympathetic shark embodied by Odenkirk, McKean’s befuddled butter-wouldn’t-melt take or the brutally honest red-faced manipulations of Burr’s character.

Glengarry Glen Ross may have lost some of its capacity to surprise over the past four decades, but the new revival offers a tribute to its durability. The setting, the lines and the tragedy of normal men attempting to hard-charge their way through decaying capitalism can remain the same, while the actors find new ways to sell it.

Not much is at stake for these alleged sharks, who glide through the lofty waters of Scott Pask’s two sets. Having to blow out this small piece to fit this massive theater, the ornate Chinese restaurant of the first act and the office of the second reflect comfort, not the cesspool that could breed the Darwinism their actions involve. Polished, starry, and with nothing to say, this Glengarry sells a McMansion, neither a scam nor a Palace.

It really would take a lot more than one case of miscasting to tank this play. That misstep aside, the production remains highly entertaining. In addition to Odenkirk, Burr and McKean’s standout performances, Donald Webber, Jr. as the stoic office manager Williamson, and John Pirruccello’s turn as Roma’s target – the indecisive schlub James Lingk – are both excellent.

They certainly do so here, although this rendition features one significant miscasting that robs the play of some of its impact. Odenkirk and Burr fare the best, with the former playing the older salesman Shelley “The Machine” Levene like a sadder, tired-out version of Saul Goodman. If he doesn’t quite convey the pathos of previous actors who’ve played the role such as Robert Prosky or Jack Lemmon, his sharp comedic instincts garner laughs that weren’t there before.

Dialed to a slightly lower register, the delicacy and intricacy of the language here lands with a punch whose impact comes on the subway ride home. “Glengarry Glen Ross” is a part, now, of our shared canon; a production that sheds light by emitting slightly less noise allows its performers to probe all its contours, and to make it fresh for a new audience.

“Succession” breakout Kieran Culkin joins “Better Call Saul” star Bob Odenkirk and comedian Bill Burr in a crackling, non-showy and well-balanced production that opened Monday at the Palace Theatre.The trio will likely get a standing ovation every night, but it’s the casting that really sings. None of the leads are outside their comfort zones.

This being Trump’s America, the play hits hard. The casual racism of 1980s real estate — “Patel? Ravidam Patel? How am I going to make a living on these deadbeat wogs?” — is deeply uncomfortable. Remember Trump’s reference to migrants from “shithole countries”? Real estate offices of the 1980s are, of course, where the president learnt his trade. There is no need to labour the point, though. The play zips along without any overt political ploys. And it doesn’t need them. Mamet’s script is as fresh today as it was 40 years ago and Marber has assembled a cast worthy of its revival.

At times, however, Patrick Marber’s direction doesn’t trust Mamet’s extreme language to do the job and he lets his actors go way over the top in their attacks on each other. Some of this overacting may be the result of playing the Palace Theatre, a 1,600-plus-seat venue that’s too large for such an intimate play. Then again, the audience loves these big performances, and several of these acting outbursts are rewarded with applause, which only further acts to dissipate the real drama.