“I’ve wanted to do this play for years,� Bob Odenkirk says emphatically. “I wrote to [playwright] David Mamet 20 years ago and I said, ‘I have two requests. One, can we do an all-comedy version? Two, can we change it from land that they're selling to pots and pans?� And I never got a response.�
At least one of the Emmy winner’s requests has finally been granted as he makes his Broadway debut in the latest revival of Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross, which begins its limited engagement at the Palace Theatre March 10 with an opening night of March 31. Joined by his Better Call Saul co-star Michael McKean, newly minted Oscar winner Kieran Culkin, and comedian Bill Burr, Odenkirk says he wants a version of his character, past-his-prime salesman Shelley Levene, that feels hopeful.
“Look, this guy’s a salesman,� Odenkirk says. “I don't think you sell people by berating them. I think you need to make them feel aspirational and hopeful. That there's a positive energy that they can grab a hold of and cling to by saying yes to you.�
While Odenkirk acknowledges that Mamet’s “rich� dialogue can come off as “pissed off and peeved,� he sees the play as “containing multitudes.� After all, the actor considers the writing “as good as it gets.� Amidst rapidly falling, emotional f-bombs, there is logic to the salesmen’s motivation. As Odenkirk becomes practiced in running through the entire play every day in his quest to become “supremely comfortable with the language,� he’s also having fun. Speaking just before the play began rehearsing, Odenkirk is pitching a slapstick celebration of human drive. And so far, this writer is buying it.
“These guys are totally jacked up on being salesmen,� Odenkirk explains. “They are loving the competition. They are loving the adrenaline. They are loving the danger. They're encouraging and feeding the system that crushes them. But they can't help it. They're addicted to it.�
It’s this internal battle between external pressures, moral boundaries, and a relentless pursuit of success that draws Odenkirk to characters like Shelley (and the morally gray Saul Goodman, for that matter). These are beguiling Tom Sawyer-like men who Odenkirk says illustrate the type of salesmanship pioneered in America: service with a smile so blinding the customer doesn’t know they’re hooked until after they’ve signed their name and handed back the pen.
“Saul was somebody that you went with because he was—even though his plans were sometimes devious, and he had a bit of negativity buried inside him—he was so upbeat and energetic and positive,� Odenkirk contemplates. “It’s an American thing to find that positivity and try to ride that wave.�
Odenkirk’s draw to men like Shelley and Saul comes from the wealth he can mine from their arc—the internal battle warped and squeezed by the pressures of the world around them. The world Shelley occupies is one of his own creation, one where a salesman must keep strict to his ABC’s (“Always Be Closing�) lest he be surpassed by another more cunning closer.
“[Shelley] is talking to himself and selling himself on what he’s pitching,� Odenkirk says.
When the play opens, the audience sees Shelley having trouble landing sales; he insists he is simply “at the end of a bad streak.� A positive streak, a winning streak, is at the end of his next conversation. He can already hear it, the yes that will kick off a new run of success. “The fun of competition also feeds their cruelest natures,� Odenkirk reflects. “It's fun, crazy, and heartbreaking. It really says something about humanity, you know?� In falling into the “groove� of the evergreen “pursuit of a win,� these men are tragically fallible. And while he acknowledges that from this human drive has come incredible achievement and discovery, it can be difficult to discern when the hamster wheel has tipped off its stand, becoming “just painful.�
Citing the “whatever it takes� salesmanship he’s observed in the speeches of contemporary politicians as a point of reference, Odenkirk is most looking forward to displaying the agility of Shelley’s “nimble mind,� all while getting laughs.
“I guarantee you, I’m going to say to [director Patrick Marber], ‘You gotta let me do the stupidest, silliest version of this character,’� Odenkirk chuckles, detailing his strategy for the rehearsal room. Getting what he calls “the ridiculous version� out just once helps him modulate, find the core of the comedic moment. It’s a tactic Odenkirk says he has to get out of his system. “It’s right here,� he says, hand on his chest. “Trying to get out. And I’m going crazy.�
For Odenkirk, there’s a version of Glengarry that’s “silly as hell,� one he’s hoping to push so far that audiences who know the work might question if he’s deviating from the original text. But, he knows he can’t push too far—not so far that he exhausts himself (and his co-stars) or makes it difficult for the audience to care about which salesman will drive off into the sunset in a shiny new Cadillac.
“The fun of having a live audience is that you work with them, you're sensitive to them,� Odenkirk says. While he has not performed in a play since he was in his early 20s, the actor is no stranger to the stage. Odenkirk and David Cross� sketch comedy series, Mr. Show with Bob and David (and later, W/Bob & David), was recorded in front of a live audience. In fact, Odenkirk had been on stage the week before this conversation, performing an “interview comedy� with his son. In anticipation of taking a Broadway stage for the first time, Odenkirk anticipates “calmer, quieter, focused� weeknight audiences contrasting with “fireworks� on the weekend. Not knowing where his performance might land, Odenkirk asks for prayers.
“I can’t fucking wait,â€� Odenkirk says with a grin. “Feel free to use the word ‘fuckâ€� in °ëµºÌåÓý. It’s certainly in the fucking play!â€�
