I read the play twice in my youth—first at 20, then again at 29—and after recently seeing the Broadway production, I will undoubtedly read it again soon. My reaction to the play, whether read on the page or experienced on stage, has shifted each time, yet my sympathy has always rested with Biff.
During my first reading, I sympathized with Biff because his father, Willy, was having a secret affair. Discovering this betrayal shattered Biff’s admiration for his father. I was young and Catholic at the time, which heavily shaped how I viewed that broken trust.
The second time I read the play, I was a bit older. My sympathy stayed with Biff, but for a different reason: Willy was a deeply flawed man who spent years puffing Biff up as a legendary high school football star. Biff had held his father in high esteem, only to realize the foundation was built on delusion. Willy had worked as a salesman his entire life, constantly bragging about his talent, when in reality he was failing—barely making enough to pay the family bills before ultimately being fired.
For my third experience with the story, I watched the Broadway production rather than reading the text. Perhaps because the entire drama unfolded in three concentrated hours—rather than over the few days it usually took me to read—or perhaps simply because so much time had passed, I unlocked levels to the story I had previously missed.
My understanding of Biff’s dilemma deepened significantly. It wasn't just about coming to terms with his father's financial failure, constant baseless praise, or willful refusal to face reality. Nor was it merely Biff's own realization that he was neither a high school hero nor destined to be a great businessman. The core issue was that Biff had come to accept himself as an average, flawed human being, but Willy could never accept that truth—neither for Biff nor for himself. Biff's ultimate frustration was simply wanting to be accepted for who he truly was.
Another element I observed in the Broadway performance that I had missed during my initial readings—though it may have been unique to Laurie Metcalf’s interpretation—was how Linda’s deep, blind love and protectiveness actually enabled Willy’s tragic delusions of grandeur. She ignores the reality of his downward mental spiral. In the performance, she felt strong enough to overcome this tragic flaw as a person to have prevented his demise, but didn’t, whereas in my two readings she seemed too quiet, demure, and traditional to be effective.
I originally hesitated to see the play because whenever I watch Nathan Lane, I usually just see Nathan Lane. But in his performance as Willy Loman, he truly became the character. Only once during the entire performance did he briefly break the illusion and revert back to Nathan Lane for me.
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