Arthur Miller’s The Price Measures Life in Choices at the Marylebone Theatre

As one walks into the Marylebone Theatre, a cosy and intimate theatrical space tucked away just off Baker Street, the eye is immediately drawn to a cluttered attic. Old wardrobes and drawers stacked high, a worn armchair, and a golden harp nestled in the corner, all of it either covered in white cloth or coated in a thin layer of dust. On this cramped, airless stage, time feels suspended, and the past presses in with a suffocating force. Amongst the remnants of bygone days, old wounds linger and long-buried choices demand to be reckoned with in Arthur Miller’s The Price. What begins as a seemingly modest premise—one man attempting to sell off his deceased father’s old furniture—can unfold into something emotionally expansive, explosive and devastating.

At the centre of it all is stage veteran Henry Goodman, whose portrayal of Gregory Solomon is nothing short of electric. He brings warmth and sharp comedic timing to the play, running Victor Franz—the protagonist, played by Elliot Cowan—in circles as they negotiate a price for his father’s possessions, while offering moments of levity that cut through its heavier themes. Even as his presence recedes in the second half, his scenes leave a lasting imprint, grounding the production with a wry humanity and a touch of cheeky playfulness. Opposite him, Cowan delivers a compelling portrayal of a weary, cynical police officer, capturing the quiet ache of a man drifting through life, suspended between resignation and a lingering sense of what might have been. Meanwhile, John Hopkins brings a slicked confidence to Victor’s estranged brother, tinged with quiet disappointment and regret, while Faye Castelow masterfully shapes Esther into a woman both bitterly and lovingly frustrated by her husband’s lack of ambition.

Miller’s famously dialogue-heavy style is also on full display here; although the script sometimes risks circling its ideas and dragging, the cast’s palpable anguish and frustration ensure the tension never dissipates. Instead, the repetition feels intentional, mirroring the brothers’ emotional stagnation as they confront their inability to escape the consequences of earlier choices and their futile attempts to make sense of each other’s decisions in the face of their father’s destitution and their own sense of hopelessness. 

Unsurprisingly, money sits at the heart of the play, but this production makes clear that Miller is just as concerned with what money represents: security, sacrifice, and the illusion of the American Dream. The narrative is steeped in nostalgia for more stable, prosperous times, yet it resonates sharply with contemporary anxieties: economic precarity, war, and the fragility of social mobility. Its critique of capitalism, consumerism and materialism feels especially pointed today, exposing the damaging entanglement between personal worth and material success.

Under the direction of Jonathan Munby—known for his work on productions like King Lear with Ian McKellen and The Merchant of Venice with Jonathan Pryce—the play leans fully into its naturalist elements. The agitation on stage is sustained and often suffocating, as emotionally stunted yet deeply complex characters grapple with family trauma, conflicting truths, and the weight of lifelong sacrifice. The production underscores a central, unsettling idea: that we always have a choice, even when it feels like we don’t, and that a single decision can irrevocably shape the course of our lives. There’s also an undercurrent of neoliberal critique here: the quiet glorification of self-sacrifice for family, the trade-offs made in pursuit of material security, and the way such choices calcify into resentment and regret.

This production of The Price marks a compelling step for the Marylebone Theatre under the leadership of Alexander J Gifford. Though the theatre has largely championed contemporary work, this first revival of a modern classic feels entirely in keeping its commitment to stories that speak to the intricacies of modern life. Despite being set in the shadow of the Great Depression, The Price proves disturbingly timeless as it speaks to the complex nature of our times. Ultimately, this production is a masterclass in restraint and emotional precision. It asks how we measure a life: through wealth, through sacrifice, or through the quiet accumulation of choices we can never undo. And in doing so, it leaves you with the uneasy sense that the real cost may only become clear far too late.

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Edited by Grace Mahoney. Theatre Editor.