Interview with Halit Ergenç

Ahead of Death of a Salesman I caught up with Halit Ergenç about returning to the stage for the first time in 25 years and why he felt like now was

What drew you to return to the stage with Death of a Salesman after more than two decades away from theatre?

Theatre offers a sense of immediacy and risk that cannot be replicated elsewhere.

Over the years, working on screen, I did not feel a strong need to return. But at some point, I realised I missed that sense of exposure, where nothing can be adjusted once it begins.

If I was going to come back, it had to be with a role that required complete honesty. Willy Loman felt like that.

Willy Loman is such an iconic and complex role. What was your way into understanding him?

I focused on the human need at the centre of the character, the need to be recognised and valued.

Rather than approaching him as an idea, I worked through the text very carefully. The writing itself does not allow you to simplify the character.

In that process, I found myself questioning my own understanding of success, failure, and identity. That became the entry point.

How does performing live theatre again compare to your extensive work on screen?

They demand different forms of attention.

On screen, the camera captures detail and you can refine a moment. On stage, you have to sustain the entire emotional journey without interruption.

There is no correction once it begins. That creates a different kind of tension, but also a different kind of presence.

What have you missed most about the stage during your time away?

The unpredictability.

Even within a very precise structure, something shifts every night in timing, energy, or rhythm.

There are moments where I move through the space almost unconsciously, interacting with the chairs while the family speaks about Willy. Those moments are never exactly the same.

That sense of discovery is something I missed.

Working with Rufus Norris, what has that collaboration brought to your performance?

He created an environment where instinct was trusted.

He often spoke about that, and it shaped the entire process. It gave us freedom, but also a strong sense of responsibility.

At the same time, he has a very clear eye. He allowed us to explore, even into uncomfortable territory, and then shaped those discoveries with precision.

That balance between openness and structure had a strong impact on the performance.

This production explores memory and fragmentation, how have you approached portraying Willy’s shifting state of mind?

I did not try to indicate transitions between past and present.

For Willy, these states coexist. Each moment is experienced as immediate and real.

During the restaurant scene, when his mental state begins to collapse, part of the stage slowly rotates.

That shift belongs only to him. The others remain grounded.

It allows the audience to experience his inner disorientation directly.

The creative team is world-class, including Es Devlin and Katrina Lindsay, how have the design elements supported your performance?

Es Devlin’s design is built around a simple but powerful idea.

The stage is almost empty, with wooden chairs and a long, highway-like path extending deep into the space.

That path becomes a metaphor for Willy’s life, defined by movement, distance, repetition, and isolation.

The chairs are used fluidly to suggest different environments.

In the domestic scenes, the space subtly contracts, creating a more intimate world.

Light plays a crucial role. It shapes the rhythm and emotional shifts rather than simply illuminating the stage.

Katrina Lindsay’s costumes add another layer to the character. When I first tried them on, it was not an intellectual shift, but a physical and emotional one.

The texture and cut of the costume suggested a certain vulnerability, almost a childlike presence beneath the surface.

The overall simplicity creates focus, leaving the actor exposed and allowing the smallest details to become visible.

What has the rehearsal process been like for a piece of this scale?

It required discipline, both physically and emotionally.

At the same time, it was an open process. We were encouraged to explore and to bring our instincts into the work.

The presence of the ensemble added another layer. They do not speak, but at times function like a chorus, and at other times as an extension of Willy’s inner world.

That expanded the piece without losing its intimacy.

What do you think makes Death of a Salesman still resonate nearly 80 years after it premiered?

Because the central fear has not changed.

It is the fear of not being enough.

The context may belong to a specific time, but the emotional reality remains.

How important is it for productions like this to reach international audiences in new ways?

It is important because it reveals how similar we are.

When a story travels, it becomes something shared. That exchange is valuable for both the work and the audience.

What has it been like performing at Zorlu Performing Arts Centre?

It is a large and technically advanced space.

The challenge is to maintain intimacy within that scale.

When that balance is achieved, it creates a strong connection with the audience.

What do you hope audiences feel when they leave the theatre after watching this production?

I do not think in terms of a message.

I hope they feel something honest.

If they leave with questions, that is enough.

Death of a Salesman is at Zorlu PAC in Istanbul until 16th June. For more go to https://www.zorlupsm.com/