Robert Hitt’s recent production of “Death of a Salesman,” which opened last weekend at the Belfast Maskers Railroad Theater, will make you nervous. It will make you cringe and worry and grieve. And it should. Willy Loman is a frightening man.

That’s not because he hurts others (though he does), but because he is so deeply hurt himself. “I’m not noticed,” he complains to his wife, Linda, which is to say Willy Loman’s life feels worthless. The American dream can do that, and it’s not a pretty thing. Indeed, it infests the Loman family with lies and addicts them to illusions.

It’s important to note that Arthur Miller’s play was written in 1948 and first produced in 1949. A movie production followed in 1951. Overwhelmingly, this play is about that broken period after two world wars and the onslaught of technology and suburbia.

In some unexpected way, however, “Death of a Salesman” is still about today. Fatherhood in America has some damn tricky twists to it, and Robert Hitt knows we’re not done figuring out what to do with fatherhood and the anti-glory of the American dream. Indeed, Hitt is brave to bring it up again, to resuscitate the pain and questioning.

You may not want to see this bleak portrait, made even bleaker by the muted grays and pale purples of Jim Thurston’s fragmented set. But if you’re up for a night of solid, soul-searching drama, you’re unlikely to find a show any more theatrical or engaging than this one.

Largely, this has to do with a tough artistic vision on Hitt’s part. He knows what he’s dealing with here — the language, the symbolism and the difficulty. He never underestimates the audience and doesn’t undermine the abilities of the cast members.

And there’s some powerful ability among these community performers. Howard Koonce walks Willy Loman through a misguided life of failures and, as Willy’s life flashes back before his eyes, prepares us for the tragic ending. With a mere toothy smile, Koonce can reveal Willy’s whole skewed get-rich philosophy of being “well-liked,” and we hate him even as we wish we could transport him to some “great time” before he was fatherless, before he was wounded. Koonce looks as if he might blow at any time, but he masterfully takes us right up to the moment of truth and let’s us have it clear and cold.

Joyce Smith’s portrayal of Linda is nearly operatic in its range. She can be very, very big, and then fade into the craggy edges of the Loman household. She is at once loud and silenced, and her anchoring performance pushes her into the center of a play that doesn’t much care about her invisibility.

Michael Fletcher has all the right grace and determination for Biff, the eldest of Loman’s two sons and the hope for the Loman future. Fletcher doesn’t have the intense realism of other members in the cast and that’s unfortunate, but he truly does give of himself as an actor — particularly when he chooses dialogue over dramatic recitation.

Other all-out performances are given by Brian Ross (as Bernard), Dennis Harrington (as Uncle Ben), Philip Price (as Charley), Mike Fowler (as Hap) and, as The Woman, Diane Collier Wilson, who is always expert in her work.

Nell Moore’s austere costumes don’t allow us one second of relief from the silent horrors onstage, and Gail Savitz’s lighting design deftly helps us make the transitions between reality and madness.

To Hitt’s credit, he doesn’t leave the audience stuck in misery by the end of this 2 1/2-hour show (which moves along with impressive speed). A stronger portrayal of Biff’s transformation would give us more to take home, and there’s no substitution for that. But a rollickingly jazzy curtain call goes an amazingly long way in cheering up the audience.

The Belfast Maskers will present “Death of a Salesman” at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday and at 3 p.m. Sunday through Oct. 26 at the Railroad Theater in Belfast. For information, call 338-9668.