Many plays acquire the by-line “Classic”, but few deserve them as much as the writing of Arthur Miller. The Crucible, written in 1953, is a gripping tale of the Salem Witch trials of 1692 and is based on real characters from those events when hysterical young girls’ wild accusations lead to horrific rigged court trials and the death of the older defendants. The author explained at the time it was an allegory for the US Government’s McCarthyism of the late forties/early fifties when a senator whipped up fear of Soviet espionage and everybody feared a “red under the bed”. Though firmly rooted in its narrative to the seventeenth century the play resonates even more powerfully today when social media amplifies the wildest allegations and beliefs of the outspoken minority, court cases fill the news headlines about claims of media privacy intrusion and parliament is dominated by public inquiries and select committees pouring over claims and counter-claims leading to an appearance sometime of media witch-hunts to undermine authority. With the absence of hard evidence, those in judgement are left to decide based on hearsay and speculation and find it hard to resist their preconceived ideas of the truth.
It is a gripping tale contrasting the passionate and enthusiastic accusations from the young girls led by Abigail Williams, an extraordinary theatrical debut from Milly Alcock who orchestrates the girls’ behaviour and responses, with the good men and women of Salem and the surrounding lands and the earnest but foolish men responsible for investigating and dealing with the accusations. It is a combination of the skill of Miller’s writing and the direction by Lyndsey Turner that though we can see the truth in plain sight, we still can feel the motivation and self-belief of each group and are swept along by the tension and fear that drives the narrative.
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The key moments are dominated by the nine young girls who act as a chorus watching from the back of the stage or rear of the church congregation before taking centre stage with their accusations and seizures which are chillingly choreographed as possessed souls. Gracie McGonigal follows up her success as the leads in the Stratford East and Lyric Hammersmith pantomimes to show she has great range as Suzanna and Amy Snudden sets the ball rolling as the comatose bedridden Betty Parris caught dancing in the wood by her religious father (Nick Fletcher). Nia Towle is equally convincing as Mary Warren, the young servant of the Proctors, who tries to break free from the mass hysteria only to be drawn back in to protect herself.The stoic steadfast village folk whose families are torn apart by the accusations, and all beautifully played showing a combination of unbreakable religious belief, suppressed fear at the situation and calm resistance to the threats. Giles Corey played by Karl Johnson leads the resistance with all his litigious experience although it was surprising how often the audience laughed at his observations. Rebecca and Francis Nurse (Tilly Tremayne and Colin Haigh) provided powerful quiet support as they sought to defend the accused. The main protagonist is of course John Proctor played here by Brian Gleeson who finds himself drawn in and trapped by the situation as a result of his liaison with young Abigail. He presents a straightforward determination to do the right thing but there could have been more variation in his tone and response. His wife Elizabeth, Caitlin Fitzgerald, is a cool and unflappable source of strength.
The fervour and misplaced sense of justice that is such a powerful allegory for the modern investigators are brilliantly and authoritatively played by Henry Everett as Judge Hawthorne and Matthew Marsh as Deputy Governor Danforth and we can sense the Deputy Governor’s fears that if the accusations are false then his is guilty of a horrific miscarriage of justice and having already hanged some of the accused. Severe public unrest would result if he delayed further hangings or if he admitted a serious mistake. This impairment of natural justice to protect his own position from public criticism seems as relevant today as those in authority are influenced by their “net promotor score” in polls and the trends in social media.The National Theatre‘s production is powerfully staged and lit with a strong underscore that builds tension with every encounter between antagonists and protagonists. The use of the upstage darkened area to show “off stage” scenes as described on stage adds a visual depth to the story. The rain that falls constantly before the show, during the interval and between scenes seems an extravagant excess and an overused device which was so much more effective in Prima Facie and Streetcar named Desire where it highlighted decisive moments. A simple gauze might have had the same effect unless it was intended to mirror the old-fashioned saying “It never rains but it pours”; if so, it seems very heavy-handed. The costumes too hint at an updating of the setting with military-style overcoats and pastel floral dresses placing the action in the twentieth century while the words still say seventeenth. The accents too seem varied and without a sense of location or time.
The overall effect is however powerful and engaging and the underlying narrative is scary and concerning. "Invisible crimes” where there is no documentary evidence and an overreliance by the prosecutors on the accuser’s own statements seem a more common occurrence today where social agitators, people with grudges or political activists can use social media to spread disinformation and suspicion to discredit people and those who sit in judgement struggle to suppress their own predisposed bias or fear they own popularity will be affected by social media responses. This seventy-year-old play is a powerful metaphor and warning of the horrific consequences of this clouded judgement and the dangers of bowing to public hysteria and pressure and demonstrates that Miller’s play is indeed a timeless classic.Review by Nick Wayne
Rating: ★★★★★
Seat: Stalls, Row O | Price of Ticket: £70
