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‘The Crucible’: A tale of terror fit for today  – Metro US

‘The Crucible’: A tale of terror fit for today 

The Crucible

The story of Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible” (in case you’ve repressed memories of high school English teachers forcing you to read its scenes aloud) is a relatively simple one: people point fingers. Then, once they become aware of the seriousness of their accusations, they try to take them back. By then, it’s too late and everything is ruined! It’s the story of the Salem witch trials, written by Miller in 1953 (in the midst of McCarthyism, which encouraged behavior, not unlike that exhibited in 1692 Salem, Massachusetts). Bedlam Theatre Company’s production is inventive and mesmerizing: I highly recommend seeing it before it closes on Dec. 29.

‘The Crucible’: A tale of terror fit for today

As you enter the Connelly Theater, a giant road sign sits behind the audience, inscribed: “Salem Village Welcomes You!” followed by John Winthrop’s quote “We shall be as a city upon a hill.” The sign is modern, as is the pre-curtain music, which most closely resembles jazzy elevator muzak. Audience seating in the small, intimate space is either a rickety chair directly on the stage or a more traditional seat in risers looking down upon it.

The drawback to “a city upon a hill” is that the surface area atop of said hill is quite cramped: everyone is up in everyone’s business in the town of Salem. The night before our story begins, Reverend Samuel Parris has seen his daughter and friends (led by Abigail, the most deliciously unlikeable character in modern history) frolicking around naked and singing incantations. Remember, this town hates witches, so: This. Is. Bad. 

The girls, being shortsighted teens, conspire to deflect attention by accusing other women in the town of witchcraft. The entire town (well, the male half of it) is whipped into an excited frenzy by the allegations, which spiral more and more out of control as the girls begin condemning random women. Any woman who denies the claims is sentenced to death.

Important to note is the motivation behind the witch-hunt in the first place: Abigail is desperately in love with the much older farmer John Proctor. They have (as they say in the Bible) “known” each other, and she refuses to accept his resolve to put their relationship behind him and recommit himself to his wife, Elizabeth “Goody” Proctor. Abigail ultimately accuses Goody Proctor of witchcraft, which she hopes will drive John to her own arms. Truett Felt does a fantastic job as Abigail, simultaneously totally manipulative and desperately naive.

The opening of the show is intentionally bizarre and disjointed, as actors dissolve in and out of scenes, sit in stillness, or hold lights or props for each other. Characters address each other directly (as people are wont to do), except Abigail, who faces out directly at the audience during the entire opening sequence. It’s deeply unsettling, as we’re forced to wonder what exactly it is she sees: is it us? The future? The impact of her accusations? The odd, almost marionette-like opening is effective but exhausting to watch. Director Eric Tucker seemingly anticipates our fatigue and mercifully abandons the style after establishing the tone. It’s a smart choice, as slowing down the pace gives us time to catch up to the emotional depth of the characters onstage.

As the stop-motion acting is abandoned, so, too, is the proscenium, as the cast begins spilling out of the traditional playing space and into/around the audience. The show is clearly exhausting to perform, but the payoff is magnificent: the actors give new meaning to the word “ensemble,” as new scenes and sets magically and frantically appear before your eyes. It’s a feat of direction by Tucker, who also acts in the show.

The problem with accusations is, as they say in middle school: no take-backs. And the characters in this play have the foresight of middle schoolers who don’t consider the repercussions of their allegations. As new characters arrive to legitimize the seriousness of the claims (such as witch expert Hale, played by Tucker with Harold-Hill-from-“The Music Man”-like dazzling, schmoozy charm), it’s too late for accusers to rescind their claims.

Nobody in the show is truly innocent, except perhaps Elizabeth Proctor, who, ironically, takes it upon herself to apologize to her husband for being so frigid (this unnecessary apology was the only part of the show that felt outdated … I would hope no contemporary playwright would write a scene in which a wife on death row tearfully apologizes to her husband for not being “enough” after he abandons her to sleep with a teenager, who started the whole mess in the first place. Sigh). Susannah Millonzi gives an emotionally connected, fragile yet grounded performance as Elizabeth, communicating everything you need to know about her marriage in the way she fetches John a cider.

The term “witch hunt” has been tossed around a lot in the past few months, but I am certain this isn’t a pro-MAGA production of “The Crucible.” What made this play feel relevant was the sheer panic I felt watching something spin fully out of control and having no ability to impact its outcome. Bedlam includes you by putting seats onstage but prohibits you from participating: it’s like a bad dream where you can’t run or scream. I have felt similarly in recent years glued to my television, watching the Kavanaugh or impeachment hearings (the production leans into the analogy, setting up microphones during the trial to evoke Big Congress Energy).

We’re inundated with things that infuriate and outrage us in today’s world. This show, often produced during times of unrest, reminds us that people have been terrible to each other since … forever and will continue to do so for all time. It’s almost comforting to know humankind has been nothing if not consistent, but it’s mostly terrifying to consider. “The Crucible” is a play built for times like these, and this is a breathtakingly frenetic production not to be missed.