Arthur Miller's play about Salem women accused of casting spells on young girls and its consequent hysteria and injustice still has the power that marked its debut during the McCarthy era. Today's major parallels concern 9/11 and the Justice Department and Patriot Act in a society vigilant against terrorism. The story begins after Reverend Parris (ever sterner David Breitbarth) has found his niece dancing naked, led by pretty young Abigail (Merideth Maddox, duly controlling) and abetted by Tituba, a servant from Barbados (Gale Fulton Ross, scary even when acting scared). Fearful about his position in town and with his flock, though he feels underpaid and educationally superior, Parris has listened to the parishioners insistent about witchcraft.
Hoping to justify bringing down fire and brimstone, he has called in an expert on unorthodoxies, Reverend Hale (sincere Douglas Jones, who grows in depth, as do Hale's sympathies with the accused). In foremost opposition to the hysteria: frequent litigant Giles Corey (played with humor and unusual subtlety by John Sterling Arnold), pillars of the church Rebecca and Francis Nurse (simply good Sharon Spelman and Dan Higgs), and no-nonsense farmer John Proctor (effective Patrick James Clarke). John, who had a brief fling with Abigail when she worked in his house, tries to make it up to his wife Elizabeth (Devora Millman, cool in the part and her performance). John's suspicions that Abigail will try to involve Elizabeth in the ensuing witchcraft trials and thus replace her grow. So do Reverend Hale's about the validity of "spells" cast on Abigail and her youthful followers. The reasoning of both is put down when Deputy-Governor Danforth comes to conduct one of his famous witchcraft trials. (Granted Danforth is harsh and excludes all other opinions, but Brad Wallace plays him on only one mean note.)
Sole among the "spelled" girls, Mary Warren (given real soul by petite Lauren Orkus), is an instrument of suspense as she almost overcomes her fear of Abigail and the others to save the accused. Everything is stacked against the truly innocent because they can save themselves from hanging only by confessing guilt or accusing and naming "guilty" others. One can sense the presence of Miller in John Proctor as he is asked to give names.
A light brown wood house and "court" rooms, lit starkly or as at twilight, bespeak the austere atmosphere and a metaphorical coming of darkness. Dress is stark, with textures rough except for the smooth black of clergy and judges. Every textual "point" is made, not forgetting the effects on the economy of cattle roaming because good farmers are imprisoned, or due to the land-grabbing motives of supposedly pious parishioners who are so certain their neighbors are witches. Called most into question are authorities, civil and religious, who are less concerned with justice than with their own reputations. Lacking is any trace of the former sexual liaison between Proctor and Abigail, but the domestic drama is both illustrated by John and Elizabeth and intensified by the political and moral conflicts. This touching of all bases occurs so evenly under Isa Thomas' direction that the play lacks any emphasis that might have made it more powerful.
