Arthur Miller's The Crucible chronicles the events that led to the real-life Salem witch trials of 1692. The play, written in the 1950s, is generally considered to be a commentary on the McCarthy era and the country's anti-communist atmosphere. Although this production remains faithful to the original text (without direct references to the current political climate), one can easily make associations to today's election-year backbiting.
Director Joseph Hanreddy, the Milwaukee Repertory Theater's artistic director, gives an intelligent and searing portrayal of the mass hysteria that long-ago gripped Salem, Massachusetts. A dance sequence opens the play, as a cluster of young girls wearing long skirts sway and twirl as effortlessly as leaves in a fall breeze. The stage is darkly lit, although we can easily see the girls' faces. In the center of the circle is an older African-American woman. She likewise moves slowly and rhythmically, as if in a trance. As the speed of her gyrations increase, a man suddenly appears and the girls flee into the darkness. It is an ominously effective beginning to the play. A couple of girls who participated in the dance supposedly fall ill and claim witches possess them. The townsfolk, formerly a close-knit group of farmers and merchants, do not know what to make of these claims. During the course of the play, they become suspicious, worried and confused. The talk of witches spreads beyond the town, bringing a learned reverend (Torrey Hanson) and several regional magistrates. Miller uncovers the unsavory motives behind these claims, which increase over time. One man believes he can unlawfully claim another's land if that person is hanged as a witch.
A young girl, Abigail (Lisa Joyce), is smitten with a married man, who returns her affections. She asks a Barbados-born woman, Tituba, to cast a fatal spell on the man's wife so she can marry him. This is the nighttime dance that begins the play. The husband, a plainspoken farmer named John Proctor (Lee Ernst), realizes his adultery has inspired this witch-hunting frenzy. We learn that straying from his marriage vows previously has cast a rift between John and his wife, Elizabeth (Laura Gordon). While she understands his attraction to a young girl, she cannot accept it. As Proctor attempts to set things right, he realizes events have already spun out of control. His pleas to a scheming deputy governor (James Pickering) fall on deaf ears. More and more people are imprisoned at the deputy governor's insistence, including the town's saintly, elderly midwife, Rebecca Nurse (Rose Pickering).
One of the production's best scenes shows Proctor and his wife's bittersweet farewell on the dawn of his execution.
The large cast prevents individual mention of many of the performances. However, the talented Lee Ernst stands out as a common man confronted by his own weaknesses. As in the more recent film, "Fatal Attraction," Proctor's "fling" unsuspectingly leads to a nightmarish end. Ernst gives a sympathetic and fully evolved portrayal of a man who must own up to his actions, regardless of the consequences. Laura Gordon also impresses as Elizabeth, the stoic wife who must suffer for her husband's sins. Lisa Joyce, who portrays Abigail, the young girl who tears the family apart, is less satisfying. Abigail shifts focus from scene to scene, so we are not sure whether she is manipulating events or merely capitalizing on a favorable situation. Is she evil, or an opportunist, or both? When Abigail sees that her words have endangered John's life, she doesn't even wince.
Torrey Hanson gives an inspired portrait of a reverend who eventually sees the corruption around him, yet cannot undo it. Likewise, James Pickering pleases with his multi-faceted portrayal of the insufferable deputy governor.
The production's set suggests one of the play's lines: "there are wheels within wheels in this village." A large carriage wheel hangs above the actor's heads, supported by a vertical beam. The remainder of the set comprises a framework of roughhewn logs against a backdrop of black fabric. Inside the framework, a plain, raised platform revolves to suggest scene changes. The effect is bleak and dramatic.
The Crucible may never compete with Miller's finest work, Death of a Salesman, or even All My Sons. But its cautionary message especially rings true in an election year.
