Roughly a week ago Boris Johnson resigned from parliament claiming that a ‘witch hunt’ was taking place against him and that he was “being forced out by a tiny handful of people, with no evidence to back up their assertions.” An interesting time to see Arthur Miller’s play ‘The Crucible’, writes Katie Kelly.
Miller bases his story on the Salem witch trials of the late 17th century when a tiny handful of, in this case, adolescent girls, empowered by a judge, and a priest with a penchant for exorcisms, brought a whole community to ruin with a genuine lack of evidence to back up their accusations. The disaster that befell Salem as hysteria overtook the village – long running feuds adding petrol to the fire of superstition – makes the Parliamentary Standards Committee enquiry into Johnson look pretty tame.
The play makes for intense and uncomfortable viewing. The action begins when Salem’s sanctimonious and self-serving priest Revd Parris discovers a group of teenagers dancing in the forest by night, in itself a forbidden activity in fun-loving Salem.
Faced with potential punishment, his daughter falls into a state of unconsciousness. Cue the arrival of villagers Ann and Thomas Putnam whose own daughter has been similarly afflicted. They jump with astonishing speed to the possibility of witchcraft. Parris’ orphaned niece Abigail Williams, a leader in the dancing antics, sensing a way out of trouble, begins to make accusations. From here things spiral out of control at an astonishing pace and the community is left devastated.
The emotional intensity is powerfully reinforced by the lighting, which is oppressively dark throughout, haunting vocals, and an impressive curtain of rain which drips misery between acts. The despotic mix of church and state in the theocracy of Massachusetts allows no one room for manoeuvre. Villagers are either for or against the witch trials. Ordinary people find themselves in the impossible position of choosing to admit a crime of which they are innocent or hang.
This may seem like a remote tale from ancient history, but Miller told this story to hold a mirror to the political persecution of the 1950s and the play’s perennial appeal is due in part to the unfortunate way in which intolerance and totalitarianism reinvent themselves relentlessly.
To the genius of Miller’s writing, this production adds some very strong performances. Milly Alcock as Abigail Williams is alternately sympathetic and convincingly monstrous. Brian Gleeson plays John Proctor, a deeply flawed hero, with depth and charisma. This is a play that intends to wake us up not gently distract us. A warning against black and white thinking, the power of the mob, and exploitation of human suffering for cynical political power. As Boris’ hero Churchill once said “Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
Gielgud Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue, London, W1D 6AR until September 2nd. Times: Monday – Saturday at 7pm, with a matinee on Thursday and Saturday at 2pm. Admission: £45 – £150.
Booking: www.delfontmackintosh.co.uk/theatres/gielgud-theatre – nationaltheatre.org.uk – 0344 482 5151
