[On 8 and 11
December, after ROT published my friend Kirk
Woodward’s article “Eric Bentley On Bernard Shaw” (3 December), I posted a
two-part report on my attendance at the Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake,
Ontario, in August 2006. The post was a
large excerpt from a complete report of that trip from which I excised all the
performance discussions except those of the two Shaw plays in that season’s
bill. One of the other plays offered
that year was Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and because I’ve just posted a report on another Miller production, Incident
at Vichy, on 16 December, I thought it
would be worthwhile to run my excerpted remarks from that 2006 production of
another Miller history play. I hope ROT readers will find the comparison interesting.]
The trip to the Shaw Festival,
which was organized by the Round House Theatre of Bethesda and Silver
Spring, Maryland, left on Monday, 7 August, and returned on Monday, 14 August
2006; both Mondays were travel days, allowing for five days of theater (and a
little sightseeing, too, of course). The
theater pre-booked six shows for us
(leaving four from which we could select however many additional performances
we wanted); Miller’s The Crucible was scheduled for the 2 p.m.
matinee on Wednesday, 9 August, our second performance of the trip. The
show was presented in the 850-seat Festival Theatre, the largest and newest of the Shaw’s three
performance spaces, opened in 1973. After
a rather wan theater experience there the previous evening at Arthur Kopit and
Cole Porter’s High Society, the 1997
musical adaptation (based on the 1956 musical film) of Philip Barry’s 1939 Philadelphia Story, it was a terrific
start to a most enjoyable week of theater.
The Shaw Festival has a “mandate,”
to present the plays of George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) and his contemporaries. (An explanation of this somewhat flexible directive
is provided in my omnibus report on the festival.) The
Crucible was written three years after Shaw’s death, isn’t set
during the Irishman’s lifetime, and even its inspiration, McCarthyism, didn’t
really get started until after GBS’s death, so how did it qualify for the Shaw
Festival? In the category of plays by a GBS contemporary
then, Crucible qualifies for
inclusion in the festival’s program because Miller (1915-2005) lived during the
latter half of Shaw’s long lifespan.
The Crucible premièred on Broadway at the Martin Beck Theatre (now
the Al Hirschfeld) in 1953. It ran 197
performances and garnered the 1953 Best
Play Tony for Miller. The play’s been
revived on Broadway four times since then and a new mounting is scheduled to
come to the Walter Kerr next year as part of the informal celebration of the
playwright’s centennial this year. (The
new revival will be directed by Ivo van
Hove, the Flemish avant-garde director who is also responsible for the current,
highly-praised production of Miller’s View
from the Bridge at Broadway’s Lyceum Theatre. The upcoming Crucible’s cast is expected to include Ciarán Hinds, and Ben Whishaw
and Saoirse Ronan in their Broadway débuts.)
There have also been three Off-Broadway productions between 1958 and
1990. In Canada, a French-language
production was staged in Montreal in 1966 and that same year, an English version
was presented in Halifax, Nova Scotia. In
1961, composer Robert Ward adapted The Crucible
into an opera, which won the 1962 Pulitzer Prize for Music and the New York
Music Critics Circle Citation. British
Independent Television aired an adaptation in 1959 with stars including Sean
Connery and Susannah York. George C.
Scott, Colleen Dewhurst, and Melvyn Douglas starred in a CBS-TV broadcast in
1967; the BBC mounted another TV version in 1980 A French film, under the title Les sorcières de Salem and starring Simone
Signoret and Yves Montand, was released in 1957 and in 1996, Miller himself
wrote a film adaptation of the play (for which he received his only Oscar
nomination—for Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced
or Published) starring Daniel Day-Lewis, Winona Ryder, Paul Scofield, and many
other stars from Hollywood and the British screen and stage world. In 2014, London’s Old Vic filmed a stage
production that was released as a movie in the U.K. and Ireland.
The play’s story, set in Salem in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1692, unfolds
during the prosecution of the infamous Salem witch trials (1692-93). Some 20 colonists were tried for practicing
witchcraft and executed during this notorious episode as neighbor turned on
neighbor. Miller was already researching
the story and considering it as the basis for a play in 1952 when his friend
Elia Kazan, the Group Theater member who had directed Miller’s first two stage
successes, 1947’s All My Sons and
1949’s Death of a Salesman, was
called before the House Committee on Un-American Activities (known informally
and universally as the House Un-American Activities Committee, or HUAC). HUAC (abetted by Wisconsin’s Joseph McCarthy
in the Senate) was on its own witch hunt in the 1950s, searching everywhere for
communists. It was focusing on the
American entertainment business, both television and film in Hollywood and
theater in New York. Once again, friend
turned on friend and colleague on colleague.
Informing on others who might have associated with communist or
socialist organizations as long ago as the 1930s was encouraged—and failing to
do so could end in an actor’s, director’s, or writer’s imprisonment for
contempt of Congress, while those implicated, even just suspected, would face,
first, blacklisting in their industry and, second, incarceration. As in Salem, little proof was required—just
someone to point an accusatory finger. Kazan,
who’d been called once before, decided to name names rather than face the ruin of
his nascent and burgeoning career as a successful film director.
Miller saw parallels between HUAC’s and Tail-Gunner Joe’s commie witch
hunts in the 1950s and the Salem trials in the 1690s. This is what The Crucible was intended to examine in the story of John and
Elizabeth Proctor, a Salem farmer and his wife caught up in the midst of
communal hysteria and fear, duplicity and self-serving denunciation by one
neighbor against another, one former friend against another. Miller used actual transcripts and records of
the hearings as the basis for his script—though, of course, he took some
artistic license to create the drama.
The play still speaks powerfully to us today, even though HUAC and Joe
McCarthy are both gone—and so is Soviet communism. The spirit of McCarthyism continually raises
its ugly head, both abroad and in our own country (think Islamophobia, for
instance, or a few decades ago, Japanophobia, the fear that the Japanese were buying
up the whole country). Witch hunts, it
seems, never really go out of style. The
witch-hunters just find new targets.
After John Proctor, a married man and independent-minded farmer, decides
to break off his affair with 17-year-old Abigail Williams, Reverend Samuel
Parris’s niece, she leads other local girls in a magical ceremony in the woods
at night to cast a spell on Proctor’s wife, Elizabeth, to cause her death. When the girls are discovered dancing with
Tituba, Reverend Parris’s slave who practices voodoo in secret, they are
brought to trial for practicing witchcraft. Accusations begin to fly, often for motives
more temporal than spiritual, and a literal witch hunt gets underway. Before long, Elizabeth Proctor is suspected of
witchcraft, and John’s attempt to defend her only makes matters worse and he
ends up in the dock, too. Soon, the
entire village is embroiled in the hunt for witches and every settler is either
an accused or an accuser. Those who
confess to witchcraft will be spared execution and many do so, but Proctor and
some others refuse to make false confessions.
In the end, Proctor will hang, though the play ends before he goes to
his death.
Some critics
apparently felt that Benedict Campbell’s Proctor was too strong a man to have been
tempted by Charlotte Gowdy’s Abigail. I didn’t agree. Aside from
the fact that the fall of such a man makes the situation the more dramatic, I
see no contradiction in the fall of a strong man at the hands of a weaker
woman. I believe it has happened—both in life and in literature.
Further, I don’t see Abigail, no matter who plays her, as so ineffectual: she
does launch and maintain the conspiracy; she faces down the threats and
intimidations of both Proctor and Danforth; and she keeps the girls under
her control, especially the erstwhile defector Mary Warren (Trish Lindstrom),
even right under the gaze of all the powers of Salem. I had no problem
with this pairing.
The other
ensemble members were all good, carving out believable personae for their
characters, both the righteous ones and the benighted, venal ones. This was
an ensemble production—I didn’t mean to single Campbell out for his acting; it
was just the role that made him need comment—and the company portrayed a
convincing community, albeit one coming apart at the seams from internal conflicts.
(This may be the one major fault in the play in production as far as its
political point is concerned: even Jim Mezon's Deputy Governor Danforth, the
self-righteous inquisitor, is understandable in his wrong-headedness. Not
forgivable—but understandable. It was totally correct for the actor to
play him this way—as a flawed human who believes in what he’s doing even when
he’s wrong—but as a political allegory, he should be inhuman and evil, like,
say, Dick Cheney, Vladimir Putin, or Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.) The
acting in The Crucible was all at
a very high pitch. In almost any other case, it would probably have been
considered over-the-top scenery-chewing. Here, it just seemed
appropriate. After all, think about what’s happening to these people: they’re
being accused of the most heinous crime possible in their society—consorting
with the devil. Not only that, but it’s a false charge based on lies no
one wants to acknowledge. They’re caught in gigantic Chinese fingercuffs:
the harder they struggle to get out, the tighter they’re bound. And the
end result isn’t jail or loss of property, it’s death—death and ignominy their
families will have to live with after they’re gone. If that’s not reason
to rant and fulminate, I don’t know what is.
The acting, as I intimated, was
excellent. Bernard Behrens, for
instance, does a wonderfully fractious Giles Corey. I especially noted the way the actors handled
the array of local characters in the village.
This company demonstrated that they have the skill to focus on bit characters with the same care
that British casts apply (especially in films and television). This was particularly in evidence in Crucible, though Miller’s characters are
much more fleshed out in the text; there is even an edition of the published
script with historical character notes from the playwright’s research. I’ll draw a conclusion from perhaps
insufficient evidence and say that this acting skill, the focus on incidental
characters, is an inheritance Canadian actors received from the decades during
which they were an adjunct of British theater up till the middle/late ’50s and
early ’60s. I know Canadian theater (and
culture in general) struggled to carve out its own identity, separate from both
its former British colonial overlords and its behemoth neighbor to the south,
but it seems to me (being an outsider and not so emotionally invested in the
struggle) that the theater, at least, has gotten some benefit from that long
tutelage. At the same time, they handle
the Stanislavsky/Method stuff pretty well, too—something the Brits have only
come to terms with in the past few decades.
So, in the short run at least, the Canadians got the best of both
theater worlds.
The
Crucible was the first production of the festival where I began
to notice the design. (In almost all of the festival presentations, the
sets, especially, were remarkable elements of the productions.) I’m not sure that I can adequately describe
the kinetic set, so you may just have to accept my assertion that it was
striking and intriguing. The designer is Peter Hartwell, whose work I don’t
know but he’s designed for many top U.S. companies, including New York’s Public
Theater. (The whole production design is good: costumes by Teresa
Przybylski; lights by Kevin Lamotte; and original music by Paul Sportelli, the
Shaw’s musical director for eight seasons.) The performance started with
a scrim across the proscenium opening, painted with a black-and-white forest as
if we were standing in its midst. The sounds of a Puritan hymn filtered
in and we saw the enlarged shadows of people from the waist up, their arms
raised to heaven. As the people moved forward and the shadows shrank to
human proportions, Sportelli’s music, based on the Puritan hymn, became distorted
and skewed to make it sound ominous and frightening in contrast to the flat,
univocal sound—the Puritans apparently didn’t approve of harmony—when the hymns
were sung in church. As the scrim rose, the townspeople scattered and we were
in the upper floor of the house of Reverend Parris (Ric Reid), the bedroom of
his afflicted daughter, Betty (Katie Cambone-Mannell). (A variation on
the scrim technique was used again at the top of act two.)
The playing
area was a square of raw planks in the center of the stage;
the surrounding areas of the stage were dim and ambiguous. Over the
actors’ heads was a huge wooden frame filled in by panels of Plexiglas like a
giant window or skylight. The frame was angled like a slanted roof, but
there were objects attached to it—a baby carriage, for instance—and there
was a door in it. Attached to the frame at the stage-left edge of
the platform was a wheel like a small waterwheel. When the
scene changed—to Proctor’s first-floor room, for example—the frame rotated as
if driven by the wheel, like a gigantic grinding mill—a dark Satanic mill—or a
torture rack, coming to rest in a different position. It formed the back
wall of the room behind the court (hence the door), the ceiling of Proctor’s
front room (parallel to the floor this time), and the wall of the cell in which
Proctor is tempted by Danforth, Reverend John Hale (Peter Krantz), and Reverend
Parris to sign his confession while he confronts his wife.
All the set
(with the exception, of course, of the clear plastic windows) was rough
wood—planks, timbers, beams. The few pieces of furniture—Betty Parris’s
bed, the Proctors’ table, the benches at the court, and such.—were all
crude, simple constructions as you might imagine in a 17th-century
Puritan colonial village. Though the set was fragmentary, all
the elements—the furniture, props, and
costumes—were essentially naturalistic (however
symbolically they were used), as was the acting, yet the whole thing had an air of Russian Constructivism to
it—an (infernal) machine for acting. One
significant design element was stylistically opposed to the basically naturalistic
unit. It seemed as if designer Hartwell was evoking a threatening and
torturous world driving the little village of Salem. It was all very effective.
I did have
one, small problem with the staging—a directorial misstep, I think, rather than
a design error. For almost all of the play, that square, plank platform
demarked the "on stage" playing area—the limits of the rooms in which
the action took place. Off the platform, between it and the wings, was
no-man’s land—ambiguous territory. No actor violated this space in any of
the scenes, except in the second set that represented the Proctors’ first
floor. Characters entered and exited the house by walking across the
no-man’s strip at stage left, and that was fine. It should have represented
the "outside" of the house. But several times, when characters were
coming and going (when the court officers arrived to arrest Elizabeth Proctor),
several delivered lines from the ambiguous area as if they were still inside
the house. If they had indicated somehow that they were talking to
someone inside while they were outside, that would have passed, but they didn’t.
It broke what I thought was established convention for the production, and I didn’t
know why the director, Tadeusz
Bradecki, did it. There were about a half dozen people in the
scene, and I wondered if the director thought it had gotten too crowded—but,
first of all, I didn’t see that problem and, second, if he had to move some
actors off to disperse the scene, there should be some adjustment to show that
they are now outdoors. The acting was far too good for this to have been
just bad acting, a failure to execute a minor technical adjustment.
Some in our
group questioned another directorial choice, with which I had no trouble.
In the final scene, when Proctor first confronts his wife alone after months of
imprisonment and separation, a lot of the Round House spectators thought
Elizabeth (Kelli Fox) or John ought to have crossed in and embraced, or at
least touched, the other. Bradecki had them standing at pretty much
opposite sides of the cell—and I saw this as perfectly appropriate under the
circumstances as the production played them. The psychological gulf
between them, from John’s adultery, Elizabeth’s sense of guilt for having
driven him to that and her slowness to have forgiven him, his dilemma over
making a false confession so he can stay with her for the year she’s been
granted to bear her child, her reluctance to persuade him either way—all these
and other emotional burdens made a hesitancy to embrace perfectly acceptable to
me. As it happened, that was how Jackie Maxwell, the Shaw’s artistic
director, explained director Bradecki’s reasoning, more or less, when someone
raised that question at the Round House cocktail party later that evening.
I had no trouble buying it. I also think the tension from what seemed
like John’s and Elizabeth’s need to connect but fear of doing so made the scene
more painful, which is right, too.
I know lots
of people dismiss The Crucible as no
longer relevant, somewhat precious, or politically suspect/naive, but I’ve
always liked it. I think Miller’s point is powerful and valid—perhaps
even more today than it has been at any time since the 1950s—and the parallels
he found or devised between the witch trials and the McCarthy probes are
remarkable, especially considering how much they are based on actual
17th-century records. (The fact that there are records of those trials is remarkable in itself—but that’s not a theater
issue.) Sitting and watching this then-53-year-old play made me realize
very palpably how far backwards we’ve gone in recent years—and how very
dangerous and frightening that is. As powerful an indictment of
McCarthyist society Crucible was in
1953, it is just as clear a warning for our era of Patriot Acts, Guantanamo
prison camps, and warrantless wiretaps.
I did wonder
how the Canadians respond to this play since it isn’t about their society and
Miller isn’t speaking to them directly. Canada is the target of
terrorism, too, of course, and there have been Canadian troops fighting—and
dying—in Afghanistan—but, so far at least, Canadians haven’t been subjected to
Bushfascism yet (any more than they had a Tail-Gunner Joe or a HUAC).
Maybe they see it as a warning not to follow too closely in our path. Or
maybe they see it as an indictment of the big bully to the south. I can
say, though, that in performance they didn’t soft-pedal the message or mute the
play’s voice. Director Bradecki (a 51-year-old Pole, which may have
made his take on this drama more perceptive) staged a full-voiced production,
especially the actor who played John Proctor, Benedict Campbell, who was
excellent. He gave full, unapologetic rein to Proctor’s stiff-backed
pride, his anguish, his guilt, and his horror at what he sees happening to him
and his neighbors even as he tries to stop it. His final resignation—to
die rather than swear to a lie to save his life, to put his precious name on a
false confession—in the presence of his pregnant wife (who would live for at
least another year without him if he doesn’t confess) was easily one of the
most dramatic moments in the festival.
[Some have
pointed out that the putative parallel between the actual witch hunts of the
17th century and the red hunts of the 1950s is invalid because, as Molly (Day Thatcher) Kazan, Elia Kazan’s wife, told Miller, there never really were any
witches, but there were communists (including in the entertainment business:
Miller himself had been a member of the Communist Party in the 1940s). Though this is undeniably true—witches are
imaginary; communists are real—parallels still pertained. The fear and paranoia engendered by both was
equally real and both were demonized by the established authorities of their
respective societies. The communal hysteria
generated by rumors of witches in Salem was almost exactly duplicated by the
rabid anti-communists of the McCarthy era and though execution was not an end
result in the commie witch hunt as it had been for the actual witch trials of
the 1690s, many careers and lives were utterly destroyed as a result of the
hearings, trials, and denunciations by such publications as Red Channels. Furthermore, the potential
dangers attributed to both witches and communists in the entertainment industry
(I’m not referring to actual spies like the Rosenbergs), were equally specious. Miller himself pointed out that while we know
today that there are no such things as witches (I’m not talking about
modern-day Wiccans), to deny their existence in Salem 325 years ago was ill-advised
and doing so could put a settler’s life in jeopardy since it was the colony
authorities (the colonial equivalent to the state or, in the case of HUAC, our
federal government) which determined what’s real and what’s a myth. In the 17th century, witches and witchcraft
were as real as communists and communism was in the 20th; in 17th-century England,
there was even a man, Matthew Hopkins, who assumed the self-appointed position of
Witchfinder General.]
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