Auckland Theatre Company’s production of Arthur Miller’s most-popular play lands the elusive double of emotionally gripping entertainment combined with meaningful intellectual stimulation.

The grim economics of live theatre have ground down the size and scope of contemporary plays, but with a cast of 22, The Crucible offers the expansive vision and dense textures of Shakespearean drama.  [Read more]

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Taking a seat in the Maidment auditorium, even with the house lights up, the set is instantly striking. The looming angles of what become alternately an attic, meeting house, kitchen and courtroom, are at once simple enough to accommodate the various locations and strongly suggestive of the passionless, rigid yet precarious puritan mindset of its occupants.

The play concerns itself with the witch trials that took place in an insular and superstitious town in the late 17th century. When a group of girls play ungodly but (by today’s standards) innocuous games, they decide to divert attention from their activities by carelessly accusing some of the townsfolk of witchcraft.

What starts out as a childish game turns into a full-blown and unyielding witch hunt, fed by underlying personal motives, irrational fear and self preservation. The town’s most upstanding citizens are caught in the crossfire and condemned for their very refusal to compromise their integrity. If they confess to consorting with the devil, they will be spared. This is the court’s position: the accused are guilty and unable to be proven innocent.

Written as an allegory of the political ‘witch hunt’ during the USA’s anti-communist paranoia of the 1950s McCarthy era, The Crucible is based on events that took place in late 17th century Salem, a puritan settlement in Massachusetts. But it doesn’t stop there: The Crucible resonates as a global and timeless metaphor for political tyranny and persecution in the name of religious conviction; for irrational consensus vs. individual integrity.  

In a senseless fight between truth and what cannot be proven, the majority eagerly embrace the indiscriminate accusations with a disturbing thirst for retribution. The accused withhold evidence that could save them, bear dubious witness to save their own hides … Giles Corey unwittingly condemns his wife to death simply by mentioning that she reads books.

With life in this very simple town thrown into chaos and threatening to collapse in on itself, John Proctor, the victim of a jealous young woman’s bitter revenge, must make the impossible choice between living a lie for the rest of his life, or leaving with his dignity intact but his wife a widow and his children fatherless.

A classic example of the inherent contradictions is spelled out when the deputy governor himself tells John Proctor that if he admits his confession is a lie, it won’t hold up in court and his death warrant will be signed. Even when those who originally hollered for necks to be wrung see the madness of the situation and call for it to cease, the wheels are in motion and the paranoia of the moment cannot simply be reversed. How can a plaintiff, accused with no hard evidence, find evidence to defend himself?

Director Colin McColl has extracted strong, sincere characters from a superb, largely veteran cast. Peter Daube brings a distinctly kiwi hue to John Proctor, the straight-forward, unremarkable farmer struggling to defend himself in unstable circumstances. George Henare also gives an unadorned, touching performance as old man Giles. Hera Dunleavy plays an austere Elizabeth Proctor, the icy but noble wife. The perennial Raymond Hawthorne is ruthless in the role of Deputy Governor Danforth. Reverend Parris is played with fervour by Gareth Reeves.

Ellen Simpson embodies all of the calculated vindictiveness of Abigail, though she’s not quite convincing as the fiery young woman who could have caused Proctor to stray, more a deluded little girl. A promising Brooke Williams plays the more minor role of Mary Warren with subtlety and depth. Across the board the casting is spot-on and, with solid teamwork from cast and crew, the play is riveting and as relevant today as the day it opened in 1953.

David Eversfield’s lighting and Tracy Grant Lord’s set and costume design combine to summon a stark, eerie effect, maximising the subdued tension of Miller’s original vision. The slatted walls – which suggest weatherboards, or an animal pen into which people are herded and held in captivity – also allow some of the action to be visible behind the walls, expanding the sense of space. Trees suspended from the roof create an effective impression of dark forest – the threatening wildness of the natural world encroaching on the attempts of god-fearing men and women to control and contain invisible forces.

Haunting sound effects and starkly beautiful hymns (designed and directed by John Gibson) add to the sense of puritan repression but are also a backdrop hinting at the girl’s yearning for freedom. The costumes are mostly period, though some contemporary suits and ties, and some subtly inserted modern technology, successfully blur the boundaries, lifting the story from the confines of its 17th century setting. None of this, however, detracts in any way from the telling of the story.

Despite my initial trepidation that I’d leave the theatre feeling depressed and hopeless after such a bleak tale (which I studied to death in high school), this production reminds me that The Crucible is not only an important piece but one able to incite sympathy, outrage, despair, disbelief, compassion and resolve, in a somewhat cynical reviewer in a comfy seat in a nice warm theatre. By no means upbeat, it is undeniably provocative.

The Crucible is an eye-opening story, and this production has captured the heart and guts of Arthur Miller’s controversial play and brought it to life.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer