The
moment I opened the
door of the Old Vic Theatre, I headed straight toward the poster display and
then excitedly bounced into the theatre with a picture of John Proctor under my
arm and a program clutched in my hand. Granted, I knew little about the play I
was about to see besides that it dealt with the Salem witch trials, but I had an
intuition that this production of The
Crucible would be emotionally jarring and undeniably brilliant. Perhaps
this feeling was also encouraged by the fact that my inner-fan girl could
hardly wait to see Richard Armitage onstage. I sat down in one of the seats
that encircled an arena stage that was surrounded with proscenium architecture,
which had been transformed to create space for audience members. The floor was set
with empty chairs soon to be filled with the “defendants” who would make or
break the theatrical experience ahead. The theatre had transformed into a
courtroom. I was the judge and this play was on trial by fire. Thanks to an
ingenious artistic team, my preemptive anticipations were not disappointed, and
my sensory response to the pre-show staging led seamlessly into the story of John
Proctor’s struggle with moral responsibility and Elizabeth Proctor’s battle
with judicial authority as the Salem law began to pass judgments on sins of the
soul.
As a
down-to-earth man who is familiar with unbounded emotion but is self-bound to God’s
moral law, Proctor experiences the disastrous results of a jury holding legal power
that scrutinizes and categorizes every part of human life. Reverend Parris tries
to control his congregation by emphasizing the seriousness of sin, and the
local court reinforces his tactics by punishing private sins in public. But when
Proctor, spurred by loneliness and lust, commits adultery with his servant girl,
Abigail Williams, he needs neither church authority or the court to awaken his
conscience to the gravity of his sin. Although his reputation in the town remains
spotless, he is bitterly aware of his folly and cannot forgive himself. As
Elizabeth remarks, “the magistrate sits in your heart that judges you.” Elizabeth
remains loyal to her husband, but no longer trusts even his most sincere efforts
to please her and quietly rejects the kiss he offers her after entering their
home from a long day of toil. While Proctor is convinced that his honor is
permanently soiled, he continues to fiercely long for his wife’s trust and
defends his Christian faith as sincere. When he realizes that he could expose
Abigail’s deceit in order to save the women being convicted as witches, he is
loath to do so because his guilty conscience tells him that his quality as a
witness has been degraded. Yet when her malicious accusations impact his own
home, his duty to his wife gives him clear obligations. In the witch trials of
Salem, an entire life of morality could be overlooked on the grounds of a
single accusation. John holds himself to a moral code that punishes solitary
mistakes, which is why he feels such a heavy burden of guilt over his adultery.
Yet his sense of right and wrong demands that he defend goodness even if he
himself is not always righteous. Proctor is forced to push beyond his own shame
order to maintain loyalty to the things that are truly important to him, such
as his wife and his good name.
Although
the stage presents scenes set in familiar, everyday areas such as bedrooms and
kitchens, the mysterious lighting and the ritualistic preciseness of the
choreographed blocking gave a dangerous, cultic quality to the action. The
staging revealed how everyday activities can take on a dark quality when seen
from a particular vantage point. The play constantly asks the audience to
determine who is worthy of donning the black robes of judgment when a man or
woman’s private life is held up for scrutiny. While areas of faith and practice
are regulated to the private sector in modern America, Salem authorities felt
that a Christian society should regulate the public’s morality. When Elizabeth
is condemned because Abigail accuses her of witchcraft, the debate becomes
Elizabeth’s word against Abigail. Abigail’s evidence is abstract and unable to
be confirmed by anyone except for herself. Yet the appeal of her allegations is
fueled by the intensity of the production and ambiance of the set. Many of the
scenes begin with women performing an everyday task such as lighting a fire or carrying
a jug of water. The audience, along with the judges in the Salem courts, had
been taken from the courtroom and placed on the hearth. In Elizabeth’s trial,
the accuser possesses all the power. Elizabeth will look guilty if she refuses
to answer the court’s summons and yet cannot hope to be proven innocent. The
court acts as if they can read man’s hearts and make judgments on deeds that
should only be condemned before the throne of God. Though Elizabeth suffers
under an unjust accusation, she realizes that it is wrong for a man to pass a
verdict on the moral state of another human being. When asked to condemn John
as a lecher, she denies his accusation because of her loyalty to her husband
and conviction that it is not her place to condemn another’s private sins.
Through a twisted attempt to uphold morality, the court ends up condemning
sacrificial confession and faithfulness to a spouse. As John Proctor angrily deplores,
“You bring down heaven and raise up a whore!”
I
entered the theatre as an enthusiast and left the playhouse as a pupil. Though
the stage created the atmosphere of a courtroom, an appearance of authority did
not validate the judgments passed therein. The
Crucible demonstrated that failure to distinguish between what should be
punished by law and what should be punished by God can lead to tragedies where
goodness is fatally disfigured by the evil tongue of fools endowed with the
gavel. The play begs the audience to think twice before allowing fallible human
authority to hold sway over matters of the human soul.
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