David Oyewolo in Coriolanus. Photo: Misan Harriman
David Oyelowo has been rarely seen on stage in the last twenty years, thanks to the lure of Hollywood. I am pleased to report he does not disappoint. As for the production, this is a Tragedy of Coriolanus without the tragedy.
The problem with this particular Shakespeare play is that we never really get inside the head of the lead character. Unlike protagonists elsewhere in Shakespeare’s tragedies, he has no soliloquies. So we don’t understand and empathise with him in the way we do with, say, Hamlet or Macbeth.
He is a Roman soldier, but more than that he is a weapon, created by Rome’s military culture and specifically by his mother (the only human being he seems to care about). At the beginning, he establishes his military credentials in warfare. After that, it’s all about Rome trying to control this missile they have launched.
Actual physical fighting takes up a small but, in this production, memorable part of the play. Mostly we watch people talking about Coriolanus, trying to persuade him to be what he can’t be, which is to say someone who bites his tongue, compromises and flatters, and fatally underestimating him.
When he returns to Rome a hero, he seems an obvious candidate for a peacetime leader. The trouble is, he can’t hide his feelings of contempt for people and politics. Rome turns against him, then finds the missile pointed at them.
Coriolanus is up against the two great forces of Rome at that time, the plebeians and the patricians, and Shakespeare appears to have little time for either. The former are a rabble who are easily swayed, the latter are self-serving: ‘the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians’.
Coriolanus at the National Theatre. Photo: Misan Harriman
On the face of it, Coriolanus is a simple soldier, a man of principle who refuses to play the political game and seeks revenge when betrayed. As in any tragedy, his actions lead to his downfall but we are uncertain whether they are a symptom of arrogance, pride, humility, or simply a soldier’s rigid ideas of right and wrong? Lindsey Turner‘s production doesn’t discount or endorse any of these possibilities, leaving us with his inability to empathise and his black-and-white view of the world.
David Oyelowo provides us with a Coriolanus full of power and subtle feelings. He is undoubtedly a man of action. No-one in a Shakespeare play can be said to be a man of few words, and certainly Coriolanus bestows sone of Shakespeare’s finest metaphors in on those who let him down. Still, by the Bard’s standards, he is positively tight-lipped. Mr Oyelowo speaks the poetry clearly and fluently but it’s through his face and body that he most expresses his puzzlement and anger at what he encounters.
From the start, Mr Oyelowo conveys nobility- but he is a soldier first. As another soldier says: ‘Let me have war…it exceeds peace as far as day does night.’ He has a soldier’s bearing and bluntness. He bares his ripped body more than once, which contributes to the sense that he is very much an alpha male in a world of betas. In Rome during peacetime, he walks and sits awkwardly. He only seems comfortable when fighting. And the sword fight scenes are pretty exciting, as choreographed by Sam Lyon-Behan.
Whenever he leaves the stage, the temperature drops. None of the other characters emerge with much credit or force, although the actors do. Peter Forbes as Menenius, the wily politician trying to pour oil on troubled waters, is suitably patrician. Stephanie Street and Jordan Metcalfe as the devious populist tribunes Sicinius and Brutus are appropriately slimy. Kobna Holdbrook-Smith as Aufidius is also a successful soldier but, in contrast to his sworn enemy Coriolanus, he can play the political game. Pamela Novete as Coriolanus’s domineering mother has the right hectoring tone and, judging by the way she influences him into his fateful decisions, gives us another major clue to Coriolanus’s character. He respects, even fears her, but there’s no hint of love between them.
Lindsey Turner’s production brings out the contrast between the soldiers, who built and protect Rome, and the inhabitants who take for granted the benefits of peace that the army’s feats bring them. Her production begins with a video projection, designed by Ash J Woodward, where people are shown from high above scuttling around like ants.
Es Devlin provides an impressive set that continues this theme. It dominates the production and the people- maybe a little too much. The story may speak about war and democracy, heroes and the populace but it is told on a human scale. The huge set distracts from the humanity. On the other hand, when those massive marble blocks descend to create a feeling of the power and history of Rome, we get the sense that the current Romans, both the elite and the people, are like the ants we saw earlier.
There are many artefacts on tables which suggest a museum, perhaps indicating the past was once the present, that this story will soon be history, and that history constantly repeats itself. After all, we can see many examples today of populism and political ambition threatening democracy, and of people who would rather fight than compromise. This is underlined by the way the actors are in modern dress. There is a moment at the end that indicates fighters like Coriolanus will always be needed and always remembered.
A sense of hubris- that the character has brought his fate upon himself because of decisions he made deliberately- is essential to tragedy. In presenting Coriolanus as a soldier who has no interest in democracy or even other people, we lose any sense of him making a decision. In his mind there is no choice. At the Donmar a few tears ago, Tom Hiddleston made Coriolanus an arrogant aristocrat, which is one of many possible interpretations. The audience could see he’d brought his fate upon himself by choice. To me, that is why, despite David Oyewolo’s brilliant performance, this production is flat, a situation compounded by making the plebeians and the patriachs so pathetic that you wouldn’t blame Coriolanus even if had made a conscious decision to fight them.
With all the other characters reduced in stature in this production, the drama of conflict is diminished. No-one really tests him (except maybe his mother). It becomes very much about how Coriolanus is a misfit, and he’s a one trick pony, a single-minded soldier with no inner conflict.
It remains an interesting evening, but not I think one for the history books, despite an unforgettable performance from David Oyelowo.
Coriolanus can be seen at the National Theatre until 9 November 2024
Mark Gatiss & Johnny Flynn astound as Gielgud & Burton
★★★★★
Mark Gatiss and Johnny Flynn in The Motive and the Cue. Photo: Mark Douet
If you love theatre, you will love The Motive And The Cue. It is not only about two legendary actors in rehearsal, thanks to playwright Jack Thorne’s ability to create drama, Sam Mendes ‘ direction and the acting of Mark Gatiss, Johnny Flynn and Tuppence Middleton, it is also as close to theatrical perfection as you can hope for.
Back in 1964, the great classical actor Sir John Gielgud directed a production of Hamlet on Broadway starring the man who at the time was probably the most famous film actor in the world.
In The Motive And The Cue, the National Theatre production which has just opened in the West End at the Noel Coward Theatre, we follow them from the first day of rehearsal to the first night of the play.
This has to be one is the best plays ever written about the rehearsal process. Jack Thorne has talked about the way rehearsals are used to explore the text and find a way to the truth of the characters and situation. And truth is what art needs in order to succeed. As Gielgud points out in the play, the actor needs to share with the audience something they both can believe. To observe the process of how they get there is fascinating.
It can be a disadvantage to use well known people and actual events, because we may think we know the characters and what happened and that may in turn get in the way of the play’s attempts to convince us of this particular interpretation of them.
So for a moment, let’s think of The Motive And The Cue as not about Gielgud and Burton, but simply about two people who clash because of their different approaches to acting but who learn to respect one another and work together to create a production that tells a truth about Hamlet.
So, the older man comes from an emotionally buttoned up generation, who at sixty is finding himself left behind by the new trend of ‘angry’ working class drama and actors, like Burton. He values the verse which he speaks with a precise mellifluous voice, and, here’s the rub, is considered to have been the finest Hamlet in living memory.
The younger man is a great stage actor, potentially the greatest of his generation, thought by some to be the new Laurence Olivier, because of his rich voice and commanding muscular presence. He has become a Hollywood star but still yearns for success on stage. However his alcoholism and lack of discipline hold him back. The two are yin and tang.
Seen like that, it could be any clash between an older and younger generation, between a fading light and a bright young thing, between great past achievement and great future potential.
In this rehearsal process, we see Burton struggling to understand Hamlet. He sees the Prince as a man of action- not unlike himself- so cannot fathom why he dithers so. We see Gielgud offering many ideas or notes but unable to resist showing off his way of speaking the lines. And this is a most interesting aspect of the play- it says that the worst directors tell the actors what to do, while the best work with their actors to find the truth.
Burton initially reacts badly to this to-and-fro approach and, in moments of his worst behaviour, mocks the old thespian. Gielgud behaves with restraint but is a master of ironic comments: ‘Oh, you only wanted my opinion so you could disagree with it.’ When he does let go, he lets off the sharpest barbs.
Mark Gatiss and Johnny Flynn are both tremendous. Mr Gatiss speaks with a musical precision, he carries himself as the critic Kenneth Tynan said of Gielgud, like a furled umbrella. In fact, he is so convincing that it almost seems a shame for Mr Flynn, who otherwise would be the standout star of the show with his stabbing forceful vocals, his frenetic bonhomie, and his vicious bullying, all underpinned by emotional pain.
Tuppence Middleton is also splendid as Elizabeth Taylor combining vivaciousness and sexuality, with self deprecating humour and a down-to-earth quality.
The Motive And The Cue at the Noel Coward Theatre. Photo: Mark Douet
Es Devlin’s set follows the same principles of creating truth rather than imitation. The rehearsal room may not be totally naturalistic- there is less clutter but the brightly lit, airy space with no obvious ceiling suggests the truth of an openness where ideas can flow.
Similarly, the set for Burton and Taylor’s living room is not lavishly furnished, but a huge dark red wall convinces us that they live a life of luxury and decadence. The viewing aperture opens and closes in the rectangular shape of a proscenium arch, revealing and containing the sets but at other times closing them off, so that one or two actors are left alone at the front of the stage against a black backdrop for key moments of thought or conversation.
Hamlet of course is driven by his betrayed and dead father, so it’s hard not to see the relationship between the two men in The Motive And The Cue as that of a father and son, a love hate relationship in which they ultimately reconcile to release the Hamlet that is within Burton as they find the motive for Hamlet’s behaviour and the cue for releasing the passion of his performance.
This leads to Johnny Flynn performing a stupendous version of the ‘To be or not to be’ speech that, on the night I saw it, received a spontaneous and deserved round of applause.
How fitting it would be if Sam Mendes’ faultless production were to transfer to Broadway.
Originally seen at the National Theatre, this production has transferred to the Noel Coward Theatre in the West End of London (where Gielgud performed his own legendary Hamlet). It can be seen there until 23 March 2024
Joseph Fiennes hits the back of the net as Gareth Southgate
★★★★★
Joseph Fiennes and company in Dear England. Photo: Marc Brenner
You might think if you’re seeing a play about the manager of the England men’s football team, you need to know about football. You don’t. There’s hardly a football in sight. Dear England is the story of a clash of cultures rather than a battle between teams on the pitch. It tells the story of how a self effacing nice guy tries to change the culture of a macho group that is paralysed by fear. In the process it provides us with a lot of comedy, as well as some thoughts about the state of the nation
I know next to nothing about football and that actually helped when I saw Dear England because I was probably more excited for not knowing the outcome of some of the matches than if I’d known what was going to happen. But the thing is, it’s not really about the results. I think we all know England didn’t win the World Cup last year. Or even the Euros the year before. Or it would have been all over the front pages, because one thing we do know is how important England the football team is to a significant part of England the nation. James Graham has built Dear England around the idea that the team is a microcosm of the country. One other footballing event we probably know about is the infamous missed penalty, the one taken by Gareth Southgate back in 1996 that meant England lost to Germany in a Euros semi-final.
It’s a failure that hangs over him throughout this play, because, for some reason, it has come to symbolise the moment when everybody realised there was something rotten at the core of the England team.
That’s where we begin. Rupert Goold’s production takes place sandwiched between the glare of two harsh neon circles, one above and another at stage level, recreating the feel of a stadium but also emphasising the pressure on the players of being in the middle of a pitch and indicating the magnifying glass focus of a nation’s expectations. On the stage floor are a mass of dotted lines and arrows of the kind that show attacking manoeuvres.
On stage are cubicles through which people enter and exit, symbolising perhaps the changes that take place in cubicles but also in a practical way cutting down the immense distance from the actual wings where actors appear and disappear. It is an imaginative and effective use of the Olivier’s large thrust stage by designer Es Devlin and lighting designer Jon Clark.
There’s a quick run through of a succession of England managers, who in amusing cameo impressions have plenty to say about their management style and why they have failed. Until eventually, Gareth Southgate takes over and, in his reticent way, asks why, with some of the world’s best players, they are not a winning team. He concludes it’s all in the mind.
Joseph Fiennes in Dear England. Photo: Marc Brenner
So he calls in a psychologist Pippa Grange. And this is where the fun begins. Well, actually it’s already begun when Mr Southgate (Call me Gareth) first meets his coaching team. Played by Joseph Fiennes, this is not simply an impressionist’s turn, although I’m guessing his mannerisms- the looking down, the pointing when he agrees with somebody, the precise use of language, the slightly nasal tone, the nervous grin, are all reasonably accurate.
What we get in an outstanding performance is a rounded character who admits he doesn’t know everything, who listens, who isn’t confrontational, who doesn’t shout (I have heard of another famous manager’s hairdryer treatment) but who ultimately has a steel resolve. We realise that when he lets players go or when he stands up to racism.
Or when he meets Mike, the assistant he has inherited. I think this character has been invented to represent the antithesis of Gareth. He is a blustering ‘man’s man’, who has no time for losers or psychology and woke thinking. Played hilariously by Paul Thornley, he is red-faced and always on the brink of boiling over. Gareth lets Mike have his rant, and then ignores him.
I think we must assume that Mike and the new senior assistant coach Steve Holland, brought in by Gareth, continue to support the schooling of the players in physical training and tactics elsewhere, while the work on their minds takes place in front of us.
I only saw one football for the whole length of the play. Probably just as well because they are actors. I mean they’re physically fit and go through some balletic movements, thanks to movement directors Ellen Kane and Hannes Langolf, but they wouldn’t have convinced as professional footballers if they’d tried to kick a ball. In fact a feature of Rupert Goold’s direction is constant, feverish movement, heightened by the regularly turning stage.
Together Gareth and Pippa work on moving the team away from being individuals whose loyalty is to their club to a team who know and support one another. And away from people who bottle up their feelings to ones who are open about their emotions. And most importantly, away from a fear of failure to embracing and learning from it (echoing Samuel Beckett’s ‘Fail again. Fail better’).
There is immense enjoyment is in seeing the players gradually change from resistance to embracing the new approach- as well as each other. Near the beginning, Gareth tells his squad that it will be a long haul to victory, like a three act play. You could feel the sigh of relief from the theatre lovers that he was finally talking their language.
Apart from Gareth Southgate and to an extent Pippa Grange, all the other characters are caricatures. It is James Graham’s style in his many plays and TV dramas based on real people to create the truth of a person’s character through humour rather than a nasty or saintly portrait. You may remember his Brexit: The Uncivil War, Tammy Faye, Ink, Best Of Enemies, Quiz or This House. In this play, James Graham can’t resist introducing our recent prime ministers- all trying and failing to score.
So good, so good, so good
I can’t say how accurate the portrayals of the players are but I did end up feeling for them. England captain Harry Kane, as portrayed by Will Close, is barely articulate but seen to inspire the others through his lack of ego and a simple confidence in his ability. Josh Barrow’s goalkeeper Jordan Pickford is gloriously hyperactive. Darragh Hand’s Marcus Rashford stands out as a young man from a deprived background with a bit of a chip on his shoulder who is inspired to become an enthusiastic leader. Adam Hugill is the solid defender and plain speaking Yorkshireman Harry Maguire.
It’s such a good cast that it’s hard not to mention everybody. I must pick out Gunnar Cauthery who gives us terrific impressions of a wisecracking Gary Lineker, a cool Sven-Goran Eriksson, a blustering Boris Johnson and a sanguine Wayne Rooney. And Crystal Condie who does the same for ex-footballer and now commentator Alex Scott and Theresa May.
Gina McKee in Dear England. Photo: Marc Brenner
I haven’t said enough about Gina McKee whose twinkling eyes and turned-up corners of the mouth are like the smile of a tiger, and whose soft northern vowels sugarcoat a hard centre. She made the most of a part that seemed to me slightly superficial, but this may be because Mr Graham didn’t want to distract too much from his main character.
The idea of someone coming to a football club and creating a successful team by getting them in touch with their feelings and believing in themselves may make you think of Ted Lasso. Both shows clearly touch the zeitgeist of the 21st century.
But unlike the Apple TV hit comedy, Dear England explores some big issues. At the beginning, the expectations the nation has of its team reflect the nation’s view of itself. The fans are steeped in a history of England as the birthplace of football, as the winners of the 1966 World Cup, as the home of the finest league football. The team should have success on the world stage by right. If it doesn’t, the frustration leads to riots.
Although this is not explicitly stated, I would be surprised if Mr Graham doesn’t intend a parallel with England the country, which historically once ruled half the world, invented so much, and won World War 2, leading many of its people- at least an older generation- to expect that the country should by rights be a successful world power.
‘Believe in people, care about people, be kind’ is Gareth Southgate’s message to the new generation of England players but it is also a vision of the kind of nation England is in the new century or, at least, can be.
I was caught up in this journey and moved by its outcome, and loved being in a National Theatre audience singing along to Sweet Caroline.
Dear England can be seen at the National Theatre in London until 11 August 2023.
Michael Balogun, Hadley Fraser & Nigel Lindsay in The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
Lehman Brothers Inc was the highest profile bankruptcy of the 2008 financial crash. Of course there were bigger investment banks in America that played an even bigger part in the collapse of the financial markets and many banks, in the UK as well as the US, ended up being bailed out with our money. But it was important that someone got punished and Lehman was not in the category of ‘too big to fail’.
We are all still suffering from that collapse and subsequent bailout, of course, but at least one good thing came out of it- The Lehman Trilogy. It began, as so many great shows have, at the subsidised National Theatre, went on to the West End then to Broadway and now it’s back in the West End, laden with Oliviers and Tonys, at the Gillian Lynne theatre. With a new cast. So do they measure up to the originals, and what is it that has made a play about a subject as dry as finance such a huge success?
The Lehman Trilogy asks the question, how did a company as important and powerful as Lehmans end up being so reckless and destructive. To find out we travel back to when Henry Lehman and his two younger brothers first came to America back in 1844.
It’s an epic story told on a large stage. At the centre is a large box in which the action takes place. Parts of it are glazed, and the inside is divided into spaces by glass. It is the kind of modern characterless glass office occupied by financial institutions everywhere. It is decorated with a desk, a boardroom table, and lots of boxes used for transporting files- memorably seen as sacked employees carried them out of the building.
We start with the moment Lehmans went bust. Everything that happens in the 164 years leading up to that moment takes place in that space, so we never forget where we’re heading. At the back and sides of the stage, designer Es Devlin has placed a semi-circular wall onto which projects appropriate landscapes that give us a visual context- the cotton fields of Alabama that provided the Lehmans with their first trading opportunity to the skyscrapers of New York.
The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
As I said, the scale of the story is epic, the set feels epic, yet amazingly, just three actors play not only those three brothers but the succeeding generations and everyone they come in contact with. They tell us the story, and act it out, sometimes without even carrying out the actions they are describing. At one point, a character says about himself ‘he adjusts his tie’ but he doesn’t actually do it. Our own imagination creates the epic.
Myriad characters come and go, often briefly but vividly sketched. The actors, without changing costumes, become children, brides-to-be, cotton farmers, and many more. This leads to a lot of comedy but it also means they never quite stop being, nor can we forget, those immigrant brothers who started it all.
It is the purest kind of acting that relies not on props or costumes but entirely on voice and body. They speak a rhythmic language that verges on poetry or perhaps more accurately rap. In fact, much of this play’s power comes from Ben Powers’ adaptation of Stefano Massini’s Italian original script.
It’s a Brechtian way of telling a story, interesting, funny and gripping but not emotionally involving, which is reinforced by it taking place within a glass box. So, we always see that this is a story not of a family but of American capitalism.
It is an acting tour de force from Michael Balogun, Hadley Fraser and Nigel Lindsay. There is one wonderful moment I remember when Hadley Fraser plays eight different potential brides in rapid succession. Or the same actor, who I would have to say was the first among equals, briefly plays a man described as someone whose body is built around his smile. And it is.
So, in three acts, we see the brothers committed to their Alabama community trading in actual goods- cotton- buying , selling and transporting it. Helping rebuild the cotton trade after a disastrous fire. At first, you admire their ability also to see disasters as opportunities.
The new generation born in America begin to forget their Jewish roots: shiva when the first brother dies lasts seven days, the next three days, then, so anxious are they not close the business, three minutes silence for the last of the brothers.
Money becomes all important. They no longer trade in something physical- they never see the coffee or iron or other commodities. They trade shares not products. As the new generations succeed the old, the Lehmans become shareholders not partners so they have much less to lose, and the risks become greater. After a period of regulation following the Wall Street Crash, the American idea of liberty, so inspiring but also so potentially damaging, re-emerges and the scene is set for the final disaster.
It’s a salutary tale that makes you admire these entrepreneurs, then despise the heartless money grabbers they become, while laughing at the sheer lunacy of ithe world of finance.
Hadley Fraser in The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
The third act tails off a little as the final Lehman dies, without any of them suffering the consequences of their actions. It is others that take the company and the financial world over the edge. But not without a , as they found out when the music stopped moment when a metaphor of dancing sees the last of the Lehmans, again it’s Hadley Fraser, no longer making decisions but simply standing on a table doing the twist, as the computer coding spins across the back projection, showing the algorithms that have taken over from human beings, making him and his colleagues more and more money but taking them further and further from the real world. It is literally dizzying, as dizzying as the bankers found it trying to understand their own complicated and ultimately worthless financial packages, which became apparent when the music stopped. A special word of praise to the video designer Luke Halls.
This may not be a story that you can get emotionally involved in, but this is Theatre at its finest, thanks to director Sam Mendes and his writers.
If you haven’t already seen it, don’t miss this opportunity.
Erin Doherty in The Crucible at National Theatre London 2022
Back in 1953, when Arthur Miller wrote The Crucible, a play about the late 17th century witch trials in Salem Massachusetts, he no doubt had in mind a modern day witch hunt in which a US senator persecuted perceived communists, especially in Hollywood. But it could be about any time when authorities demonise others to consolidate their power.
It’s a compelling study in how the process of a witch hunt develops a momentum of its own and triggers vengeance, fear and even mass hysteria. Lyndsey Turner’s intense production is powerfully acted by Erin Doherty, Brendan Cowell and the rest of the cast.
In a small town run by the church, some misbehaving girls try to get off the hook by claiming to be possessed by the Devil. This gets out of hand as they take the opportunity to get their own back on some respectable and respected citizens by accusing them of being disciples of the devil who lead them on. A trial ensues. Adults confess to outlandish encounters with demons, more accusations fly, more adults confess in a form of mass hysteria, and the children too start to believe their own tales.
The girls are led by Abigail. It’s a bravura performance by Erin Doherty. You might know her best as an excellent Princess Anne in The Crown but she shows her full range as an actor here. Her character is clearly a rebel but also scheming. So, we see her wheedling, pleading, and, in a terrifying scene, inspiring the other girls into wild-eyed, uncontrolled shaking, as if possessed.
Authoritarian power is just one of the subjects explored in Arthur Miller’s complex play, but it’s the one from which all elsefrom which all else arises. As we enter the Olivier auditorium, we are confronted by pouring rain. Every scene begins with pouring rain. Torrents of water team onto the front of the stage. It seems this community is already suffering the punishment of a pitiless Old Testament God. We’re told the community is a theocracy. No separation in those days between church and state: the Church is in charge and there can be no challenge to its authority.
Photo: Johan Persson
The church leader Reverend Parris is confronted by children secretly rebelling against the church’s rules by secretly dancing, among other things. Some of the citizens believe this behaviour has been caused by the Devil in the form of witchcraft. The priest is skeptical but he knows support for him in the community is shaky, so he calls in a preacher with higher authority and a knowledge of witchcraft: the Reverend Hale. A major trial follows, headed by Deputy Governor Danforth, played with a steely eye and a stern jaw by Matthew Marsh. He has his own reasons for wanting to stamp his authority on the community.
At this point, it’s a case of ‘to a hammer everything is a nail’. It seems obvious that the children are dissembling but, as the excellent National Theatre programme points out, the authorities see what they believe rather than believing what they see. As the witch hunt goes to extremes in the heat of the ‘crucible’, both Parris and Hale, given passionate and nuanced performances by Nick Fletcher and Fisayo Akinade respectively, begin to see how one-sided the trial is. They realise good people are being dragged down and note that ‘every defence is seen as an attack on the court’.
Brendan Cowell in The Crucible. Photo: Johan Persson
One man who speaks out against the trial is John Proctor whose wife is accused of witchcraft. It’s a thundering piece of acting from Brendan Cowell as a good but flawed man. In a heart-breaking sequence, he nobly tries to reason with the Court and is brought down by his own honesty and the challenge he poses to the Church’s teachings.
What else is going on? Oppression of women by the church. They are expected to be silent and obedient. As the girls are indoctrinated by tales of hellfire and damnation, they are primed for believing they have been taken over by unseen forces. And they have a readymade means of excusing themselves.
Fear, revenge and greed all play a part. People turn on each other to save themselves. The girls are only too quick to denounce the many adults they resent. Ruthless people take the opportunity to gain land from those found guilty of witchcraft. There’s a lot to think about and be shocked by in this intelligent, frightening play.
It’s easy to discern many parallels more modern than the McCarthyite witch hunt. We can see what goes in all totalitarian countries where a weak authority cannot be questioned: the actions of the morality police in Iran for example, or would-be authoritarians closer to home for whom an alternative point of view or a minor misdemeanour can ignite outrage on social media leading to death threats and cancellation.
Director Lyndsey Turner has created an fervid production, only marred by a tendency at times towards melodrama. One nice touch is that nearly all the characters point fingers as they argue, a metaphor made physical. The masterful set by Es Devlin is appropriately black-and-white except when we visit the Proctors’ warmer-coloured home. An opaque ceiling hangs over hhe entire stage. Through it filters a diffused flouredcrnt white light suggesting no one can hide from a pitiless regime.
Crucial to the production are Tim Lutkin’s lighting and the sound by Caroline Shaw, Tingying Dong and Paul Arditti. The cast are usually lit from the side creating a lchiaroscuro effect, again suggesting no middle ground. A stretched low note drones in the background, ratcheting up the tension.
The impressive cast also includes Sophia Brown, Karl Johnson, Eileen Walsh and Tilly Tremayne.
The Crucible was performed at the National Theatre 21 September – 5 November 2022, and will transfer with cast changes to the Gielgud theatre from 2 June to 7 September 2023
