The Devil is loose in St. Andrews—and you can get a front-row seat. As the early nightfall impedes ever earlier into the October evening, and the familiar sea breeze whispers louder and louder it is high time for a seasonal classic—Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, performed live at The Byre Theatre. Despite its seasonal spooky subject matter Sofia David’s production cleverly avoids falling into any easy pitfalls of the classic play—taking care not to pander to supernatural sensationalism. What remains is the beating heart of socio-religious commentary pulsing through every scene.
Early marketing teasers on the production’s Instagram page (@thecrucible.sta) make it clear before you even step foot in the theatre that we are not in Salem anymore—at least not as you think you know it. David’s setting relocates to a more familiar modern setting, a standard yet effective choice nowadays when staging productions set in the distant past. What’s more interesting is David’s choice to set Miller’s play in a school environment, marketing the digital programme as a yearbook complete with the student body, staff and the PTA.
This framework is the play’s greatest success. Placing the play’s otherwise unimaginably high stakes within reach of audience experiences by recreating them in a universally familiar setting. It draws perceptively on the unusual parallels between Salem and high school—the insular confinement, the battle for hierarchy, the salacious gossip—and re-imagines them at their boiling point.
The performance quite literally creeps up on you, with actors emerging candle-bearing down the aisles like altar boys. But it is quickly apparent these characters are not in search of heaven. A blackboard hangs isolated above the stage bearing the quote ‘be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise’. An ironic statement with any knowledge of the outcomes of the play. The moral quite literally casting a shadow over the characters as neighbour betrays neighbour.
The schoolgirl apparel of the cast grants an oft-overlooked sympathetic quality to the girls as they open the show in a giddy dance amidst a nest of teenage and religious paraphernalia. This image of youthful joy becomes a bitter reminder of the simple innocence and of the younger characters as the show begins its descent into sin and madness.
This innocent appearance is most effective for the character of Abigail. Imogen Griffiths’ fully embodies the docile and dutiful schoolgirl of Abigail Williams, making it all the more satisfying and shocking to see her snap into a commanding and manipulative persona. Griffiths’ Abigail is a cult leader in a pleated skirt, casting spells over her chorus of disciples. When Abigail threatens the other girls, the audience dares not breathe unless she starts on you too.
Dylan Swain’s John Proctor cuts through the pretence of the anxious ensemble in a performance that feels equally righteous and tormented. Swain and Griffiths work magic together to create a dynamic that feels appropriately inappropriate and leaves the audience squirming in their seats.
Midway through the first act a second blackboard—this time bearing chalked out ten commandments—descends onstage. This hangs like a guillotine overhead that comes slicing down in a painstaking line delivery from Iha Jha. The calculated chaos makes for an exciting end to Act One that leaves its cast and audience wondering how we got here.
This spiralling chaos is remedied in Act Two by a noteworthy performance from Buster Ratcliffe Van Der Geest as Judge Danforth. This Danforth arrives straightlaced and quick-spoken, poised to throw the book at it all.
As Act Two progresses it begins to lose its way amidst mumbled legal proceedings- a fact that might have been remedied with mics for the cast. Miller's language is tricky, and precise, and was stuck on the fourth wall at points.
This, however, is quickly resuscitated by an emotionally electric interjection from Mary Warren—a far more demanding role than is typically given credit for—and delivered nicely by Abigail Harper. This performance is well-crafted, and adequately excruciating to watch as she twists herself further and further until she cracks.
Act Two keeps a captivating pace from there on. Just when it truly begins to feel like all hell has broken loose, Davids adds in a calm-after-the-storm scene that pays its respect to Abigail’s - and Imogen Griffiths’- contribution to the chaos. As Griffiths satisfyingly struts across the boards strewing papers like Regina George, it all becomes apparent that it may have been Abigail all along directing this play. This scene was a clever solution from David to what otherwise may have felt like an abrupt departure, and crucially reminds the audience of the dangerous power of one teenage girl’s volatile whims.
Swain carries the remains of the play to its resting place with a straightforward dignity that resolves his tormented performance nicely. The final famous declaration is appropriately cathartic and assisted—if somewhat heavy-handedly—by the lifting of the boards from stage, visualising his already evident ascent towards goodness.
Overall, Sofia David's production of The Crucible is a loyal, yet innovative take on an ever-relevant classic. This staging clings to the themes of religious trauma and hysteria that demand its audience to recognise parallels to their own experiences and begs the question, how far have we come—really—from 17th century Salem? This success is achieved by the performance’s immensely talented cast that—when audible—brings Miller's words to life. So if you want to see just where the devil is in the details this October, head to the Byre Theatre on the 16th for the final performance of The Crucible.
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