This magnificent revival of Arthur Miller’s study of real and allegorical witch hunts has grown in stature since it opened at the National Theatre nine months ago.
It’s partly recast, with Brian Gleeson adding haggard toughness to the central role of John Proctor, a free-thinking farmer in the theocratic town of Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692.
Milly Alcock, breakout star of House of the Dragon, is an intriguingly different but equally stunning replacement for Erin Doherty as Abigail Williams, the spurned girl who is prepared to destroy the world if she can’t have Proctor.
Lyndsey Turner’s stirring production and Es Devlin’s claustrophobically narrowing set somehow sit better in the Gielgud than the National. The religious keening, rising to a shriek or a yell, from the young girls accusing their elders of satanism, hits harder. Above all, this now seems an acute study of the way dishonesty poisons public discourse, so that even those who have been duped end up perpetuating a lie. I liked it at the National. Now it seems nigh-on perfect.
If endless relevance is the sign of a stone-cold classic, Miller’s play – written in 1953 to critique mass hysteria over communist influence in America, and to indict his fellow showbiz liberals who denounced friends to save themselves – certainly qualifies. Admittedly, the sexual politics have dated.
Proctor is our hero: a decent man, religious but intolerant of hollow priests, and a good provider. When his wife Elizabeth (Caitlin FitzGerald, another fine addition to the sturdy original ensemble), becomes sick and “cold” after the birth of their third son, Proctor is tempted by the teenage “harlot” Abigail, their servant.
If you can get over the moral hump of this power imbalance, the play and the production proceed with a remorseless force. Miller’s idea of 17th century dialogue still sounds ringingly fresh and direct. “You took me from my sleep and put knowledge in my heart,” Abigail tells Proctor.
It’s a richly detailed play, alert to what happens to crops, cattle and children when large swathes of a tiny, agricultural community are accused, imprisoned or hanged for witchcraft.
There’s a nice balance between Gleeson and FitzGerald. He’s outwardly authoritative, she’s austere and withheld but rules the roost. Abigail is a marital obstacle they can’t get over. And Alcock is sublimely terrifying as the teenage victim/temptress.
At times she seems like a child, earnestly biting her upper lip when interrogated by priestly prosecutors. But she can also manifest an insolent carnality and a fearsome, manipulative rage. When she and her girlish acolytes exhibit demonic possession in the courtroom it’s chilling. One of the strengths of this transferred production is that you are never really sure how much Abigail is controlling developments, or opportunistically responding to them.
There are sterling supporting performances here from Karl Johnson as pugnacious old farmer Giles Corey, Nia Towle as Abigail’s friend and foe Mary Warren, and Fisayo Akinade as the troubled Reverend John Hale.
Courtroom scenes are framed at the back of Devlin’s receding floor and its mirroring overhead slab, as if they were 17th century paintings. I still don’t get the point of the sporadic curtain of rain that dominates her set, but apart from that, this is an important and satisfying show, which has benefited from a commercial transfer.
Yes, it runs for three hours. Yes. It’s worth it.
Gielgud Theatre, to September 2; buy tickets here
