Displaying items by tag: Barbara Roeder Harris

Do not see THE CRUCIBLE to unwind after a hard week. Do not take a blind date to THE CRUCIBLE. If you couldn’t get tickets to Second City, do not attend THE CRUCIBLE as a backup. But in any other circumstances whatsoever, DO see THE CRUCIBLE at Invictus Theatre.

Even if you didn’t read it in school you’ve probably heard the story: Arthur Miller wrote THE CRUCIBLE in 1953 about the Salem Witch Trials of 1692-93 in protest against McCarthyism. It still holds relevance today: the struggle to maintain critical thought processes in response to inflammatory public hyperbole … oh, yeah. Been there, done that.

Even simply reading the play is disquieting; brought to life on the stage THE CRUCIBLE is gut-wrenching, especially when well-played. And at Invictus it is well-played indeed. To echo the Buzz Center Stage review of a recent production: ‘I have to keep reminding myself this is a storefront theatre.”

I adore Chicago’s tiny storefront theatres; seeing the play while sharing the cast’s pheromone cloud greatly enhances the experience for me. Invictus is among the tiniest, with only 50-odd seats. I was in the front row and nearly had an actor catapulted into my lap at least twice. Mounting THE CRUCIBLE on such a miniscule stage is courageous, to say the least, and for anyone else it would be foolhardy. For Invictus it’s just the latest instance of achieving the inconceivable and doing it brilliantly.

Credit must begin with Charles Askenaizer, Artistic Director of Invictus and Director of THE CRUCIBLE. It would be easy for the frenzied activity to degenerate into a general brouhaha, but Askenaizer keeps the action crisp and focused, allowing the primary actors to perform without dissolving into the fracas.

Of course, he had the finest materials to work with: the cast was outstanding, every one, from the leads to understudy Steve Connell stepping in as Francis Nurse.  Managing a cast of nineteen certainly demands assistance, ably provided by Assistant Director Donica Lynn, Production Manager Todd Henry Faulstich and Stage Manager Gabby Rooney. And Amber Wutke certainly had plenty to do as Fight/Intimacy Designer & Movement Choreographer!

L-R: Michaela Voit (Abigal Williams), Frank Nall (Giles Corey), Joseph Beal (Reverend Parris), Lea Grace Biwer (Betty Parris), Charlie Diaz (Reverend Hale), Mike Cherry (Thomas Putnam), Laura Coleman (Ann Putnam), Barbara Roeder Harris (Rebecca Nurse). Photo credit: Through Line Studios.

Costume Designer/Wardrobe Manager Jessie Gowens did a superb job, adding intriguing (and no doubt authentic) details onto the severe Puritan garb. I was fascinated by the wide quilted sleeves and the double rank of buttons on Deputy Governor Danforth’s coat. 

One of Scenic Designer Kevin Rolfs’ brilliant adaptations to the limited space backstage was to keep most of the cast on the stage throughout, only retiring to opposite rows of hard straight-backed chairs when leaving a scene. From there they could serve as a modified Greek chorus: singing, hollering and finger-pointing to remind us that this lunacy infects the entire town. 

Props Designer Sam Paulson, Sound Designer Petter Wahlback, Lighting Designer Chad Lussier and Box Office Manager Steve Nordmark round out a truly extraordinary team creating a truly phenomenal production. Bravo!

As noted, the cast was massive and though each individual played their part irreproachably I can only comment specifically on a few, whom I’ll introduce by telling the story.

We begin in the woods with a circle of young women being led in a primitive, frenzied dance by Caribbean slavewoman Tituba  (LaTorious R Givens). Tituba furtively slips a mysterious drink to Betty Parris (Lea Grace Biwer), who begins to rave and convulse until collapsing into a coma. The screams of the frightened girls attract her father The Reverend Parris (Joseph Beal), a preacher who is far more ambitious than spiritual; he is both panicked and outraged by the spectacle. The girls, fearing the Pastor, turn on Tituba, saying she cast a spell on the girl.

The pusillanimous rector is horrified to learn the story has spread like wildfire through the entire town, with a widespread conviction that Lucifer is afoot. Parris, unnerved by these slights to his (illusory) good name, summons witchcraft expert Reverend John Hale (Charlie Diaz), who insists to the end that nonesuch is operating in Salem.

Mark Pracht is amazing as John Proctor, the local farmer who manages to maintain his integrity. Proctor is a decent, though flawed, man who sincerely loves both his wife and his God but evades hypocrisy by seldom attending Parris’ church. Pracht reveals Proctor as intelligent and insightful enough to differentiate God from religion and to penetrate the disguise of ordainment, seeing the clergy – Parris in particular – for what they truly are. His loyal friend and fellow skeptic Giles Corey is brought vividly to life by Frank Nall.

Devon Carson plays Proctor’s wife Elizabeth so skillfully that we understand and sympathize with the subtle currents of her mind and her heart. She loves her husband dearly, but can’t resist using that love to torment him – as wives of that time, lacking other dominion, were wont to do. Carson gives us a full view of Elizabeth’s development and maturation over time. Excellent acting and superb direction let us literally see the moment when Tituba recognizes ‘I have power here, I can take control’, and deflects the accusations onto Abigail Williams (Michaela Voit). Likewise, we can clearly see Mary choosing the opposite course and deciding to take the blame on herself rather than give Mary up to the inquisitors.

 As we would say today, the recriminations, allegations, insinuations and accusations go viral and the whisper network renders them ever more specious and malicious. I ultimately lost track of who was accusing whom of what, and I suspect the characters did as well. The arrest of honest Goody [‘Goodwife’] Nurse, played by Barbara Roeder Harris, makes clear the situation has descended from outrageous to grotesque.

Into this bedlam struts Deputy Governor Danforth. Danforth is a self-righteous bastard, in love with his own limitless sovereignty and equating it to that of God himself. What Deputy Governor Danforth says, is. I purely loved James Turano in this role! which he plays with both vivacity and subtlety. Clearly Governor Danforth relishes the opportunity to flaunt his distinction: a prestigious trial with copious defendants to browbeat and countless openings for thundering, Scripture-laden speechification – what’s not to love? And Turano himself is clearly having a ball with the role. I had a word with him after the show where he confirmed, “it’s always fun being the villain.” 

So … this is pretty much it for my review, but if you’ll hang in with me I’d like to take a moment to wax philosophic on THE CRUCIBLE and what makes it a classic. Start with the title: a crucible is a vessel in a refining fire where precious substances are tested, purified, and strengthened. And indeed the trial demonstrated how our legal system has been strengthened by erecting safeguards: spouses need not testify against each other; the defendant is protected from self-incrimination [‘the Fifth’]; each litigant is represented by an advocate; hearsay is not admissible as evidence. Our system still clings, however, to the final decision on clemency resting with the governor rather than the judge. Deputy Governor Danforth shows us just how precarious this may be.

Miller wrote THE CRUCIBLE in 1953, in the midst of the McCarthy hearings and just eight years after the fall of the Nazi party, so peoples’ responses to an evil situation was a natural theme. Most discussions of THE CRUCIBLE assume the evil situation is the trials themselves, forgetting that Massachusetts was also in the midst of the terrifying French and Indian Wars. The Rev. George Burroughs writes of the Candlemas Massacres, ‘God is still manifesting his displeasure against this Land’; a sentiment with clear impact on the Salem Witch Trials. One wonders why Miller, himself traumatized by war and a harrowing political atmosphere, did not more fully examine the settlers’ traumas.

Debate continues over just what happened to the young girls in Salem, historically as well as in fiction. ‘Faking it’ is just too simplistic. Some have suggested ergot poisoning –  hallucinogenic mold in the bread – but then why only those particular girls?

Another, more plausible theory is a psychogenic disorder called mass conversion, in which anxiety, whatever its cause, is so extreme that they unconsciously convert their mental anguish to physical symptoms. The Salem populace was living under the strain of both a hideous and bloody war and, more to the point, the omnipresent threat of witchcraft; with equally dire risks of accusation and of being a target: “She killed my babies!” wails a townswoman. In mass conversion disorder, long-term stress converts messages from the brain to the muscles, expressing anxiety as twitching, shaking, garbled speech, and trance states.

This link to trauma is not demonstrated in Miller’s play. In the 1950s psychiatry was not well understood, particularly by the general public; the diagnosis of conversion disorder had not yet been described. Miller himself was also probably experiencing his own anxiety symptoms from the chronic stressors of WWI, the economic collapse following it, and the persecutory atmosphere generated by McCarthyism. He may have sought to relieve his anxiety symptoms by creating THE CRUCIBLE – as artists are wont to do.

Thanks for hanging in with me in my digression, but let me not forget the paramount message: THE CRUCIBLE IS VERY HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! Should you miss this production (playing through June 11 at Reginald Vaughn Theatre 1106 W Thorndale Ave in Chicago), first kick yourself, then remember that Invictus is a safe bet for quality theatre, whatever is playing.

From the Director’s Note:

I couldn’t help thinking of Pastor Martin Niemoller’s quote from his reflections on the Holocaust:

First they came for the socialists, but I did not speak out – because I was not a socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.

One by one, the town is ‘purified of witches’ until cows wander aimlessly along the roads and untended crops rot in the fields. Soon there is no one left to speak out about the injustices or take the time to rationally think about the accusations made. Soon all that is left are empty chairs and silence.

Invisible, a new play by Mary Bonnett, tells a provocative story about a little known slice of history – the emergence of the women’s arm of the Ku Klux Klan – the WKKK. Bonnett is also artistic director of Her Story Theater, and has produced eight such works with powerful social messages.

Directed by Cecelie Keenan, Invisible (the KKK was known as the "Invisible Nation") is set in 1920 in Mound, Mississippi (a site of a native burial grounds). It centers on a trio of ladies - Doris, Lucinda, and Mabel - who are marketing Women’s KKK memberships through the social media of the day – door to door solicitation, marches, and nasty gossip about those who won’t join.

The poisonous dynamics are reminiscent of the ominous thumb of group-think social pressure seen in The Crucible, or Tracy Letts' The Minutes, but with a Southern drawl. Starting from a baseline of racism against African-Americans, the WKKK ladies of the 1920s welcomed only Protestant Northern Europeans and Anglo Saxons to their group.

Those who were unreceptive were shunned socially. Pro-scripted categories of white people – Catholics, Jews, immigrants – weren’t even approached, and along with black people, were targets of venomous attacks by the women’s group.

Interested in reducing marital violence and advancing education, these women were liberated on some levels. They had won the vote in 1920, and voiced ambition for loosening male dominion over political power. But this was restricted to advancing the fortunes of nice, Christian, white ladies like themselves. (Historically the group got the Texas Schoolboard to prohibit hiring Catholics as teachers.) Like the KKK, the women were nativists, anti-Semitic and anti-Catholic, organizing “Poison Squads” to denigrate enemies, and boycott immigrant-owned businesses.

“I hate talking this way,” says Lucinda before launching into another specious character assassination. “I really am a good person.”

The Ku Klux Klan issued the ladies’ chapters an organizing handbook, and Lucinda Davis (Barbara Roeder Harris) reads its advisories to her daughter-in-law Doris Davis (Megan Kaminsky), and Mabel Carson (Morgan Laurel Cohen) in planning sessions. Memberships in the WKKK are $10, which covers the cost of the robe and hood.

Mabel, the protagonist in the play, is an aspiring officer in the Mound chapter of the ladies KKK, encouraged by her husband, Tom Carson (Brad Harbaugh) into joining to advance the fortunes of their general store. An outsider, Mabel comes from Missouri (a Union state in the Civil War). As she witnesses Lucretia and Doris abuse David Stein (Richard Cotovsky), a Jewish reporter from the Chicago Tribune, Mabel pushes back, but only so far.

“Since when did we become so inhospitable to strangers?” she asks.
“Since these Jews and immigrants started taking over our country,” Lucinda replies venomously, pressuring Mabel until she turns Stein out in the night.

The performances and production values are good, with sets by Kevin Rolfs and costumes by Shelbi Wilkin. Mabel and Tom are a convincing couple with good chemistry. Harbaugh registers Tom’s pain convincingly, though Cohen’s conflicted Mabel cries so often that even the script calls it out.

The play is burdened with a subplot that seems forced, to presumably to add a dramatic structure to Invisible. Likewise some questionable subplots are forced into the mix.

For example, Stein is driven into the swamp where he is rescued by the mysterious 11 year old Ghost Girl (Maddy Fleming is quite good in her role). She brings him to her foster home on a prehistoric Indian Mound where she lives with Jubal (Lisa McConnell offers a boisterous performance).

The one person of color in this show, exotic, exuberant multi-ethnic Jubal, a former Chicago artist and sideshow performer, is the lone complainant about Klan-led injustice to black people – drumming and shouting in protest as corpses from lynchings pile up on the mound near her home. When Tom Carson tells her she will go to hell for her behavior, she drawls, “I am in hell, Master Tom – I lives in Mississippi!”

Jubal later convinces the reporter Stein to pitch a story about lynchings, and the Tribune agrees to cover it. A worthy endeavor, but a distraction from Invisible’s main story.
Nevertheless the performances are good, and the fundamental storyline strong enough to overcome these diversions. Bonnett’s works for Her Story Theater are aimed at “shining a light on women and children in need of social justice and community support.”

Invisible is intriguing, with its anti-immigrant tones resonating strongly today. And it shows how easily a woman can pressured socially down a perfidious path. But in highlighting the struggle of the protagonist Mabel amidst the racial depradations of the Klan against black people, the script indirectly conjures up another contemporary struggle – toxic white feminism. It's recommended. Invisible runs through November 3, 2019 at Stage 773, 1225 W. Belmont in Chicago.