Illustration By Emily Esparza
By Valeryah Lara-Urrea and Yanelli Robles
More was at stake than witches in 1953 when Arthur Miller staged his tragic masterpiece “The Crucible.” America itself was in danger of losing the soul of democracy to the cancer of McCarthyism and the Red Scare. Paranoia and anxiety reigned. Miller himself took a lashing from the House Committee on Un-American Activities, which accused him of being a communist sympathizer.
Ruff Yeager, Southwestern’s savvy professor of theater, almost certainly saw what a mesmerized audience saw – a timeless allegory for fear and hysteria in the era of myopic MAGA. Somewhere in a New York courtroom a sneering want-to-be authoritarian is crying “witch hunt!”
“The Crucible” is a notoriously difficult and draining show, and Southwestern’s increasingly ambitious theatrical team was up to the task. The mostly-student cast was dialed in. There were no noticeable dropouts or concentration lapses that often pepper academic theater. Cast members slowly and steadily twisted open the cauldron of anxiety, leaving discomfit audiences squirming.
There were moments of brilliance, particularly Santiago Gordillo’s heartbreaking portrayal of tormented John Proctor. The flawed but decent Proctor was the stand-in for the victims of McCarthyism and the Latino scapegoats of Trumpism. Gordillo thoughtfully crafted Proctor’s steep character arc, moving him from a charming pre-Revolutionary ladies man to the destroyed but principled figure facing his doom at the hands of the menacing hanging judge. It was a breathtaking performance.
Taylor Wiggins stirred the simmering pot as chief antagonist Abigail Williams, the Regina George of the Mean Girls of Salem. Her not-so-innocent Abigail is the arsonist that ignites the fire storm of false accusations, using her feminine wiles to manipulate and wreak havoc. Wiggins is a tornado in a petticoat who twists people’s lives like taffy in her angular fingers, enjoying every sadistic second.
Maria Bonzca (a jittery Elizabeth Proctor), Lalo Sanchez (conflicted Rev. Hale) and Kevin Stevens (smug Rev. Samuel Paris) anchored a solid, well-rehearsed cast. There was meaningful chemistry, evidence that the actors had done their homework studying the backstory of their characters’ relationships.
The closing night audience had the privilege to see a master class by Yeager, stepping in as villainous Judge Danford for an ill cast member. Props to the cast for the professionalism demonstrated by working with an emergency understudy who was on book.
Michael Buckley’s sublime set was Satan’s Sandbox, a ponderous tray of finely ground dirt suspended in the air as the barefoot cast paced and pranced. It was a veritable dust bin of history that embodied the suffocating atmosphere of Salem during the witch trials. Buckley’s minimalist magic put the focus on the characters without distractions.
Miller’s devils of fear, manipulation and the consequences of blind faith are running loose again in today’s United States of Amaga. “The Crucible” prompts audiences to reflect on the dangers of groupthink, unchecked power and scapegoating. Miller admonishes us to stand up to injustice and call out hypocrisy lest we be consumed by it.
Like the best works of Shakespeare, “The Crucible” has transcended time to remain relevant and instructive. We can only wish for history to repeat itself. The jittery, nihilistic politics of the 1950s gave way to the sunny optimism of John F. Kennedy and Camelot. Here’s hoping the bleak Trump ‘20s fade in the light of a more enlightened era that leaves the “witch hunts” in the dystopian past.