I SAW A PLAY, ONCE. . .

"The Crucible"
by Arthur Miller
produced by and at Steppenwolf
Chicago
seen Sept 16, 2007

Well, here goes. This will not be pleasant. I'm not sure that I'm up to the task, as they say, but with the gathering momentum of a dozen or so entries in this blog over the past several months, I will find the courage to deliver one more volley at a particularly loathsome and vile Antagonist. Oh, I know that it's my personal Antagonist against which I rail, so don't you, dear reader, think I'm just picking on some poor, little theatre production. 'nuf said, on that point.

Now, to this production of Arthur Miller's classic and timeless masterpiece. Superb in its power and humility, this play awakens in all of us fear and trembling for our fragile existence in a society gone mad, a society of vultures, parasites and leeches now infesting the lobbies, aisles and seats of 1650 North Halsted: yes, the audiences of Steppenwolf.

I defer to the practiced articulation of John McWhorter, who, equally superb, has identified the modern day, witch hunt as being shrouded in the garb of civil rights, which, here, is represented by, none other than, one James Vincent Meredith, an actor so intimidated by his own personal Antagonist that he can barely walk across the stage without stumbling over his own feet, a man so filled with fear that he can do nothing but smirk and grimace whenever the faintest flurry of an emotion surfaces, a man so puppetted by this Separatist invested audience that he fawns and bows and buckles, apologizes and defers and whines, grovels and begs and pleads. There was no John Proctor of manly proportions at the Steppenwolf, last Sunday, the 16th of September, because the audience that runs the institution over there at 1650 North Halsted demanded that Kinny, Perry and Sinise cast a black man in this white role, euphamise it as "non-traditional" casting, get on with the show and never mind authentic and obvious role requirements as written by the author, thereby forcing Meredith into a role which he is neither historically right for nor skillfully prepared to do: He's in over his head! A world gone mad!

Tells us, Meredith, how feels you to be the oxymoron of theatre: Steppenwolf, having felt the heat from their audiences that are on a modern-day, witch hunt looking for white racists, has offered them you as appeasement in a classic drama that decries appeasement in the face of intimidation. I say, God is dead on North Halsted!

The Chief Protagonist is Deputy Governor Danforth, acted with remarkable personal strength and courage by one Francis Guinan (three minutes holding the audience spellbound with the reading of a letter, silently to himself! A master, who fears no Antagonist beyond the footlights!).

The Arch-Antagonist is Abigale, played so boldly, so unhesitatingly, so believably by one Kelly O'Sullivan. Bravo!!

Once again, as in all of the Steppenwolf productions that I have seen in the last four years, cast members (other than O'Sullivan and Guinan) were spotted day dreaming on stage during highly dramatic moments of the play, proving, once again, that without a connection to the audience, there is no drama, imitated or living. Well, that connection in itself needs to be identified, so let us digress.

I must say, to mount this timeless classic in Chicago's 2007 social-political environment with black actors not cast as the adolescent girls nor as any of the adult, witch-hunters, is a misreading of the threat that Steppenwolf is faced with by a particulary oneous and diabolical Antagonist of its own that sits night after night in the audience vomiting out its diatribe at the production company: "Witch! Witch! Witch! Witches all!" (Read "Racist" for "Witch.")

It would have been better to leave the casting as Miller originally intended, and let the audience draw their own parallels. As cast by Steppenwolf, however, an oxymoron was created in Meredith doing the role of John Proctor, who should be, by all accounts, the 2007, modern-day, white man, who is wrongfully accused of racism by a conspiracy of Black Victimologist and Separatists, which would be the obvious parallel of 21st Century Chicago to 17th century New England.

I'd love to set my foot on that Steppenwolf stage, stick my finger into the audience's eye and cry, "get out of my cathedral!"

Steppenwolf, thy name is sleep.