A gripping and chilling retelling of Miller’s witch-trial parable.
Father, I confess: this was my first ballet. It can sometimes feel like ballet has to be a lifelong commitment, that if you’re not plié-ing by the age of 4 then you’ve slightly missed the boat. But if every ballet is as captivating as The Crucible then I might consider a career change.
This is a revival of Scottish Ballet’s award-winning 2019 production, based on Arthur Miller’s 1953 play. We land in Salem, Massachusetts and witness a series of witch-trials take hold of the Puritan village amid a wave of mass hysteria. Any concerns that Miller’s narrative might not translate into such a stylised artform can be put to bed – every movement feels connected and motivated as these elite dancers beckon us into their world.
This world is one of restriction. In public, the citizens of Salem feel physically bound but in private moments we see explosions of sexuality and expression. It’s fascinating to watch and paints a vivid picture of a society where gossip and mob mentality suppress its residents’ animalistic desires – for a show about 17th Century Puritans, it’s very sexy.
The ensemble is riveting to watch. They handle complex rhythms and movements with ease, most powerfully in an early church scene where their unison prayers show us the ritualistic, tribal world they inhabit. These are artists at the peak of their craft and it would do a disservice to their astounding ensemble work if I highlighted individuals.
I’m going to do it anyway, Nicholas Shoesmith is an excellent John Proctor: self-interested and controlling yet intensely charming. He shines most in duets with Elizabeth Proctor (Sophie Martin), especially an argument where movement, music and emotion blend so clearly that it truly feels like you can hear what they’re saying. We see their relationship at its most turbulent and its most tender, and in both cases it’s electrifying.
The production design is both visually and dramatically engaging. This is a show of shadows and silhouettes, characters drift through David Finn’s expert lighting design that sometimes conceals their secrets and sometimes reveals them. The main set-piece is four stone slabs suspended above the dancers. They encircle the villagers and become a window, a roof, a cross and a projector screen for a (fantastic) puppet show, before crashing down with the full weight of God’s judgement. We are in full period dress, Emma Kingsbury’s costume design leading with sages, mauves and baby blues – the colours are aptly dulled while the villagers subdue any individuality that may expose them to the mob.
The whole piece is accompanied by a mixture of live orchestra and recorded media, composed by Peter Salem (ha). This soundtrack completely immerses us in the world, always lurking behind the dancers and ready to propel their emotions out from Sadler’s intimidating stage. The combination of classical music and spacey, glitchy synths is alluring, unsettling and, at times, frightening – I don’t know if ‘Horror Ballet’ is a genre but this would slide into it nicely.
The storytelling does slip slightly in the second half as the narrative gets more knotty. Abigail’s framing of Elizabeth Proctor is not conveyed clearly enough, and in the courtroom the direction sometimes feels more messy than energised – we are left not knowing quite where to look to grab hold of the story. Despite this, you would be hard-pressed not to reach the end without an emotional attachment for the Salemites, such is the depth of these characters.
Finally, it would be impossible to credit this production without acknowledging its choreographer, the world-renowned Helen Pickett. In a BTS interview, Contance Devernay (who gives a commendable turn as a flirtatious and vulnerable Abigail) praised Pickett’s choreography, saying ‘the emotions create the movement, more than the other way around’. It’s true. These dancers embody fear, guilt, shame, lust, rage, despair and hysteria in ways that are not just gorgeous but authentic as well.
This show is a timely reminder not only of the dangers that come with a culture of accusations and sensationalism, but also of the power of ballet as a storytelling artform.