On Wednesday last week, I had two major firsts in the life of a young (career-wise) theatre journalist: my first ever trip to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, and my first ever production of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible.
Sitting down in this iconic theatre and looking out over the stage, I was moved by how authentically it has recreated the Shakespearian experience. The people standing in the courtyard in front of the stage, the beautiful thatched roof that goes all the way around. Adding to the feeling that I’d been whisked back in time were the carts full of dirt in the courtyard – one on each side of the stage – with actors in period dress standing nearby, interacting with the audience for 15 minutes or so before the play started.
Arthur Miller’s play, I soon learned, is a searing, devastating story about power, fear, and false accusation – but I wasn’t prepared for how modern it would feel, or how much it would hit me in the gut. This new production at Shakespeare’s Globe, directed by Ola Ince, is outstanding: gripping, emotionally shocking, and painfully relevant.
We’re thrown into a small, fearful village community. Abigail Williams, played with searing intensity by Hannah Saxby, is at the centre of it all. We first see her with Reverend Parris (Steve Furst), his daughter sick and bedridden. Abigail has been caught dancing in the woods, and panic is spreading. Saxby captures something crucial about Abigail – that she is both victim and manipulator. Her relationship with John Proctor has damaged her, emotionally and socially, but she quickly realises the power she can wield through performance, through fear, and through lies.
When Gavin Drea’s John Proctor enters, the tension ratchets up. His chemistry with Abigail is unmistakable, but his guilt and shame burn even brighter. Proctor wants to do the right thing – but his pride, his past, and the rigid systems around him make that almost impossible. Drea plays him as a man constantly in conflict with himself, and when the story builds towards his final decision – to tell the truth and be hanged, while trying to save his wife – it’s Drea’s performance that gives the act its unbearable weight. His scenes with Elizabeth Proctor, played with moving restraint by Phoebe Pryce, are among the most emotionally charged moments of the show. Their final conversation, full of regret, forgiveness, and unspoken love, left a knot in my stomach.
The set design by Amelia Jane Hankin is phenomenal. The mezzanine level is dressed like a field of wheat against a blue sky, and it’s used brilliantly throughout: musicians linger there, scoring the action with haunting live music. It’s peaceful at first. Then, as the story turns darker, the wheat field becomes the backdrop for some of the show’s most chilling scenes. A moment early on – where we glimpse the girls in the field, playing and laughing and breaking the rules – lingers with an eerie innocence that we know won’t last.
The carts, full of dirt and positioned in the courtyard, aren’t just set dressing – they later become raised platforms used in the courtroom scenes, cleverly transforming the space and deepening the immersive tension as the story unravels.
The court scenes are where this production truly soars. The way the boarded-over carts are used to create a courtroom space is masterful. At one point, the girls (who sit like a dark jury on one of the platforms) turn on Mary Warren, facing her directly across the courtyard as if aiming their collective hysteria like a weapon. They cross to the stage as requested by Judge Danforth (Gareth Snook), and then Abigail, in a desperate bid to avoid exposure, starts pretending to see spirits again. The other girls follow, and it becomes genuinely upsetting. They chant, cry out, speak in tongues – and in doing so, they destroy lives. I was shocked. I was angry. Ince’s wonderful direction had turned the whole theatre into the courtroom, and we were all the shocked onlookers, powerless to act.
Bethany Wooding gives an extraordinary performance as Mary Warren, the young woman who wants to do the right thing. You can see the fear etched on her face as she tries to tell the truth and realises – in real time – that truth doesn’t matter here. Her surrender to Abigail’s group is heartbreaking. She tries to be brave. She tries to stand up. And then she folds, because she has no other option. Wooding handles this arc with heartbreaking precision.
Jo Stone-Fewings’ Reverend Hale has the most interesting arc in the play. He starts out like Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds – relishing the witch hunt, enjoying the power. There’s a hint of smugness to him early on, a pleasure in unpicking lies and playing judge. But his transformation is compelling. He begins to see what’s really happening, and by the end, he’s begging people to confess just to save themselves. He knows the system is broken, but he’s powerless to stop it.
Giles Corey, played by Howard Ward, brings much-needed humour early on. But when the tide turns, and the trial becomes a machine chewing through lives, he too is caught up in the horror. That shift from laughter to tragedy is brutal – and beautifully handled.
Judge Danforth (Gareth Snook) is perhaps the most chilling figure of all. He doesn’t see himself as cruel – in fact, he believes he’s righteous. That’s what makes him so dangerous. He doesn’t want power for its own sake. He wants to root out evil. But he only sees what confirms what he already believes. In a world shaped by social media algorithms and echo chambers, that hunger for confirmation is the most terrifyingly relatable thing of all.
The madness of Salem reminded me of a contemporary issue: my friend Caz was recently standing in the queue for the women’s toilets when a man shouted at her, then grabbed her shoulder and told her the gents were the other way. All because she has short hair and is quite tall. He saw what he wanted to see – and didn’t stop to question it. Looking to confront an imagined threat, fuelled by the kind of fearmongering pushed by the likes of the Daily Mail and JK Rowling. That’s a witch hunt. A modern one. We like to think we’ve outgrown Salem’s hysteria, but we haven’t. I’m certain future generations will look back at the way we treat some of our citizens, with the same disbelief we feel toward the puritans.
The Crucible is a play about moral courage. About whether you’d give your life for a principle. About the cost of truth, and the ease with which fear eats it alive. I left the Globe reeling – and wondering what I’d do if it were me on trial.
This is an exceptional production. See it. Experience it. Reckon with it.
The Crucible is running at Shakespeare’s Globe until 12th July 2025.
Book tickets at theatreticketsdirect.co.uk
Words by Nick Barr
Photography Marc Brenner
