John Proctor is the Villain—not much subtlety in the title or the first line: “Sex.” It’s spoken by a charming English lit teacher guiding students through a sex-ed primer; later they’ll dive (gladly) into Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. Here’s a play about male authority and the exploitation of children and right off, Kimberly Belflower shoves her themes in our face. On the nose much? Well, good. Sometimes it takes a cuff on the schnoz to wake up and learn. Belflower has written the most energizing and emotionally wrecking drama this season, an unsentimental education for teens screaming to stay sane in a fucked society.
The author describes the setting, Helen County High, as “the only high school in one-stoplight town” in Northeast Georgia. “My dad says we’re getting another stoplight!” notes Ivy (Maggie Kuntz), the rich (but sweet) girl in a friend group that includes purity-pledged Raelynn (Amalia Yoo), savvy Atlanta transplant Nell (Morgan Scott), and insecure people pleaser Beth (Fina Strazza). Outside that feminine orbit are two boys, the aggressive normie Lee (Hagan Oliveras) and Mason (Nihar Duvveri), who’s chill verging on checked out. Further out in the solar system spins Shelby (Sadie Sink), a motormouthed hybrid of punk and dork who just returned from an unexplained six-month leave of absence, inspiring whispers (breakdown? baby?). Deepening Shelby’s isolation is the fact that she slept with Raelynn’s then-boyfriend, Lee.
So much for the adolescent players. On the adult side there’s perky school counselor Bailey (Molly Griggs), barely seven years older than the girls, still swimming in her own student memories at the institution. Last and slipperiest is Carter Smith (Gabriel Ebert), the putative adult in the room and, at first, the very image of benevolent authority. When Beth, who seesaws between self-deprecation and bursts of pique, apologizes for complaining about spending class time on sex ed, Mr. Smith strikes a kindly, courtly note:
no no no
I didn’t mean to sound like I was minimizing the way you feel
and honestly?
it has been kind of a bummer
that time adds up
and look
let’s be real
I know you guys already know about sex…
He’s the classic “cool teacher,” Mr. Smith. Dude knows the lyrics to Lorde’s “Green Light.” He presents as an ally, doesn’t talk down or pretend he knows everything, treats kids like adults. Exactly how adult is the sickening time bomb that will detonate when Shelby hijacks the class with an interpretation of The Crucible that points out that the young women who led accusations of witchcraft in 1692 Salem were traumatized by war, terrorism and a patriarchal culture of rape against which they had no defense. Did some Puritan girls have public meltdowns that led to the execution of men and women as witches? In such conditions, what girl would not go mad?
From Freud to Jiddu Krishnamurti and beyond, the question has recurred: in a sick society, how do we judge illness? It was also raised in British playwright Joe Penhall’s gripping Blue/Orange, which the Atlantic Theater produced in 2002. In it, a psychiatrist treating a Black British man in a hospital struggles with the realization that living inside racism can trigger schizophrenia as much as neurochemistry. By contrast, Belflower doesn’t pathologize her young adults or let them be merely victims or hormonal freaks. They are mostly articulate, intelligent and kind, not overmedicated or over-mediated on phones, and not a bunch of Bible-thumping white hicks, despite what an East Coast audience might expect. The year is 2018, so they’re pre-pandemic but in the first wave of #MeToo in a rural community, and that context figures heavily in the awakening consciousness of Shelby and the others. Some of the girls want to form a “Feminism Club” and Mr. Smith volunteers to be their faculty sponsor. No need to give away any more plot except to say that Belflower braids the Miller studies and revealing her protagonists’ damage with immense storytelling grace and humor. She clearly loves her characters and the inner life with which she endows them bursts through in authentic, vibrant performances.
I cannot overpraise the talented cast and the snappy production, which moves like a bullet train and ends with a rebellious “Presentation Day” dance that sends shivers down your spine and tears down your cheeks. Sink and Yoo enter in white peasant dresses and enact a visionary feminist rewrite on The Crucible, then burn the house down with a war dance to, yes, “Green Light” (superb primal movement courtesy of Tilly Evans-Krueger). Sound, costumes and scenic design—by Palmer Hefferan, Sarah Laux, and AMP/Teresa L. Williams, respectively—conjure up the classroom and subtle class distinctions perfectly. Special praise to illumination goddess Natasha Katz, whose clublike lighting of the cathartic dance and shock-flash-and-blackout effects keep this live-wire play crackling.
From Stranger Things, we know that Sink has the “ginger badass” shtick down pat, but she proves herself a passionate stage presence alongside equally gifted cast members. Strazza, as mousy, try-hard Beth—on whom Mr. Smith lavishes much attention—registers levels of panic by forever tugging sleeves over her hands, a nervous tic that signals a desire to be smaller, dismembered. So good at riding the line between genial fop and towering brute, Ebert does subtle, assured work as (sorry, let’s face it) a monster. Not since Father Flynn first faced off with Sister Aloysius in Doubt more than 20 years ago has there been such a battle for the safety of innocents. Only here there’s no implacable nun to save the day.
Between The Outsiders and John Proctor, Dayna Taymor seems to be the reigning director for affecting teen tragedies. Makes sense: high schoolers are tragic heroes in liminal crisis, pincered between a childhood (perhaps) fondly remembered and a future of pain and disillusionment. The downy chicks molt and pin feathers pierce tender flesh. A century-plus ago, Frank Wedekind pointed the way with his blistering Spring Awakening; adolescence is the furnace in which you burn to death or forge a suit of armor. The students in John Proctor frequently reference major life events still within reach: Twilight coming out when they were seven, copying homework in sixth grade, or going steady since fourth grade. They’re reciting the sweet, green times, clutching the slim volume of their short lives, before starting a new chapter no longer written in their hand.
John Proctor is the Villain | 1hr 45mins. No intermission. | Booth Theatre | 222 West 45th Street | 212-239-6200 | Buy Tickets Here
