Witch
Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
Geffen Playhouse
Through September 29
RECOMMENDED:
Witch, Jen Silverman’s incisive illuminating play directed by Marti Lyons at Geffen Playhouse, draws inspiration from The Witch of Edmonton, a Jacobean melodrama conceived around the real-life tragedy of an elderly woman named Elizabeth Sawyer, burned as a witch in the British community of Edmonton in 1621. Collaborated on by three authors (William Rowley, Thomas Dekker and John Ford), this 17th century work was notable for casting the “witch” in a relatively sympathetic light given the era in which it was conceived. Rather than pure evil, Elizabeth is portrayed as a reviled outcast, driven to witchery by the cruelty and scorn of her neighbors.
Set sometime in the past (the script says “then-ish”), Silverman’s narrative consists of two loosely interwoven storylines. The first, which bears the preponderance of the play’s moral and metaphysical message, follows the evolving dialectic between Elizabeth (Maura Tierney), a world-weary taciturn woman who calls things as she sees them, and Scratch (Evan Jonigkeit), a pleasant-mannered agent of Satan with the slick demeanor of an insurance salesman, who’s come to offer Elizabeth sweet revenge against those who have wronged her. Of course, the price for such a service would be her soul.
Silverman’s second thread introduces an entirely different set of characters and develops around the rivalry between the milksop-ish son and heir of a wealthy landowner, Cuddy (Will Von Vogt), and Frank (Ruy Iskander), a swaggering peasant who has wormed his way into the landowner’s affections and covets his estate at Cuddy’s expense. The two stories are linked through the enterprising Scratch, who preys on Cuddy’s simmering resentment of Frank and inquires if he’d consider bargaining away salvation in exchange for a more temporal prize. Bewildered at first by the come-on, Cuddy soon realizes how much he would give to have Frank, his nemesis (albeit also his secret lust-object!), disappear.
The other two characters in this droll take on money, patriarchy and power are Cuddy’s father, Sir Arthur Banks (Brian George), a widower who converses with his adored dead wife, whose portrait dominates his dining hall, and Winnifred (Vella Lovell) the castle maid, who is secretly married to Frank, her childhood sweetheart. Consigned to polish mirrors and serve dinner while Frank lolls about with his aristocratic patron, Winnifred’s frustration erupts after Sir Arthur offers Frank an intro to the most eligible ladies in the land, and Frank, besotted with dreams of riches, accepts, conveniently dismissing his prior marital vows.
All four actors in this clever, moralizing fable are in top form. Each scene involving any or all of them is hilarious and fun, driven by some truth about human nature.
But the meat of this cogent well-written play rests in the scenes between Elizabeth and Scratch. When first solicited, Elizabeth will have nothing to do with Scratch’s offer, but she invites him in anyway, and uses their time together to challenge his pitch and point out how it’s been crafted to what he thinks would appeal to her as a woman. For example, her revenge package might include a plague of insects on her enemies, whereas an offer to a man might promise universal torment and darkness. Accustomed to controlling the conversation, this junior-level demon (who scores mostly wins) is taken aback by her pull-no-punches perspective — but he’s drawn to her spirit and intrigued by her uncompromising honesty.
The heart of the play — for women, feminists — really, anyone of any gender who’s stood alone against the world — is Elizabeth, with her courage in the face of a bleak friendless future. Tierney plays all her nuances well, but her performance is a little too interior, as if evoked for film rather than stage: Her presence needs to be bigger and more powerful to match the play’s universal scope. Jonigkeit’s devil could use more eely polish at the start so that his metamorphosis emerges as more vivid and dramatic.
Yet the piece still packs a wallop. Scenic designer Dane Laffrey’s layout prominently features the larger-than-life image of a woman’s eyes, her enigmatic gaze projected onto a curtain that suspends from the ceiling: Is she observing humanity and its folly or staring into space? Beneath the image is the setting for the spare humble environs that Elizabeth inhabits and where she entertains Scratch’s entreaties. When the scene changes, the curtain lifts; a proscenium is pushed forward to reveal the castle dining hall where the madcap scenes transpire. It’s a brilliant concept of a set, worthy of the exceptionally fine drama that it frames.
Geffen Playhouse, 10886 Le Conte Ave., Westwood; Tues.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sat., 3 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. & 7 p.m.; through Sep. 29. www.geffenplayhouse.org or (310) 208-5454. Running time: approximately 95 minutes with no intermission.
