The Bitch of Being a Witch

Sometime around the turn of the millennium – resulting from what I would ascribe to the rise of social media and cable broadcasting — the term “trope” began to lose its classic and pregnant meaning of “figure of speech,” (i.e. an expression used in a nonliteral sense).  It has devolved so that it now indicates “a commonplace phrase,” or more prosaically, a “cliché.”   This unfortunate degeneration is not one of those utilitarian evolutions of the English language, but is, I would argue, the result of lazy media influencers trying to sound hipper and more intelligent than they are.  Everything now is a trope, and frankly, I’m troped out.  Ancient rhetoricians such as Quintilian I’m sure are turning over in their graves, if you will pardon the . . . trope.

 
Thus, as a literary revanchist, I was overjoyed to see the term “witch” not employed in the usual, clichéd sense in the current production of “Witch,” (2022) playing at Carnegie Stage. 

Based on a 17^th century drama, this retelling by Jen Silverman juxtaposes contemporary language and mores with Jacobean-era costumes and set design, imbuing it with an anachronistic glow that makes the storyline very compelling.  Thus, we aren’t looking back at history, as we are in, say, Robert Bolt’s “A Man for all Seasons;” rather we’re looking at ourselves in the present through the mirror of our past.

Director Ingrid Sonnichsen has astutely staged this show in what could be called a rectangular black box theater: there are two static set arrangements side-by-side so we never have to pause for changes, we just smash-cut from one end of the stage to the other with the luminous dexterity of lighting director Julie Adams, kind of like watching a slow-motion tennis match.  It’s refreshing in its simplicity, and it makes one wonder why more black box theaters aren’t set up this way.

The story utilizes the familiar “demon in love” motif (think “Meet Joe Black”), in which an ambitious, soul-dealing devil – who talks like a modern salesperson, complete with charts and metrics – meets, pitches, then falls in love with the village witch, who turns out to be a much more complicated customer than he has ever encountered.  

As the witch Elizabeth, Shammen McCune exudes the kind of insouciance Greta Garbo often used to portray strong women who have given up everything but their own sense of integrity.  We find out, eventually, that Elizabeth isn’t really a witch, but has been labeled one by the villagers as she is a friendless outcast, and that makes her evil in her neighbor’s myopic estimation, which is the essential trope of the play.  “How easily we jump from tarnished to untouchable,” she explains to the devil, Scratch (Max Pavel), who is so intrigued by this woman who desires nothing and thus has no interest in selling her soul.  

Mr. Pavel, to his credit, doesn’t overplay himself as a demonic entity merely hiding his evil nature; rather, and more effectively, he can barely conceal his eagerness as a salesman, with what appear to be glib and well-practiced lines of enticement which we’ve all heard in car showrooms and television commercials.  What he’s really saying – which all salesmen say — is let me change your life.

Elizabeth’s acquiescence to loneliness, to living outside any role society might deem fit for her, isn’t based on misanthropic acrimony; rather, it’s more akin to the kind of ennui described most strikingly by a line from Virginia Woolf’s Too the Lighthouse, namely,  “There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is.”

This romantic existentialism – Elizabeth could be the lovechild of Emily Brontë and Samuel Beckett – is what captures and entrances Scratch and leads to a major shift in his own morality.  In fact, for the first time, he begins to have a sense of what a soul actually is: not something that can be bought and sold, but rather, the only thing that can allow him to connect with another human being.

In addition to Elizabeth, Scratch pitches the local ruler’s son Cuddy (Matt Henderson), the usurper to the throne, Frank (Ryan Patrick Kearney), and the conniving maid Winnifred (Lorna Lominac) – all who are vying for or against each other in various power intrigues, that center on Sir Arthur (Brett Kennedy), the ruler.

Mr. Henderson’s character, Cuddy, is especially tragicomic; he has a reedy, clarinet voice which augments his clownishness, and makes his dark side all the more horrific when he finally loses control over the façade of his tortured existence.

Jenn Bechak’s costumes are vividly baroque and appropriate, and I must say her choice of shoes, especially for the male characters, are chic enough to be in the Nordstrom catalogue.  The work of rest of the technical team is also impressive, as is the fight direction of Randy Kovitz, which is integral to the success and believability of the action.

Surprisingly, the play doesn’t have a predictable ending, and posits more questions than answers, which is what makes it truly compelling.  Equally impressive is the fact that this is an independent, privately funded production, and we should be grateful to the producers, which include the members of the company, as well as assistant director Ken Bolden, for offering such an immersive and entertaining experience.  This show is the kind of theater we need more of: visceral, philosophical, insightful.  And perhaps most important, it really underscores what a trope should be: a tool to understand ourselves in an new and illuminating way.

WITCH continues through March 22^nd at Carnegie Stage, 25 West Main Street, Carnegie, PA, $11.20 – $26.50. (724) 873-3576 or www.carnegiestage.com