Gold Coast Little Theatre has launched its milestone 75th season with a spine-chilling production of 'The Crucible', directed by Hunter Wall and assisted by Jessica White. Walking in with only a general understanding of the infamous Salem witch trials and the hysteria that fuelled them, I had little idea what to expect. What I experienced, however, was an utterly gripping, stress-inducing, and powerful night of theatre that had me hooked from the very first scene.
Arthur Miller’s 'The Crucible' is a beast of a play, both in its emotional weight and its sheer length—clocking in at three hours (with an interval). First performed in 1953, it draws direct inspiration from the real-life events of 1692, when an entire Puritan community descended into chaos over accusations of satanic practices. What begins with a group of teenage girls caught dancing in the woods rapidly escalates into a widespread witch hunt. Abigail Williams, fuelled by bitterness and desire after being dismissed due to her affair with John Proctor, coerces Tituba into performing a ritualistic curse on Elizabeth Proctor, John's wife. Their once-peaceful village quickly becomes a world where superstition reigns supreme, and activities like simply reading books or sewing dolls are seen as potential witchcraft. Logic is abandoned, blind faith stokes the flames, and innocent people are condemned to death. It’s a brutal and terrifying commentary on how fear can be exploited and how easily societies can be manipulated—something that, unfortunately, remains just as pertinent today.
"It was only sport in the beginning, until the whole world cried spirits”
During the actual Salem witch trials, over 200 individuals were accused, 30 were convicted, and 19 were executed by hanging before the hysteria finally subsided when serious doubts emerged about the reliability of the spectral evidence used to justify many of the convictions. In the subsequent years, several accusers—primarily teenage girls—confessed to having fabricated their claims. Hunter Wall’s directorial vision emphasises this thematic weight, merging period authenticity with a modern urgency. The outcome is an enthralling, suffocating atmosphere that makes the audience feel just as trapped as the condemned. Every aspect of this production operates in haunting harmony, driven by outstanding performances, precise direction, and flawless technical execution.
Dominic Bradley delivers a phenomenal performance as John Proctor, the flawed yet righteous farmer who serves as the story’s moral centre. As one of the few voices of reason, Proctor is caught in a storm of superstition and deceit, and Bradley infuses the role with extraordinary depth. He masterfully balances Proctor's fiery temper with moments of desperate restraint as the persecution intensifies. Bradley's expressive eyes remain locked on the focal character in every scene, as if truly experiencing this frustrating situation in real time. His final scenes are a tour de force—his voice hoarse, his body weary, yet his conviction unshaken. Moments of vulnerability with his wife, his anguish upon learning of his friends' fates, and the torture he endures are performed with fervent intensity. I commend Bradley for consistently tapping into such emotionally and physically exhausting depths in every performance.
Opposite him, Olivia French delivers a powerful, understated performance as Elizabeth Proctor, a woman of intelligence, unwavering loyalty, and quiet strength. Elizabeth is fundamentally a caretaker—devoted, pragmatic, and guided by her moral code. French authentically captures her stoic nature, embodying a woman who carries the burdens of betrayal, love, and survival in equal measure. Her Elizabeth is not cold but measured—her words chosen carefully, her emotions restrained, making the cracks in her composure all the more impactful when they appear. Her presence in the final prison scenes is particularly haunting, her body weakened but her spirit intact.
Angelique Giuffre is brilliant as Abigail Williams, the cunning and vengeful young girl whose falsehoods set the town ablaze. She perfectly balances manipulative charm with unhinged ambition, making her both infuriating and fascinating to watch. Giuffre’s commanding stage presence demands attention—often erupting into violent emotion, her voice slicing through the theatre with chilling conviction. The scenes in which she leads the other girls in their choreographed hysteria are particularly strong—each scream, each "possessed" movement reinforcing her grip on Salem.
A key catalyst in the madness is Reverend Parris, played by Ricky Moss, who inadvertently sets off the chain of events by summoning Reverend Hale to examine his seemingly possessed daughter, Betty. The actress portraying Betty, Cadence Smith, offers an eerily convincing performance, with her contorted movements appearing both painful and surreal. Moss delivers a perfectly loathsome performance as Parris. His nervous energy, darting glances, and desperate justifications paint a man more concerned with self-preservation than truth. Although Parris is not the orchestrator of this hysteria, his cowardice and willingness to let innocent people suffer make him one of its most frustrating figures. The fact that he, of all people, is the one pushing for mercy in the final act adds a layer of tragic irony.
Jolan Walker’s Reverend Hale, on the other hand, undergoes one of the play’s most striking character arcs. Initially, Hale is a determined investigator, certain that he is on a righteous mission to cleanse Salem of the Devil. But as the trials unfold, his certainty begins to crack. Walker’s performance captures this slow transformation, making Hale one of the most intriguing characters to observe as he realises the horrors he has helped unleash.
John Arthars as Deputy Governor Danforth and Carey Parsons as Judge Hathorne project an intimidating presence, with their power-driven delight for the trials making them all the more terrifying. Danforth is rigid, unyielding, and blind to reason, making every scene he’s in feel like an uphill battle for justice. The more resistance he encounters, the deeper he digs his heels in, and by the end of the play I am internally screaming at him. His exchanges with Proctor crackle with tension, and his cold dismissal of any logic is enraging to witness. Together, Hathorne, Parris and Danforth represent the spectrum of misguided authority—fear, misplaced faith, and unyielding ego. Their psychological warfare is gripping to witness in Act Two, as Danforth's unwillingness to show mercy, driven by his fear of seeming weak, reveals the extent of his distorted mindset.
Mia Waldron delivers a nuanced and sympathetic performance as Mary Warren, Proctor’s wavering servant and one of the play’s most tragic figures. Torn between her conscience and her overwhelming fear, Mary’s internal struggle is written across Waldron’s face in every scene. She plays Mary’s fragile courage with sincerity, displaying glimmers of strength before crumbling under the crushing weight of intimidation. Her pivotal courtroom scene is agonising to watch, as she struggles to speak the truth, only to be overpowered by Abigail’s manipulations and the mob mentality she so desperately tried to avoid. The ensemble of girls enhances this sense of hysteria with their bizarre, synchronised movements, creating an almost supernatural effect. Their "possessed" sequences are chilling—watching them convulse, scream, and contort their bodies had the entire audience shifting in discomfort.
Craig Kocinski as Giles Corey provides a rare but much-needed touch of humour; his tenacious and endearing nature makes him a standout in every scene he appears in. When tragedy befalls his character, it is all the more devastating because of how much warmth he brought to the stage earlier on. His defiance in the face of oppression is profoundly stirring, and his tragic fate lands with full force. "More weight." The line hits like a punch to the gut.
Even with limited stage time, Isabel Laver as Tituba (Parris' Barbadian slave) leaves a lasting impression. Her emotional turmoil as she is forced into a confession she does not fully understand is gut-wrenching. Laver captures Tituba’s fear and desperation with remarkable skill, her pleading eyes and trembling voice making it impossible not to empathise with her. Her interrogation scene is a standout moment of Act One—her growing panic giving way to reluctant compliance as she realises that playing along is her best chance at survival.
Act Two transforms the play into a gripping courtroom drama with the audience audibly reacting as the characters continue to dig themselves deeper into delusion. At one point, I noticed I was physically tense, shoulders hunched, barely breathing as I waited for the inevitable moment when everything crashes down. This is storytelling at its most immersive. A particularly raw and gut-wrenching moment is John Proctor’s attempt to expose Abigail, confessing his own sins in the process. The intensity of this scene is only matched by the emotionally charged finale, where Dominic Bradley and Olivia French conjure real tears, their performances elevated by a powerful musical underscore that heightens the devastation.
By the time the final moments played out, I felt utterly drained. This production is harrowing, relentless, and unforgettable. The religious themes and mass hysteria are deeply unsettling, serving as a stark reminder of how easily fear can warp justice and lead people to destroy one another in the name of righteousness. Sitting in the audience, you could feel the collective frustration—the audible gasps and sighs of exasperation one injustice after another unfolded before us. Yet, in the final moments, as Proctor makes his tragic decision, there is only silence—the type of silence that indicates a theatre wholly captivated.
The dialogue flows naturally, and the direction maintains a gripping pace. Director Hunter Wall not only leads this production but also designed the set, lighting, sound, and costumes, crafting an environment that feels both authentic and suffocating. The wooden-slated stage and dim oil lamps transport the audience straight into Salem’s grim reality. Fog and plunging darkness heighten the most tense scenes. Costumes, sourced from Javeenbah Theatre and Spotlight Theatre, are layered and modest. Women wear hair wraps, while the young girls’ loose hair visually unifies them as a collective force. Accents, coached by Stuart Lumsden, are impressively consistent, with Moss and Bradley’s dialects particularly standout.
The set is beautifully minimalist, evoking the stark, oppressive nature of a 17th-century Puritan village. Wooden chairs, tables, and a single bed frame make up the bulk of the staging, allowing the raw intensity of the performances to take centre stage. Adding to the atmosphere, delicate flakes—snow or ash?—drift down occasionally, an ominous visual reminder of the cold, merciless world we’re stepping into. Sound design is another triumph, operated by Jacinta Hunter. Subtle yet ever-present, it creeps beneath the surface with unsettling undertones, eerie chanting, and musical elements. Lighting, too, is stark yet striking, casting haunting shadows that deepen the sense of unease. With no microphones in use, strong projection is essential, and every actor delivers with impressive clarity—none more so than Dominic Bradley as John Proctor, whose commanding presence dominates the stage.
I couldn't have wished for a better introduction to 'The Crucible' (I know I'm late to the party). Each lead performance crackles with intensity, every design choice deepens the immersion, and the direction ensures that every scene hits with full force. Despite its length, 'The Crucible' remains one of the most captivating productions I've seen in recent memory. Yes, the final stretch drags a bit, but this production pulls you in and refuses to let go. Just a piece of advice: familiarise yourself with the play beforehand if you're not acquainted with it. Take note of the trigger warnings. And brace yourself—because 'The Crucible' is not just a play. It's an experience.
Now playing until 22nd February: Tickets available here
Comments