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jackdziatkowiec's review against another edition
dark
informative
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
What a bizarre historical event. This play was intense. Repression and isolation will make people do crazy shot.
stalebiscuit's review against another edition
dark
emotional
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
rwabbit's review against another edition
dark
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
monetbelle's review against another edition
dark
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
la_ravenreader's review against another edition
3.0
A play about a witch hunt in Salem during 1692. While, there were some questionable dialogue and references, it proved how flawed society was during that time.
larathoo's review against another edition
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
peterrrrr2's review against another edition
dark
emotional
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
tristansreadingmania's review against another edition
4.0
“We are what we always were in Salem, but now the little crazy children are jangling the keys of the kingdom, and common vengeance writes the law!”
There is a remarkably harrowing scene in Frank Darabont’s expertly executed 2007 film adaptation of Stephen King’s lovecraftian novella The Mist.
The stage for this particular drama to unfold:
A group of denizens of a small rural town are holed up in a grocery store, enveloped by a mysterious, impossibly thick mist. To venture outside is inadvisable, since some of them have already been lost to the unfriendly creatures lurking outside. No one knows what is going on, or whether their loved ones are still alive. Fear, despair and panic reign supreme. Soon, a feverish cult– stoked by an evangelical, unbearably sanctimonious zealot, gathering ever more disciples around her – takes shape, and the search for a scapegoat is well underway.
After two soldiers have hanged themselves, a third – the last one of their group - confesses under pressure that he and his compatriots served on a military base where clandestine experiments were conducted in order to attempt communication with other dimensions. Put simply: It all went to hell in a handbasket. A portal opened up, which spewed forth the strange mist and a horde of creatures, an outcome which could very well spell doom for the entire world.
And thus, the scapegoat has been found, and – after enthusiastic prompting by their cult leader - is promptly and under a loud clamouring sacrificed by the mob. A butcher, striding towards him like an automaton, viciously stabs the soldier multiple times in the lower abdomen, after which he – still alive- is thrown out of the store, to be offered up to the creatures outside. He pleads to be let back in, but is faced by the door, which will never again be opened up to him. Something grabs him, and pulls him into the mist.
The real monsters are still inside, looking on.
When I saw the film at its release, this scene absolutely terrified me. Mob mentality (the willing surrendering of one’s own individual morality or sovereignty) to me has always been the ugliest aspect of the human psyche. Whenever I see it occur, a deep revulsion fills my being. Yet, I am also eternally fascinated by it. To be able to arrive at some kind of – admittedly uneasy - peace with this unpleasant reality, and more importantly to not be swept up by it when it comes, to face it head on and not budge an inch, is something that has kept me preoccupied for many years. It’s one of the greatest moral responsibilities any human could ever confront.
While radically different in its approach to The Mist in its portrayal of the inevitable fallout of hysterical groupthink, Arthur Miller’s The Crucible does leave one reeling for its sheer visceral power. None of the many examples of man’s inhumanity to man during the infamous Salem witch trials are directly shown, only briefly commented on, yet the paranoia and suffocating atmosphere are captured perfectly. Miller has a great ear for authentic dialogue, and deftly uses the idiom of 17th century English to craft a supreme human drama which elicits both sadness and righteous indignation.
A play which, I imagine, would be even more brutal to witness at a live performance. Essential in whichever way you opt to experience it.
There is a remarkably harrowing scene in Frank Darabont’s expertly executed 2007 film adaptation of Stephen King’s lovecraftian novella The Mist.
The stage for this particular drama to unfold:
A group of denizens of a small rural town are holed up in a grocery store, enveloped by a mysterious, impossibly thick mist. To venture outside is inadvisable, since some of them have already been lost to the unfriendly creatures lurking outside. No one knows what is going on, or whether their loved ones are still alive. Fear, despair and panic reign supreme. Soon, a feverish cult– stoked by an evangelical, unbearably sanctimonious zealot, gathering ever more disciples around her – takes shape, and the search for a scapegoat is well underway.
After two soldiers have hanged themselves, a third – the last one of their group - confesses under pressure that he and his compatriots served on a military base where clandestine experiments were conducted in order to attempt communication with other dimensions. Put simply: It all went to hell in a handbasket. A portal opened up, which spewed forth the strange mist and a horde of creatures, an outcome which could very well spell doom for the entire world.
And thus, the scapegoat has been found, and – after enthusiastic prompting by their cult leader - is promptly and under a loud clamouring sacrificed by the mob. A butcher, striding towards him like an automaton, viciously stabs the soldier multiple times in the lower abdomen, after which he – still alive- is thrown out of the store, to be offered up to the creatures outside. He pleads to be let back in, but is faced by the door, which will never again be opened up to him. Something grabs him, and pulls him into the mist.
The real monsters are still inside, looking on.
When I saw the film at its release, this scene absolutely terrified me. Mob mentality (the willing surrendering of one’s own individual morality or sovereignty) to me has always been the ugliest aspect of the human psyche. Whenever I see it occur, a deep revulsion fills my being. Yet, I am also eternally fascinated by it. To be able to arrive at some kind of – admittedly uneasy - peace with this unpleasant reality, and more importantly to not be swept up by it when it comes, to face it head on and not budge an inch, is something that has kept me preoccupied for many years. It’s one of the greatest moral responsibilities any human could ever confront.
While radically different in its approach to The Mist in its portrayal of the inevitable fallout of hysterical groupthink, Arthur Miller’s The Crucible does leave one reeling for its sheer visceral power. None of the many examples of man’s inhumanity to man during the infamous Salem witch trials are directly shown, only briefly commented on, yet the paranoia and suffocating atmosphere are captured perfectly. Miller has a great ear for authentic dialogue, and deftly uses the idiom of 17th century English to craft a supreme human drama which elicits both sadness and righteous indignation.
A play which, I imagine, would be even more brutal to witness at a live performance. Essential in whichever way you opt to experience it.
dyno8426's review against another edition
5.0
This brilliant play transports its readers to the setting of one of the most infamous examples of crimes against humanity where innocent women were hung merely on account of rumour mongering, heresy and herd mentality. It started with arbitrary and whimsical claims of devil worship and its instrumentation through women and spread like wild fire which consumed individuals who couldn't stand against the community. All of this is catalysed by irrationality and fear of sacrilege against unprovable claims. This event becomes yet another instance of the viral cascading of paranoia among people against which individual freedom and fate is dominated until it gets aligned or destroyed.
"Simply, it was this: for good purposes, even high purposes, the people of Salem developed a theocracy, a combine of state and religious power whose function was to keep the community together, and to prevent any kind of disunity that might open it to destruction by material or ideological enemies."
"The witch-hunt was a perverse manifestation of the panic which set in among all classes when the balance began to turn toward greater individual freedom."
Conformity and the infectious nature of irrationality forms the kinder for The Crucible. It is used to incinerate individual freedom to stand against a widely formed opinion inconsequential. The author pits symbolic embodiments of rationality against the power of irrationality to bring home the tragic defeat which triggered this chain reaction of calamity. He very accurately brings in the attribute of an ideological scapegoat - some arbitrary label or unprovable untruth - and uses it as the carrier to neutralise all weapons of righteousness, morality and logic. In this particular instance of alienation and attack, the darkness of religious faith and offended partisans getting mobilised to a degree of panic and confusion comes out strongly. The fear of getting infected by the devil and visualising any hindrance to the radicalism as a "puppet of Lucifer" is the blinding glare that disorients everyone from the sensible path. Such religious fanaticism and incorrigible belief systems are so universally recognised that it awakes both fear and disappointment in the reliability of human race and its advancements. Time and again have clearly and sensibly inhumane trends of culture been sustained through the collective responsibility to preserve some ideological purity. In the heat and adrenaline of achieving a symbolic victory of a group's identity, individuality and humaneness have been sacrificed without relieving a chance to second thought. What is sadder is the underlying truth of the channelising of personal opinions and vendettas which provide the nourishment to the spring of destruction and perpetual conflict. Various granularities of differences are inexhaustible and resultant degrees of alienation is unavoidable. But once we get infected by mob-mentality, the phenomenon of "diffusion of responsibility" takes away the courage and interest from doing the right thing. As such, everybody gives their own flavour of morality and like a game of Chinese Whispers, twist and turn the truth to their own convenience that it no longer retains the ideological beauty it was once revered for. All of this becomes possible when the suspension of rationality (in some aspect) is safeguarded and collectively encouraged under the guise of pride and identity - since there is no absolute truth to compare against and only word-of-mouth to believe, we arrival at an anarchy of beliefs and justice.
"The witch-hunt was not, however, a mere repression. It was also, and as importantly, a long overdue opportunity for everyone so inclined to express publicly his guilt and sins, under the cover of accusations against the victims."
"Political opposition, thereby, is given an inhumane overlay which then justifies the abrogation of all normally applied customs of civilized intercourse. A political policy is equated with moral right, and opposition to it with diabolical malevolence. Once such an equation is effectively made, society becomes a congerie of plots and counterplots, and the main role of government changes from that of the arbiter to that of the scourge of God."
From the playwright of the acclaimed The Death of a Salesman which poignantly disillusions the unforgiving American dream, comes this play as a unforgettable reminder of the degrees of chaos that a society can reduce to, through a powerful social critique of this historical landmark in America. Like infamous cruelties which affected groups of people, it carries the sorrow and frustration of individual futility in front of the immovability of society. It shows the moral and rational corruption of thought which becomes the anti-thesis of religious ideals. But it also shows the potential and that little hopeful spring of humanity which sustains societies through calamities like this. The same unity which disunites us can accumulate these trickles of uncompromising goodness and deliver relief from the wrongful fires and cut through the stubborn stones of evildoings. Arthur Miller delivers his message through not only striking dialogues but also portraying certain characters with an insightful and ideological detail that makes the play immensely rich and substantial. For its worthy content and its brilliant execution, it has become very precious as a monument to the possibilities of human nature and the tragedy of our collective experience.
"PROCTOR, his mind wild, breathless: I say—I say—God is dead!
PARRIS: Hear it, hear it!
PROCTOR, laughs insanely, then: A fire, a fire is burning! I hear the boot of Lucifer, I see his filthy face! And it is my face, and yours, Danforth! For them that quail to bring men out of ignorance, as I have quailed, and as you quail now when you know in all your black hearts that this be fraud—God damns our kind especially, and we will burn, we will burn together!"
"I came into this village like a bridegroom to his beloved, bearing gifts of high religion; the very crowns of holy law I brought, and what I touched with my bright confidence, it died; and where I turned the eye of my great faith, blood flowed up. Beware, Goody Proctor—cleave to no faith when faith brings blood. It is mistaken law that leads you to sacrifice. Life, woman, life is God’s most precious gift; no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it."
"Simply, it was this: for good purposes, even high purposes, the people of Salem developed a theocracy, a combine of state and religious power whose function was to keep the community together, and to prevent any kind of disunity that might open it to destruction by material or ideological enemies."
"The witch-hunt was a perverse manifestation of the panic which set in among all classes when the balance began to turn toward greater individual freedom."
Conformity and the infectious nature of irrationality forms the kinder for The Crucible. It is used to incinerate individual freedom to stand against a widely formed opinion inconsequential. The author pits symbolic embodiments of rationality against the power of irrationality to bring home the tragic defeat which triggered this chain reaction of calamity. He very accurately brings in the attribute of an ideological scapegoat - some arbitrary label or unprovable untruth - and uses it as the carrier to neutralise all weapons of righteousness, morality and logic. In this particular instance of alienation and attack, the darkness of religious faith and offended partisans getting mobilised to a degree of panic and confusion comes out strongly. The fear of getting infected by the devil and visualising any hindrance to the radicalism as a "puppet of Lucifer" is the blinding glare that disorients everyone from the sensible path. Such religious fanaticism and incorrigible belief systems are so universally recognised that it awakes both fear and disappointment in the reliability of human race and its advancements. Time and again have clearly and sensibly inhumane trends of culture been sustained through the collective responsibility to preserve some ideological purity. In the heat and adrenaline of achieving a symbolic victory of a group's identity, individuality and humaneness have been sacrificed without relieving a chance to second thought. What is sadder is the underlying truth of the channelising of personal opinions and vendettas which provide the nourishment to the spring of destruction and perpetual conflict. Various granularities of differences are inexhaustible and resultant degrees of alienation is unavoidable. But once we get infected by mob-mentality, the phenomenon of "diffusion of responsibility" takes away the courage and interest from doing the right thing. As such, everybody gives their own flavour of morality and like a game of Chinese Whispers, twist and turn the truth to their own convenience that it no longer retains the ideological beauty it was once revered for. All of this becomes possible when the suspension of rationality (in some aspect) is safeguarded and collectively encouraged under the guise of pride and identity - since there is no absolute truth to compare against and only word-of-mouth to believe, we arrival at an anarchy of beliefs and justice.
"The witch-hunt was not, however, a mere repression. It was also, and as importantly, a long overdue opportunity for everyone so inclined to express publicly his guilt and sins, under the cover of accusations against the victims."
"Political opposition, thereby, is given an inhumane overlay which then justifies the abrogation of all normally applied customs of civilized intercourse. A political policy is equated with moral right, and opposition to it with diabolical malevolence. Once such an equation is effectively made, society becomes a congerie of plots and counterplots, and the main role of government changes from that of the arbiter to that of the scourge of God."
From the playwright of the acclaimed The Death of a Salesman which poignantly disillusions the unforgiving American dream, comes this play as a unforgettable reminder of the degrees of chaos that a society can reduce to, through a powerful social critique of this historical landmark in America. Like infamous cruelties which affected groups of people, it carries the sorrow and frustration of individual futility in front of the immovability of society. It shows the moral and rational corruption of thought which becomes the anti-thesis of religious ideals. But it also shows the potential and that little hopeful spring of humanity which sustains societies through calamities like this. The same unity which disunites us can accumulate these trickles of uncompromising goodness and deliver relief from the wrongful fires and cut through the stubborn stones of evildoings. Arthur Miller delivers his message through not only striking dialogues but also portraying certain characters with an insightful and ideological detail that makes the play immensely rich and substantial. For its worthy content and its brilliant execution, it has become very precious as a monument to the possibilities of human nature and the tragedy of our collective experience.
"PROCTOR, his mind wild, breathless: I say—I say—God is dead!
PARRIS: Hear it, hear it!
PROCTOR, laughs insanely, then: A fire, a fire is burning! I hear the boot of Lucifer, I see his filthy face! And it is my face, and yours, Danforth! For them that quail to bring men out of ignorance, as I have quailed, and as you quail now when you know in all your black hearts that this be fraud—God damns our kind especially, and we will burn, we will burn together!"
"I came into this village like a bridegroom to his beloved, bearing gifts of high religion; the very crowns of holy law I brought, and what I touched with my bright confidence, it died; and where I turned the eye of my great faith, blood flowed up. Beware, Goody Proctor—cleave to no faith when faith brings blood. It is mistaken law that leads you to sacrifice. Life, woman, life is God’s most precious gift; no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it."