What We Are Asked Not to See

  

I start this entry with an older Mike Luckovich political cartoon, as it never really grows old. What I have to say here is indirectly related to that January 6th day that will indeed live in infamy—not only the day itself, but how this country has “moved” past it.

 

In the long, trailing wake of that event lies a kind of flotsam—Pollyannaish sanewashing of Trump’s increasingly chaotic, threatening and sociopathic behavior, including a series of Wall Street Journal opinion articles published this past week. I dare any objective person to read them, with the events of January 6, 2021, and the subsequent pardons of the “patriots” who participated in them in mind, not to mention his ill-conceived Iran war, and come away untroubled.

 

Their titles and subtitles signal the tone: “I Give Up on These Defeatists; From ‘No Kings’ and Iran to data centers, too many Americans are fighting progress” (Andy Kessler, April 5, 2026); “Trump Can Make America Optimistic Again; Put aside grievances and keep reminding us why the U.S. is the envy of the world” (Mark Penn and Andrew Stein, April 7, 2026); and “Trump’s ‘Whole Civilization Will Die’ Tweet Isn’t a War Crime; There’s a big difference between actions in war and words on a website” (Matthew Hennessey, April 8, 2026).

 

A few specific comments, taking the last article first, as it perhaps bothers me the most for its content and condescension. Of the untold thousands of seemingly inane social media posts by this President (as if “Truth Social” were his royal scepter), Hennessey refers to what may be the mother of all such outbursts, written (or authorized) on April 5 by a man his sycophants support no matter what he says, a man who could start a nuclear war on what he believes are his impeccable instincts:

 

“Tuesday will be Power Plant Day, and Bridge Day, all wrapped up in one, in Iran. There will be nothing like it!!! Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell—JUST WATCH! Praise be to Allah. President DONALD J. TRUMP.”

 

Here is but a small excerpt from Hennessey’s article: “They aren’t illegal orders from the commander-in-chief. They aren’t a genocidal threat. And they aren’t a war crime, for heaven’s sake, no matter what your smart cousin says on Facebook…”

 

That is what I mean about the condescending tone, and about the false equivalencies (e.g., what Iran has done in the past somehow diminishes the seriousness of such rhetoric). Hennessey has the platform of the Wall Street Journal, which lends his opinion credibility.

 

For my own appeal to authority, I turn to Nobel Prize–winning economist Paul Krugman, who writes “Terrorism, according to ICE — yes, that ICE — ‘involves violence or the threat of violence against people or property to further a particular ideology.’ The official website goes on to declare that ‘Terrorists do not care who they hurt or kill to achieve their goals.’ If you haven’t read Donald Trump’s Truth Social post from Sunday, above, take a minute to do so. Don’t rely on sanewashed descriptions in the media. And then tell me that Trump doesn’t perfectly fit his own officials’ definition of a terrorist. Don’t tell me that his cause is just, that the Iranian regime is evil. That’s what terrorists always say, and even if it’s sometimes true, terrorism is defined by its means rather than its ends — by its attempt to achieve political goals by violently attacking the innocent. And that’s exactly what Trump is doing: he’s threatening to attack civilian infrastructure if he doesn’t get his way. And since Trump is talking about targeting essential services — power plants! — this is a threatened attack on people as well as property.”

 

This is the President of the United States writing such vile, threatening language, and words have consequences when they come from that office. Coming from an unpredictable person with the power to do exactly what he threatens, this crosses from rhetoric into something far more dangerous. If North Korea issued such threats, we would not only take it seriously, but condemn them as a rogue nation. Our credibility as a peace-seeking democracy is tarnished by such rhetoric. It is the threat itself that carries the whiff of criminality—true mobster-speak.

 

I find myself equally angered by “I Give Up on These Defeatists” by Andy Kessler. He was in grade school when we were protesting Vietnam and marching for civil rights. Now he dismisses people like us as defeatists for participating in the “No Kings” rallies, reducing our messaging to what he calls the “spinning Wheel of Defeatist Complaints,” allegedly funded by George Soros–linked groups and “socialist and communist revolutionary organizations, according to Fox News Digital” (emphasis mine).

 

Andy, my wife and I are in our eighties. We marched in the “No Kings” rallies just as we marched in the 1960s—for $free. Indeed, this protest movement is less focused than those of the civil rights and Vietnam eras. There are now so many issues—the corruption of institutions, the rise of cronyism, plutocracy, and American imperialism. Struggling to reclaim our dignity in the world and to stand up for democracy is not defeatism; it is aspirational.

 

Finally, “Trump Can Make America Optimistic Again” (MAOA?) by Mark Penn and Andrew Stein puts on rose-colored glasses and declares that “we are still the envy of the world.” They suggest Trump’s greatest challenge will be to set aside grievances and unify the country.

 

Seriously, have they been living here this past year? Putting aside grievances is not in Trump’s DNA. And do they know any informed person in another developed country who genuinely wants to live here now? Does anyone seriously believe it will not take generations to repair the damage to our alliances and the world order we helped create—and have so abruptly abandoned?

 

It reminds me of Republican friends who say they dislike the man but support his policies.

 

Taken as a whole, this trifecta is less about argument than reframing. Across all three, the same theme emerges: America is fundamentally strong, but we have fallen into unwarranted pessimism. The problem, we are told, is not what has happened, but how we feel about it. And the solution, improbably enough, is that Trump might lead us back to renewed national optimism.

 

We once had such a sense of hopefulness.

 

Today, government makes its case in inane “press conferences” (or, as I would call them, indoctrination cheer-leading sessions), offering a litany of achievements: the moon mission, military strength, a stock market that briefly exceeded Dow 50,000, and the “landslide” election victory of Donald Trump. These are offered as answers but they are diversions in place of accountability, as though prosperity and innovation can offset democratic erosion.

 

By this logic, any powerful nation may excuse rogue behavior so long as it continues to thrive.

 

What unites these reality distorting opinion pieces is not their optimism, but their insistence that our problem is merely one of mood management. Public concern is treated as a kind of collective misunderstanding rather than a rational response to events that have unfolded in plain sight—beginning, as I keep returning to, with January 6, 2021. We see what is happening.

 

And so I come to a second image: Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”

 

It feels as though he reached out from the late 19th century to capture the present Zeitgeist—a pervasive anxiety that stands in stark contrast to these columns’ casual insistence that nothing of lasting consequence has occurred.

The Crucible at Palm Beach Dramaworks: A Landmark Production of Power and Relevance

 

Tragic and transcendent, this Palm Beach Dramaworks production echoes the Shakespearian tradition, masterfully tracing the fatal flaws of its characters and the society itself that binds them. From its haunting opening scene to the sobering truth of its conclusion, it excels in every dramatic respect: acting, tempo,
direction, and stagecraft. The audience was visibly stunned on opening night by this three-plus hour landmark production (including intermission), erupting into a standing ovation.

 

Arthur Miller wrote The Crucible in 1953 as a metaphor for the McCarthy hearings, using the Salem, Massachusetts witch trials of 1692 as his historical framework. He adopted the stylized language of that era, achieving a rhythmic effect beautifully rendered here. The play feels all the more relevant given today’s political landscape, making Salem’s madness uncomfortably current. Religious fanaticism is alive, well, and encouraged. We may not be hanging “witches,” but we have increasingly become victims of the disappearing line between religion and state, logic and hysteria.

 

When a group of girls in Puritan Salem are caught dancing in the woods, they ignite a lethal witch hunt to escape punishment. Led by the vengeful Abigail Williams, they accuse innocent neighbors of witchcraft, plunging the community into religious mania. John Proctor attempts to debunk the girls’ lies to save his accused wife, but his efforts are compromised by his past indiscretions with Abigail. Caught in the court’s trap, he is pressured to sign a false confession to avoid hanging. Ultimately, he refuses to validate a dishonest system, choosing death over a tarnished name.

 

The Crucible is about compulsory theocratic conformity and the consequences of not obeying the state. Personal grudges and the hunger for recognition blossom into accusations, and as the drama unfolds, it gathers unstoppable momentum, with virtually every character complicit. Accusations form an ever-expanding circle: once one name is spoken, others follow in a litany of “I saw…with the Devil,” until the cry goes out, “Let the marshal bring in the irons!”

 

What is desperately needed is for someone to stand up and say no.

 

In 1692, John Proctor was that person.

 

Cat Boynton and Tom Patterson

The play ultimately asks whether we would join him. Our “community” today may not be a small New England town, but on national and global stages the same dynamics are amplified by social media and the culture of public shaming. That is what makes this production feel so immediate and urgent in an age of extreme political polarization. As Miller himself put it, “the play seems to present the same primeval structure of human sacrifice to the furies of fanaticism and paranoia that goes on repeating itself forever.”

 

Palm Beach Dramaworks’ Producing Artistic Director, William Hayes, also directs this production, bringing a unified vision to its conception and execution. In selecting the play for this season he recognized its increasing relevance. Hayes brought together an outstanding ensemble and shaped an approach that emphasizes the play’s central tensions: religious fervor, fear and hysteria, the dangers of theocracy, and the fragile but essential role of personal integrity. While he has directed scores of plays, this may well be his masterpiece, years in the making, including his research into Arthur Miller’s primary documents. That painstaking and passionate work is evident throughout.

 

In an inspired and somewhat uncharacteristic touch, Hayes positions actors in the audience at the opening of each act, chanting hymns of the era (researched by Bruce Linser) before moving to the stage—drawing us into the world of the play from the outset and making us, uncomfortably, part of the community being judged.

 

Tom Patterson and Elisabeth Yancey

Tom Patterson (PBD debut) plays John Proctor, the even-keeled yet quick-tempered farmer, both physically and dramatically imposing. Authority is antithetical to him, yet he carries the guilt of his affair with Abigail like an ever-present weight. Patterson sustains a palpable tension between restraint and eruption, particularly in his scenes with Abigail, where desire, anger, and moral revulsion uneasily coexist. He gives Proctor a near-Shakespearian sense of consequence, a man fully aware that his past actions have set forces in motion that he can no longer control, culminating in a cathartic refusal to sign a false confession: “Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life…”

 

Elisabeth Yancey and cast of The Crucible

Abigail Williams is played by Elisabeth Yancey, last seen at Dramaworks in Lobby Hero. She stands apart even in stillness, her facial expressions and body language constantly engaged with the action. In contemporary terms, she might be described as a vengeful influencer, weaponizing charisma to manipulate public sentiment while pursuing the removal of Elizabeth Proctor. Yancey captures both the jealousy and desire that fuel Abigail’s actions, driving the accusations with chilling conviction.

 

Julie Kleiner, Gary Cadwallader, Tom Patterson, Andy Prosky, Elisabeth Yancey

Julie Kleiner, a veteran South Florida actress making her PBD debut, plays Elizabeth Proctor with quiet, unwavering virtue that can read as distance or restraint. Known in the village as a paragon of integrity, she delivers one of the play’s most piercing lines to her husband: “The magistrate sits in your heart that judges you.” Kleiner effectively conveys the tension between acceptance and judgment, ultimately guiding her husband toward his final moral choice.

 

Tom Patterson and Andy Prosky and ensemble cast

Deputy Governor Danforth is portrayed by Andy Prosky (previously seen at Dramaworks in The Humans), projecting the authority and arrogance of a man more concerned with preserving the court than seeking truth. His rigid logic regarding invisible crimes underscores the danger of absolute certainty. Prosky plays him with a stark, almost binary force with no shades of gray.

 

Nick Jordan, another PBD newcomer, plays Reverend John Hale, initially eager and intellectual, later tormented by his complicity. His growing desperation is palpable as he attempts to undo the damage he helped create.

 

Tom Wahl, Rob Donohoe, Nick Jordan, John Leonard Thompson, Margery Lowe

Tom Wahl masterfully portrays the insecure and authority-seeking Reverend Parris, shifting from righteous zeal to palpable anxiety as the consequences of the court’s actions begin to threaten his own position. He maintains a constant undercurrent of unease, a man whose authority is rooted more in fear than conviction.

Julie Kleiner, Tom Patterson, and Cat Boynton

 

Cat Boynton’s Mary Warren is particularly affecting, her fear and anxiety building steadily as she is pulled between Proctor and Abigail. In the pivotal courtroom scene, Boynton begins with a fragile, halting attempt to tell the truth, her voice small against the authority surrounding her. But as the other girls, led by Abigail, erupt into a frenzy, convulsing, mimicking, and feeding off one another’s hysteria, Boynton’s composure visibly fractures. Drawn into their collective energy, she collapses back into their orbit, a chilling demonstration of how fear and social pressure can overwhelm individual conscience. It becomes one of the production’s most powerful sequences, where performance and direction converge to disturbing effect.

 

Karen Stephens brings both mysticism and survival instinct to Tituba, a Barbados slave in the Parris household, while Rob Donohoe (as Giles Corey) balances comic timing with principled defiance, refusing to name names even at great personal cost.

 

While these are some of the key performances, this is truly an ensemble achievement. Miller structures the play so that each character contributes to its inexorable momentum, and Hayes fully realizes that vision. The remainder of the cast includes many familiar faces to South Florida audiences, Barbara B. Bradshaw (Rebecca Nurse), Gary Cadwallader (Judge Hathorne), John Campagnuolo (Hopkins), Kaia Davis (Betty Parris; PBD debut), Peter W. Galman (Francis Nurse), Hannah Haley (Mercy Lewis), David A. Hyland (John Willard, and Fight Director), Margery Lowe (Ann Putnam/Sarah Good), Natalie Donahue McMahon (Susanna Walcott; PBD debut), John Leonard Thompson (Thomas Putnam), and Seth Trucks (Ezekiel Cheever; PBD debut). They form a cohesive and compelling whole.

 

The technical elements of this production do far more than support the performances—they actively deepen the sense of dread and inevitability that drives the play.

 

Scenic designer Doug Wilkinson (PBD’s technical director making his design debut with the company) creates a world that reflects both the period and the moral decay beneath it: wide-plank floors, stark architecture, and a looming central tree that feels almost sentient. It suggests both the forest of the opening and something more ominous, as if the Devil himself might be concealed within it, its branches reaching outward toward the audience.

 

Brian O’Keefe’s costumes adhere to the austere Puritan aesthetic, largely monochromatic but with subtle distinctions, lace-trimmed collars, variations in texture, and touches of color among the girls, that quietly define character and hierarchy. John Proctor’s leather garb and boots set him apart as both a farmer and an individualist. Jane Lynch adds further distinction with her wig designs for most of the characters.

 

José Santiago’s (PBD debut) lighting design is especially effective in shaping the emotional arc, intensifying as hysteria builds, softening in the rare moments of calm, and repeatedly drawing focus to the omnipresent tree, which becomes a visual barometer of the play’s mood.

 

Roger Arnold’s sound design underscores the production with a continuous sense of foreboding—dissonant tones, thunder, church gongs, and hymns woven through scene transitions. There is percussive rhythm to it, a drumbeat that propels the action toward its inexorable conclusion.

 

Adam J. Thompson’s projections add a spectral layer—mist, memory, and the suggestion of unseen forces—culminating in haunting reminders of the human cost of the hysteria, real-life names and ages that transform abstraction into stark reality.

 

Assistant director and choreographer Jessica Chen contributes significantly, particularly in the striking opening sequence where movement and staging combine to create one of the production’s most memorable images.

 

This magnificent production, whether it evokes 1692, 1953, or today, is a poignant reminder that Palm Beach Dramaworks is one of the nation’s leading regional theaters. Arthur Miller once said that Laurence Olivier’s 1965 National Theatre production was the finest staging of The Crucible he had seen. One wonders what he would say about this one. William Hayes has created a work worthy of the West End or Broadway, and we are fortunate to have a performance of this caliber right here in West Palm Beach, if only through April 19.

 

The Cast of The Crucible

 Photographs by Jason Nuttle Photography, except for the stage itself and the program cover