John Proctor is the Villain ★★★★★

John Proctor is The Villain does exactly what it says on the tin: questions the narrative. If you don’t know, John Proctor is assumed to be the ‘tragic hero’ of The Crucible, but a group of teenage girls have other perspectives to share. The show has been greatly revered in the States. First written in 2017, it had its first run at The Farm Theatre, Washington D.C., in 2022, eventually heading to Broadway in 2025 for an extended run. Now, John Proctor Is The Villain takes the Royal Court by storm.

This play rejects a clear storyline; instead, it’s a naturalistic perspective of a teenage girl navigating micro-society – the classroom. The teenage girl lens is not often explored on stage; it’s rather narrated upon by men – think Romeo and Juliet. Think The Crucible! So Belflower’s writing is refreshing. She ensures that this tale of empowerment is funny and smart; there is something for everybody here. It’s obvious this play serves to empower girls – rightfully so.

It’s 2018. Fuelled by female pop music and Palmer Hefferan’s digital soundscape, five girls find ways to look out for each other in a one-stoplight Appalachian town – resulting in the most energised presentation day ever. This class studies The Crucible under Mr Smith’s influence, a ‘nice guy’ and devil’s advocate who loves the ‘heroic’ John Proctor. The first scene is a stagnant SexEd lesson on abstinence. The final scene is wildly empowering – girls letting go of control. Between these, on their journey to a taste of liberation, classic high school tropes are explored in ways that initially seem silly and naive but still from a place of authenticity. This play risks being cringeworthy; if it means young girls can feel heard, it feels very powerful. After beginning a ‘feminism club’ and the return of the elusive Shelby (Sadie Soverall) after her six-month absence, the girls go on a ‘witch hunt’ of their own against their boundary-crossing teacher. Their own version of Miller’s classic plays out.

Set against the #MeToo movement, one of the girls, Ivy (Clare Hughes), discovers her father has been accused of sexual harassment. He’s a high-status man in their town, one that can afford legal protection, and he is also Ivy’s ‘best friend’. She says it can’t be true; ‘He’s just really nice to everyone.’ Her devastating denial resonates as her friends offer alternate truths. Ivy’s is just one of multiple taboo perspectives in Belflower’s script. She goes on to leave the club, feeling betrayed by her own gender. A very real experience is staged here, and it’s not one you see often – hence its importance. The emotion these actors bring to important feminist conversations is radical and contagious in its vulnerability. It’s not to be belittled in the slightest; the actors stay true to the inherent drama of a teenage girl’s coming-of-age experience.

Lauryn Ajufo plays Nell, a new student from Atlanta – she is radiant. She stands out because every line she has resonates. Her comic timing is perfect; she doesn’t miss a beat. When she develops a crush on classmate Mason (played sweetly and hilariously by Reece Braddock), she has a moment where she squeals with excitement to the audience, her gestures creating real feelings of joy. Simply, Ajufo’s energy is palpable.

But going into detail about plot points feels reductive; the play is best experienced when all of its twists and turns can unfold with no warning. And anyway, this play is really about relationships, experience and feeling. Each girl struggles with her own circumstance – heartbreak, betrayal, loneliness, insecurity or academic stress. Yet they find empowerment through action and strategy. It’s Rae (Miya James) and Shelby’s friendship arc that is the catalyst for the girls’ liberation. They begin on rocky grounds after Shelby slept with Rae’s ex-boyfriend, but when they make up in a beautiful moment of hysterical cry-laughing, they come together to fight the common enemy in the best way they know how. Interpretive dance.

In the final scene, Shelby and Rae come to presentation day in homemade costumes depicting ‘witches’ from The Crucible. The play comes to a loud ending; the girls’ dance begins as a cheesy choreographed living room routine but turns into a chaotic, messy and beautiful exorcism of female anger and emotion. They move to ‘Green Light’ by Lorde. Mr Smith shouts that time’s up, but they carry on. Two classmates join in to fight their battle against this teacher too. The play stays authentic by ensuring it doesn’t turn into one big flashmob. Most other classmates stay seated; otherwise, the fight wouldn’t feel as necessary. It must be excellent playwriting from Belflower and direction from Danya Taymor that allows such pride to radiate from these girls.

However, it has to be mentioned that some moments in this play unfortunately do feel a bit forced or awkward. Southern accents are attempted and mostly believable, and dialect issues can be overlooked. But there is the occasional pause that just lasts too long; some line pickups are too quick to allow certain jokes to land or too slow to get to the point. On the other hand, when you see the play for the potential it has to create intense empowerment, small directorial hiccups seem insignificant. The only real issue is the fact that the long pauses can really slow the pace at times, reducing the emotional value and resonance of peak dramatic action.

On the tube, there is an advert that reads ‘find the perfect nail colour to match your existential crisis’. There is clearly a cultural anxiety that young women are facing right now, at a time where violence against women and girls has been declared a national emergency in the UK. So now is a better time than any to stage John Proctor Is The Villain. Kimberly Belflower’s writing highlights the value of teenage girls questioning the narrative, despite facing crises of their own.