The Welkin

I never thought that listening to a woman undergo a painful gynecological exam would make for compelling theater, but Lucy Kirkwood has proven me wrong. Despite featuring this grimacingly painful procedure at full volume, her new play in performances at the Atlantic Theater Company is such an insightful look at gender roles, it’s impossible to look away.  

A darkly comic portrait of an 18th-century English community, The Welkin coalesces Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men with Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and Sarah Polley’s Women Talking into a story that manages to be undeniably political while remaining deeply humane. In mid-18th-century Suffolk, a panel of 12 “matrons” are empaneled to determine if the youthful Sally (Haley Wong, ferocious) is pregnant. If Sally, who is accused of the gruesome murder of a young girl, is not pregnant, she will hang for her crime. If she is pregnant, she will be permitted to live.

Directed with efficiency and compassion by Sarah Benson, The Welkin is an ensemble piece in the best possible way. Assembled in a grim room (the set is by dots, lighting by Stacey Derosier) and denied food, water or heat, with a bailiff (Glenn Fitzgerald) silently supervising, the women debate the merits of faith, science and justice, while begrudging the time their civic duty keeps them from completing their housework. The diverse ensemble, costumed by Kaye Voyce, features Sandra Oh as Elizabeth Luke, a midwife with surprisingly personal ties to the case. Her passion for justice renders her admirable but also relatable, as she becomes frazzled while delivering finely-worded speeches of moral courage.

Fiercely opinionated and both frustrated and progressive, Luke riles against the patriarchal standards of justice and medicine, lamenting, “Nobody blames God when there is a woman can be blamed instead.” She bristles at the assumptions of guilt presented by the privilege of Charlotte Cary (Mary McCann), a seemingly wealthy outsider who serves as the matron’s forewoman and the ire of Emma Jenkins (Nadine Malouf), who resents Sally for a previous, unrelated crime.

She says Sally “has been sentenced by men pretending to be certain of things of which they are entirely ignorant, and now we sit here imitating them, trying to make an ungovernable thing governable.”

That thirst for violence is echoed by the mob of residents outside the courthouse. As the women talk, they hear the chants for her hanging. (Sound design is by Palmer Hefferan.)

The jury also includes the pragmatic Ann Lavender (Jennifer Nikki Kidwell), the cheerful Sarah Smith (Dale Soules), the heavily pregnant Peg Carter (Simone Recasner), the sympathetic and menopausal Judith Brewer (Ann Harada), the comically outspoken Susannah Perkins (Mary Middleton) and the compelling Hannah Cabell as Sarah Hollis.

One might assume, or fear, that such a crowded stage would serve to the detriment of the individual actor, but Kirkwood’s skillful writing and Benson’s adept direction ensure harmony. In a deft moment of staging, the women line the stage, each performing a household task in synch. As each woman is sworn into the jury, she abandons her task, steps forward and informs the court of who she is married to and how many children she has or had. The ominous thumping of a butter churn and scraping of a washboard provide the audience with individual details of each woman while framing them within the patriarchal societal structures.

These structures are demonstrated in the ways the women judge one another, the one infertile woman condemning herself as a failure, while another is judged for her freedom from maternal obligations. Male authority is prioritized over female knowledge, much to Lucy’s frustration and Sally’s, when a doctor (affably played by Danny Wolohan) is called in to determine her status through a painful examination.  

There are moments that feel heavy-handed or out of sync with the rest of the show, but, thankfully, The Welkin manages to avoid becoming didactic and even hints at the mystical, as the town anticipates the passage of Halley’s Comet. Leaving the audience with unanswered questions ensures continued pondering of the play and the empowerment and disempowerment of women. It’s all too relevant.