Introducing Playhouse Tuesday with Erica Wachs

Playhouse Tuesday is a biweekly blog segment about the importance of theater in modern times. By delving into the twists and turns of plays from all genres, Shakespeare and Paula Vogel, I, Erica Wachs, hope to reveal how and why plays hold far greater implications in these times than we might realize at first.

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“Doubt requires more courage than conviction does, and more energy; because conviction is a resting place and doubt is infinite—it is a passionate exercise.” So ends John Patrick Shanley’s preface to his Pulitzer-Prize winning drama Doubt. Set in the Bronx in 1964, Doubt explores school principal Sister Aloysius’s course of action once she suspects the priest, Father Flynn, of having an inappropriate relationship with his student Donald Muller.

Wait… wait… wait. You’re not even sure you want to read this blog post yet, correct? What even is this blog? To be honest, I’m not too sure. This blog idea grew out of a desire to get playwriting into the youth literary magazine movement. I’m very aware that defining myself as a playwright sounds both a bit antiquated and idealistic. But I grew up on theater. I have been acting ever since I was Annie in the fifth grade. I used to think that there wasn’t anything as amazing as being an actor in a play. And then in high school, I discovered playwriting. This past summer, I worked as a literary intern at the Public Theater, where I would spend hours at my desk reading plays. Some of these shows would be amazing; I still remember lines that stand out of works that will unfortunately, probably go unproduced. Others were torturous to get through. But I loved every second of that job. It convinced me that people were still playwrights. At the end of this semester, I made a pact with myself that I would read one play a week. Through these shows, I want to write about what’s made them so successful. Why can I still connect with a show like Doubt, when I’m neither Catholic, nor a nun living in 1964? What has made contemporary works like Quiara Algería Hudes' Water by the Spoonful resonate so powerfully with modern audiences?

For my 19th birthday, my best friend from home gave me the play Doubt, so that is the play I’m going to start my segment with. This deceptively short play (a nine scene one act) revolves mainly around the conversations Sister Aloysius has with new teacher Sister James, as well as her confrontation with Father Flynn. At the end of the show, Father Flynn does leave the school—but his motives remain ambiguous. This play was just what I needed to read at the end of my first semester of college.

From a writing standpoint, this play is able to do one of the hardest things, I think, in theater. The play is a series of conversations. There is no “action,” per se, the inappropriate relationship in question happens (if at all) offstage, and is relayed to the audience through Sister Aloysius’s dialogue with Sister James. And yet, it still keeps an audience’s attention. How can mere words keep an audience engaged for the duration of a play?

I think in Doubt’s case, the words are the stakes. In fact, Father Flynn is the first character the audience meets. He comes across as a young, knowledgeable priest, who is preaching sound advice to his congregation—the audience. We trust him. He is in a position of authority. We have no reason not to trust him. Until, of course, the second scene, when accusations fly. It is through this theatrical device that Shanley sets the stakes not just in the world of the play, but also, for us as well. If Father Flynn is guilty of what he has been accused of, then we, the audience are guilty as well. We have trusted him, and he has betrayed not just the world of the play, but all of us as well. Every revelation made is another way for the audience to judge whom to trust. The stakes are just as high for us as they are for the characters in the show. And while in Doubt, Father Flynn’s supposed crime is not something everyday readers and audience members can connect to, everyone has been acquainted with being completely sure about something one moment, and then losing that certainty the next.

Going to college, I thought I had a great deal of the world figured out. It was why I was such a successful writer. I thought I understood the world around me enough to make critiques about it in my writings. Four months later, and I know there’s a lot I still have to figure out about the world. Those days when I had to grapple with not being the girl with the right answer—those were some of the most frustrating days I’ve dealt with since going to college. And I know that these are classic first-semester freshman year adjustments to deal with, but that doesn’t make them any less real. In fact, that’s why Shanley’s play resonates with everyone so well, I think. At the end of the play, Sister Aloysius, who has been this pillar of conviction, suddenly breaks down in front of Sister James. The last line of the show is her proclamation: “I have doubts! I have such doubts!” This, in a way, is even more haunting to us. It feels like a double betrayal. The audience has their doubts about Father Flynn, and Sister Aloysius made us aware of this very early on. And the audience has followed Sister Aloysius, this pillar of conviction, throughout the show, putting our faith and confidence that she will bring justice to the world of the play. And though in the end she does, in her own way—Father Flynn does leave—her doubts echo the audience’s doubts. We’ve just been unable to express them. Living with doubt is an uncomfortable feeling that we, as people, generally attempt to avoid. The stakes very quickly dissolve from a story of Father Flynn to the stories of our personal uncertainties and ambiguities. This is where Shanley’s play is genius: for nine scenes, he makes us live in doubt.

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