Theater review: 'Bell, Book and Candle'

Do witches walk among us? The Players’ latest production, John van Druten’s Bell, Book and Candle” answers with a definite yes. But the answer’s not as scary as you might think.

The comedy revolves around a coven of New York City witches in 1958. They won’t be bringing gifts to Rosemary’s Baby shower. They’re not so nasty as the Wicked Witch of the West, and not so nice as Samantha and Sabrina. They’re more like certain people you knew in college.

Their witchy ways don’t flow from a contract to a cloven-hooved entity; they’re a natural ability. That non-supernatural talent can be channeled through spells and potions. But either you’ve got it or you don’t. Witches, as a subculture, adhere to a low-key, non-malicious hedonism. They’ll pull pranks, but they won’t build gingerbread houses and eat children. World domination or stock market manipulation doesn’t interest them; they’re having too much fun.  Only one thing can rob a witch’s power: true love. Making a mundane fall in love with you? That’s entirely different.

Gillian Holroyd (Amanda Heisey) puts a love-spell on a publisher, Shepherd Henderson (Craig Weiskerger). It’s mostly to spite a college rival—or so she tells herself. (Real feelings are bad form for real witches.) Marriage looms. Gillian tells the poor sap the truth—and he breaks the engagement. Gillian doesn’t lift the spell; Shep pays a hack magician $5,000 to do it anyway. He’s disenchanted—and still stuck on her. Gillian’s stuck on him—and stripped of her witch powers. He’s under her power too, so I guess everything evens out.

Helen Holliday delivers sharp comic direction. She grasps the comic motor driving this play. This is basically a farce—substituting magic for sex. Turn your head, and you never know what’s going on …

Heisey’s Gillian sizzles with charisma. She gets to be the bad girl in the first act and the good girl in the second—even changing from black to white, if my eyes don’t deceive me. Magic is fun; magic is sexy; magic excludes true love—Gillian decides that’s too high a price to pay. Heisey deftly conveys the evolution of her character. Weiskerger’s “Shep” is just a regular guy. A solid performance, for a flat character. (Blame the script. The playwright never sets up why Gillian falls in love with this straight arrow. When Cupid’s arrow flies, it doesn’t make sense.)  A Greek chorus of witches, warlocks, and a token mundane offer comments on Gillian and Shep’s impending mixed marriage. Ann Gundersheimer’s Queenie (Gillian’s aunt) is a ditzy train wreck straight out of “Bewitched.” Tanner Holman’s Nicky (Gillian’s brother) is a wiseguy full of wisecracks. He’d be right at home in a Comic-Con. Sidney Redlitch (John Tyler) is the mundane out of water. He’s the paranormal “expert” behind a series of trashy bestsellers—who gets hilariously twitchy when he bumps into the real thing.

As noted, witches definitely walk among us in this play. The world they walk through is so normal, it’s funny. Jeffrey Weber’s set is a boxy New York City apartment—a suitably normal realm, to highlight the paranormal bits of business. Jared E. Walker’s clothes fit the times without making you feel like you’re watching a costume drama. Or an old TV show …

 Speaking of witch, “Bell, Book and Candle” clearly begat “Bewitched”—and helped form the lore behind it. (Fun fact: Columbia Pictures owned the rights. They also owned Screen Gems, the company behind “Bewitched.”) Love doesn’t kill Samantha’s powers; it’s the reason she agrees not to use them. Big difference, but the play and TV show have one big thing in common …

John van Druten’s comedy is ultimately a love story. Love’s the big magic—and it drives the small magic out.

That big theme never leaps out and bites you. The farce never tries to take the machinery of magic apart. Expect light, funny stuff, and an enchanting night of theater. Is it fair to real witches? Find the nearest coven and ask. But don’t ask me.

An expert on the paranormal I’m not.