Bell, Book and Candle

Can a young witch fall in love and keep her magical powers too? Or does this play have a deeper subtext?

By: Janet Stern

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Shannon Lee Clair plays Gillian (right), who comes from a family of witches, and John Hardin is Shep Henderson, her handsome upstairs neighbor, in


Princeton Summer Theater’s production of Bell, Book and Candle.


   Bell, Book and Candle, the John Van Druten play that opens Princeton Summer Theater’s 35th season, is revived infrequently. Written in 1950, it is, on the surface, the light-hearted story of Gillian, a young Greenwich Village woman from a family of witches who becomes intrigued with Shep Henderson, her handsome upstairs neighbor. Gillian must ultimately sacrifice her magical powers when she falls in love with Shep.
   Lurking in the seams and joints of the play, however, is an allegory about the concealed lives of gay Americans in the 1940s and ’50s. In fact, the allegory just as effectively extends to any group that is marginalized or discriminated against.
   PST’s publicity calls the play a "magical romantic comedy," and its production exquisitely reflects the golden era when this play was written and first performed on Broadway. So convincing is the period detail — the chandeliered drawing room, realistic costumes and hairstyles, big band classics — and the genteel acting style (the way the actors gesture, move, light cigarettes) that one can easily imagine in the roles James Stewart and Kim Novak, who played the leads in the 1958 movie version.
   Or perhaps Noel Coward. On opening night, the audience was captivated by the actors’ inestimable charms and the tension generated by whether Gillian and Shep’s relationship would prevail over their differences. But the underlying theme — that we cannot be fully human unless we can be honest about and accepted for who we really are — recurs throughout the play. The intriguing question is whether Van Druten deliberately couched his allegory in a heterosexual plot because he feared censure and condemnation, or whether he interlaced his subtext mischievously, teasing the audience but nonetheless injecting substance so that the play would endure.
   PST’s production is likewise intriguing. Both the publicity and the direction (by Lileana Blain-Cruz) emphasize the breeziness of a summertime diversion, but the theme of a concealed life is disclosed repeatedly by each character. Gillian is the epitome of glamour, but when coming to terms with her secret life, she declares that she always knew she was different but attributed it to artistic temperament. Gillian’s elegance and self-assurance are expertly captured by Princeton University student Shannon Lee Clair, whose allure is enhanced by the superb costumes designed by fellow student Heather May.
   May portrays Gillian’s less magically gifted aunt, Queenie, in a fluttery performance that elicited laughter with each entrance. But even Queenie has her introspective moments: "I sit in the subway sometimes… or the movies, and I look at the people next to me and I think, ‘What would you say if I told you I was a witch?’"
   Princeton graduate Andy Hoover ably plays Sidney Redlitch, an unprincipled author fascinated by witches. He claims to "recognize them by look or feeling," and his new book "names names."
   Gillian’s brother, Nicky, depicted with sniping haughtiness by Princeton senior Dan Kublick, may well be Van Druten’s surrogate, courting women in socially acceptable milieus but at home in the underground world of witches and warlocks. He twirls his ankles when sitting, flips his wrist effeminately, and dispenses with conversational distance when Shep is near. Kublick also enlivens the dialogue. There are, as in most plays of the era, some tiresome, lengthy speeches. True to the period, actors in this production generally stand back, allowing the speaker to continue without interrupting or otherwise reacting. Except Nicky. His responses are quick and quick-witted, and his mood and facial expressions change on a dime.
   New York University student John Hardin suavely impersonates Shep Henderson. That he manages to charm the audience with an outmoded urbanity and vernacular reminiscent of Ivy Leaguers circa 1940 ("I don’t awfully like it") testifies to this young actor’s talent. It is easiest to experience this play as pure romantic comedy when the spotlight is on Shep. And yet, in a throwaway line buried in an ardent speech, he says, "I don’t know about Nicky’s sex life." Later, he says of Nicky, "He waved to me, a funny kind of wave."
   Given the exclamations from the audience on opening night ("That was so much fun!" "What a wonderful production!"), PST’s appeal to the public’s wish for escapist entertainment worked. Comic performances; witty dialogue authentically rendered; and an elaborate interior complete with bookcases containing exotic bottles of mysterious potions and a tilting floor that may signify something off-kilter (Allen Grimm is the clever set and lighting designer) — all fulfill PST’s promise of light entertainment.
   But the very title of the play, while reflecting a popular conception of witchcraft, actually refers to a ninth-century method used to excommunicate someone who committed a heinous sin. The bishop would ring a bell, close a holy book, and snuff out a candle to symbolize the extinguishing of the individual’s soul.
   This subtext was rendered surreptitiously in PST’s production, mirroring Van Druten’s own treatment of it. If attuned to it, one’s experience of the play is enriched. On the other hand, the play is reputed to have inspired the 1960s sitcom Bewitched. PST calculated correctly that the charm and predicament of the characters can prove just as satisfying.
Bell, Book and Candle continues at the Hamilton Murray Theater on the Princeton University campus, Princeton, through June 24. Performances: Fri. 8 p.m., Sat. 2, 8 p.m., Sun. 2 p.m. Tickets cost $18, $15 seniors, $10 students; ($16, $12, $10 Sat. matinees); (609) 258-7062;