ATC's "The Welkin" - Filled with Metaphoric Wonderment in its Compelling Wildness

(front row l-r) Haley Wong (Sally Poppy), Paige Gilbert (Hannah Rusted), Susannah Perkins (Mary Middleton); (2nd row) Simone Recasner (Peg Carter), Ann Harada (Judith Brewer), (3rd row) Jennifer Nikki Kidwell (Ann Lavender), Tilly Botsford (Kitty Givens); (standing) Hannah Cabell (Sarah Hollis), Mary McCann (Charlotte Cary) in ATC's The Welkin. Photo by Ahron R. Foster.

The sound of giggling children excitedly lead us into The Welkin at the Atlantic Theater Company, but I'm still not exactly sure of the connection. It's thrilling though, sitting inside the darkness, waiting in anticipation for what will come, instilled with a sense of ever-heightening discomfort and anxiety. Something terrible has happened. That is clear, and we can't help but feel the tension in that dark interaction brought forth by candlelight. We hear it somewhere in the voice of the unseen woman who has returned home to her perplexed and angry husband, played compellingly by Danny Wolohan (Broadway's Camelot). He wants to know where his wife has been, but she, Sally Poppy, the cornerstone of this play, played meticulously wild and magnificent by Haley Wong (Playwrights Realm's Mary Gets Hers), seems to have something else on her mind, and on her body. And in that blood-soaked personage, we realize, for her, that everything has changed, but also, all has stayed the same, just dirtier. It's a wildly appropriate metaphor of all things female, then and now, and we can't help but lean forward wanting to know where this play, written with captivating precision by Lucy Kirkwood (The Children), is heading, overpowered by crows' squawks and devilishly sharp pounds.

As directed with exciting thumping energy by Sarah Benson (PH's Teeth), the play has us hooked in; curious and enticed within seconds, or maybe minutes. With the next framework being a churning plunge pleasure, headed by a fantastically engaging Sandra Oh ("Killing Eve") as a mother and midwife named Elizabeth Luke. Her well-regarded commodity is being summoned by Mr. Coombes, played captivatingly well by Glenn Fitzgerald (ATC's I'm Revolting), to fill out a forum of women, a Welkin, to determine if the previously seen Sally, who has been charged with a murderously horrible crime, can or should be hung for her quickly charged crime of murdering and dismembering Ann Wax, the young daughter of a well-to-do family. She has been found guilty already, after being apprehended as an accomplice to a Scottish vagabond named Thomas McKay, who has already been hanged for the crime. Sally would have also been hung, if it wasn't for the claim she made in the courtroom that she is pregnant. "She claims the belly," Elizabeth is told, and if it is indeed true, her neck will be saved, and she will be transported to America, rather than getting the same punishment as her so-called accomplice.

It's a fascinating exchange that takes place in that second scene, between the married Mr. sent to fetch Elizabeth Luke, who, like the somewhat deranged Sally and many of the other women in The Welkin, speaks about the annoying interruption of her tedious housework as cruel, even though it is also described as boring and difficult, yet required. But Elizabeth allows herself to be swung into service, joining a powerful parade of women, played with majestic purpose by a crew of fantastically detailed actors, engaged in playing their part in the same quorum, even though they weren't, as pointed out by Elizabeth, brought forth to help the woman during her speedy trial. "I know she has been tried in a cold room by cold men on the word of a cold husband, with no one to speak for her and a mob outside the window." And it's clear this play and this woman will have much to say about this unjust framework.

The courageous and complex text, filled to overflowing with metaphors and symbols, dives into the complexities with a fantastic sense of purpose, fueled by exacting portrayals, delivered by a most talented cast, somewhat led by a ferociously good Oh. Set in 18th-century England, but given a modern energy of engagement and actualization, this mix of mystery and misogyny finds its forum closed off in the room with a silenced man to watch over them. The setting, designed strongly by dots (2ST/Broadway's Appropriate) with sharply defined costuming by Kaye Voyce (LCT's Uncle Vanya), lighting by Stacey Derosier (RTC's The Refuge Plays), sound by Palmer Hefferan (LCT's The Skin of Our Teeth), and special effects by Jeremy Chernick (Broadway's The Outsiders), has its way with us, digging us in and encapsulating all.

Oh is astonishingly good at staying strongly structured as well as just one of a pack, delivering forth dialogue that floats about in pre-modern feminist language against the rot of misogyny. There's no attempt to establish this in an authentic period, both vocally and attitudinally, finding a landscape that bridges the gaps between the very specific time-framed setting and the modernist soapbox stumping that our hero, Oh, takes on. And once the dozen women find themselves locked in with the aggressively caged Sally, with a silent male observer inside and an angry mob outside, the jury of women must find their way to a unanimous vote. Is she with child, or not, and only saying this to avoid a hanging? "Even if she is lying I do not blame her," states Oh's Elizabeth, "I would lie too. When a woman is being buried alive, she will reach for even the grubbiest tool to dig herself out again."

It's a compelling act of investigation, with the midwife Elizabeth, seemingly the expert in the crowd, not being persuasive enough against the suspicious others who believe she should be hanged so they can get back to their chores. They search for signs to speed things up, palpating Sally's breasts for milk in hopes this would sway the group, but the dirt of the room is stronger than the result. Personas are unwound and unpacked, as alliances shift and reform for differing reasons. But it's in the interwoven dialogue of women, bantering about their own pregnancies and bodily functions that truly brings this formula to fruition. It's all thanks to the compelling work of the cast of women (and a few men, who are not so good), namely: Mary McCann (ATC's On the Shore...) as Charlotte Cary; Nadine Malouf (Public Theater's A Bright Room Called Day) as Emma Jenkins; Paige Gilbert (Public Theater's A Raisin in the Sun) as Hannah Rusted; Emily Cass McDonnell (Playwrights Horizons' The Thin Place) as Helen Ludlow; Jennifer Nikki Kidwell (Woolly Mammoth's we come to collect) as Ann Lavender; Tilly Botsford (ATC debut) as Kitty Givens; Simone Recasner (Public Theater's Ain't No Mo') as Peg Carter; Ann Harada (NYCC Encores' Into The Woods) as Judith Brewer; Hannah Cabell (TFANA/Soho Rep's Fairview) as Mary Middleton; and Dale Soules (59E59's The Lucky Star) as Sarah Smith; giving such detailed performances that we can't look away for a second. They pull us into their lives and flip us around their solidly formulated vantage points with focused ease. Their combined individualized performances elevate the whole, unleashing numerous narratives that sometimes overwhelm, but mostly embellish the thesis put forth by Kirkwood.

The piece is not exactly a murder mystery, even though the act remains mysterious and unexplained, generally speaking. It really becomes something more akin to the idea that a gaggle of women will ultimately believe and side with a man, giving a shocking and disturbing power to a doctor, also portrayed by Wolohan, who arrives at the door. Kirkwood finds compelling arguments and narratives within the women, floating in their own attitudes towards themselves and life as a female in the 18th century. Unpacking gender inequality and laws that still require debate to this very day, thanks to a corrupted court, both then and now.

The title, The Welkin, is in reference to the sky, ancient and invigorating in its formulation, shooting forth discussion of Halley's Comet passing by. The subtlety of that metaphor is fascinating, but not as clear and defined as the purposefulness of the many reveals that address hierarchy, social status, and powerful maternal allegiances that live within, not to mention the Devilishly compelling story of childbirth that emulates through the folk horror of a mute Cabell's Mary. All are metaphorically compelling if not fully fleshed out for consumption. A framing which is not exactly a bad thing, but it does leave us wanting more from these gifted performers and their captivatingly detailed creations. Each could be singled out for a heartbreaking or invigorating moment of praise, but it's in their unity and complexity, as well as their direction, that gives The Welkin its completely wild bit of wonderment and engagement.