Doubt: A Parable - when a spark of gossip becomes a holy inferno
01 Nov 2022

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Dahlia Katz

Doubt: A Parable isn't really a parable. The play doesn't teach illustrate a moral or spiritual lesson, but in its twisting and clever plot, it raises a lot of issues and questions, crucially leaving them for the audience to internally debate. If anything, Doubt shows the danger of turning a parable into dogma. And it shows explicitly how the church as an institution and business has perverted the lives of those within it who try to do good.

Setting this production of Doubt in The Church of the Holy Trinity is a visual treat. The soaring ceilings and kitschy ornamentation are both excessive and oppressive. We are constantly aware that the stage area, and the seating, are only a small fraction of the massive monstrosity we are ensconced in. Of the weight of the huge beams looming over the fragile characters and ourselves. While John Patrick Shanley's play shows just what a toll blind faith exacts, the setting illustrates it before a word is spoken. Aurally it is a toss up, the lord giveth and the lord taketh away. There is an eerie sound that seems only to exist in a church. As if the walls bleed silence and echoes, reverence and dust. That is the perfect acoustic space for a play dealing with faith striven for and lost, but the very air erratically swallows the voices or sends them ricocheting into the vastness. The actors face a daunting challenge, having to project energetically while portraying intense emotions, and intense emotional repression, in a naturalistic manner.

The plot revolves around the possible impropriety between a priest and a 12-year-old boy. Set in 1964, just after the JFK assassination when innocence was emphatically lost, the nun who believes fervently that the abuse has occurred also demonstrates how a spark of suspicion can be fanned into a full inferno of accusations. We follow her down the rabbit hole, horrified as mild allegations become, in her mind, definitive proof. Then the rug is pulled out and we are left with an even more horrifying doubt. There are no definitive villains but a full cast of victims. Shanley is exploring so much more than just child abuse within the church. He also queries the patriarchal structure of the church, the dangers of gossip, and the fearful dangers of blind faith. All in a rapid-fire thriller with all the requisite twists and turns. A simple factoid—that a nun and a priest are not to be alone together while no-one questions, as they would today, a priest being alone with a boy—peels away a huge layer of hypocrisy. 

The characters initially appear schematic. Emma Nelles is the innocent novice who has the initial suspicion but who is torn by not having the life experience outside the cloister to make a decision. She is the stand-in for the audience, almost a detective without guile or processing tools. Brian Bisson gets to shine as the priest preaches and then struggles when the vague accusations begin to solidify. Bisson's collegiate good looks and casual athleticism make him a poster boy for the church's move towards attempts to be relevant or up to date. Much to the shock of the school principal Sister Aloysius, he even recommends including secular music in the Christmas pageant. It is a great series of gags, wittily delivered, but the ice at the heart is as chilling as Frosty the Snowman's heart. Deborah Drakeford (Human Animals) expertly walks the tightrope that is Sister Aloysius. Spouting withering one-liners and religious doctrine, the character could easily slide into a caricature of the evil outdated nun. 

Fortunately Shanley has provided her with moments of personal anguish. Small rebellions against an establishment that completely devalues her because of her gender. It is small wonder that she is bitter and emphatically anti-fun. Drakeford takes a comic villainous monster and makes her as human as a soul that has been drained of humanity can be. The final twist is a rough one to swallow but Drakeford and Nelles careful previous work makes it as close to cathartic as bleakness can get. Kim Nelson is given little time to fulfil her function as the voice of pragmatism and hope. It is a structural problem as making the boy who is possibly being abused black, adds another entire layer of societal ills. It does give the hypocrisy another resonant bell to ring, and can't help but evoke thoughts of residential schools, but raises more unanswered questions than it does answers. Nelson also has to navigate a key moral ambiguity that is shocking in context. That she does so with an radiantly practical amount of warmth and maternal power is riveting. 

Director Stewart Arnott uses the space well if sparingly. The priest is allowed to roam—entering through the congregation, preaching from high in a pulpit—but the nuns are confined to the stage. Architecture as metaphor. The simplicity of the stage itself allows for few distractions and Shanley's words and ideas remain in the forefront. As soon as we warm to a character, a flaw is exposed. As soon as we dismiss Sister Aloysius as an ancient crank, she sows some doubt in our minds. It is a masterful play that provokes and entertains in equal measure. And it is a solid, thoughtful production staged in an opulent prison of faith.