To love a play puts a critic in an awkward position. The script is favoured, but the stakes are raised: one wrong move and the production crushes precious expectations. But this was a beautifully staged, brilliantly-realised production of an admittedly wonderful script. The Crucible centres around the Salem witch trials, and the way hysteria and fear can spread, driven solely by paranoia and common human weaknesses. Arthur Miller’s rejection of the supernatural only makes the whole thing all the more terrifying. It’s a great premise, and I was terrified that it would all go horribly wrong. It didn't.

The production team must be congratulated for their roles. There were none of those ‘technical difficulties’ which so often distract from the action of an opening night. The set was interesting, and used the full depth of the ADC stage, incorporating the decision to seat the actors at the side of the central platform, constantly. It was a good one, for not only did it save the play from late cues, but also added a profundity to the proceedings – the characters seem to be witnesses to the calamity unfolding before them, and yet do nothing. They do nothing endlessly, and frustratingly, and fantastically; it was a slice of direction simultaenously subtle and gut-wrenchingly obvious. This brings me to the best production element of the play: the lack of pretensions. Whilst there was intensity to be found the directorial decisions, there was no conflicting ‘vision’ clunking along, trying to meld with the story. You noticed the superb staging – I cannot imagine that such visually striking arrangements happened by accident – but it did not feel contrived.

The actors were terrific – well-cast and obviously comfortable in their roles. Sophie Crawford was heartbreaking as Elizabeth Proctor, her portrayal tender and soft, but by no means weak. James Walker as her husband, John, was equally well played: measured and powerful. Their relationship was simply depicted and therefore completely believable. Comedy was present in the form of Tom Ovens as the well-meaning but misguided Giles Corey - hilarious, but by no means trite. We all hated Abigail (Phoebe Haines) and became exasperated with Mary (Eve Hedderwick Turner), just as Miller demanded. Brilliant. Fleetingly, I felt that the direction mistook shouting for dramatic intensity at points of heightened tension, and perhaps some of the more chilling prophetic lines could have had greater effect at a lower volume. Overheard snippets in the bar afterwards espoused the same opinion; not all were convinced, let alone driven to tears, by the play’s horrifying conclusion.

But this is a production that cannot be missed. You’ll enjoy it, and you’ll feel for its characters, misguided and real as they are. You’ll appreciate how it lets the script speak for itself, and that it does not act as a vehicle for a director, nor any one aspiring professional actor’s ego. What we have here is an affectionately-directed, excellently-acted production, sans pretence. It’s a rare treat on the Cambridge stage: do you really want to let that slide?