Unlike so many remakes and adaptations of classic and beloved stories (in my experience) this film held all the magic and emotional power as the original Louisa May Alcott novel, first published in 1868.  As an amateur writer, director of plays, and a professional enthusiast of great stories, I felt forced to ask myself, why is this? What makes a story enduringly great? What makes a story timeless?

I believe the answer is as follows:

A timeless story is beautiful, dynamic, and most importantly, founded on an enduring truth or reality that is not governed by the present moment.  A timeless story is simply true, and the human beings experiencing it see themselves reflected in it, regardless of what time or culture they hail from.

As promised in a previous article on “good theater,” I would like to add color to this assertion through the example of my favorite play and one of my very favorite stories, Arthur Miller’s The Crucible.

The Crucible is a title that causes many Americans to cringe just at the sound—if you’re one of these cringers it is likely you attended the 11th-grade at an American public high school and took a general English class.  The play can be poorly represented by a high school classroom, causing such ire, because in many ways it is a story that requires a lot of background knowledge to fully appreciate. This background knowledge is often lost on 16-year-olds.  The 1953 play tells the story of the Salem Witch Trials that occured in coastal Massachusetts in 1692.  On top of that, the play is an allegory of Arthur Miller’s own experiences in the 1950s when he was the victim of another “witch trial,” in which  he was accused by McCarthyists of being a communist sympathizer and was arrested, interrogated, and convicted by the HUAC (House of Representatives Un-American Activities Committee).  

To fully and truly heft the weight of The Crucible, one needs to understand the Puritans, the basics of Christian theology, the milieu of Massachusetts in the 1690s, Arthur Miller, and the hysteria and danger of the McCarthy era in which he lived.  Many High School teachers grasp this. They also understand that The Crucible is still worth reading or seeing even without all that, because it is an enduringly human story.  Whether you live in 1692, 1953, or 2020, we can see ourselves in its characters and their actions.  The Crucible is timeless.

Allow me to expand further:

The Crucible is an example of good theater because:

1) The villain is an enduring human problem:

The villains in The Crucible are not people.  The villains are the problems of hysteria, greed, hypocrisy, and corruption.  There has never been a group of people anywhere in the world that has not suffered from these four demons in some form or another.  When we watch or read a story fueled by them we recognize and feel them for what they are. We want them to be defeated, not only on stage or in the pages, but in our own lives as well.

“Who weep for these weeps for corruption.” When Judge Danforth, the man who has stubbornly sentenced the best and most innocent citizens of Salem to excommunication and the hangman’s rope, utters this at the end of the play, we have a visceral reaction to the man’s blindness and misuse of power.  We want justice.

2) The references are universal

The Crucible may take place in the small village of Salem in 1692, but it may as well take place in Australia in the year 2050, because the anchors that tether its big decisions and dynamics are universal.  The characters in The Crucible make decisions based on their need for survival in a society, both physically and socially.  They know that witches are ultimately bad news. They know that they can’t rip apart their community and thrive.  They know that if they betray their friends there will be hell to pay.  

In addition, while admittedly not truly universal, Miller uses passages and concepts from the Bible to convey concepts to his mainly Western audience.  When Reverend Hale warns the townspeople that “until an hour before [the Devil] fell, even God thought him beautiful in Heaven,” he instantly invokes a feeling and a meaning in Christian churched and cultured readers and viewers that would take paragraphs to explain any other way.  This gave Miller the ability to paint his story simply, yet with a weighty brush.

Now this isn’t to say that specific detail and setting  are unnecessary for good writing. On the contrary, using specific details fleshes out the world and the characters that one is writing, reading, or experiencing, and actually makes some of the larger (and hopefully still present) universal themes more accessible.  Details, because of their specificity, communicate realness to us. Realness, in turn, communicates emotion. Universality should not be confused with vagueness.

3) The message is universal

The message of The Crucible is clear.  Mankind is sinful and prone to corruption, dishonesty, selfishness, and hysteria.  By extension it is the characteristics of forthrightness, honesty, selflessness, and patience that shine brightly in the dark of the play’s Salem Witch Trials.  Far beyond that historical and geographic moment, though, is the age-old fight -- that between light and darkness, good and evil, hope and fear, love and hate. There are many great stories that have been told and many more to tell -- great stories that reflect humans and their adventures, struggles, and mishaps -- but these cannot be guaranteed timelessness as they are situational in nature.  A situational comedy, for example, or “sitcom” as they were coined in 1962, can be very entertaining, meaningful, and worthy of one’s time. A sitcom’s stories, though, will likely not endure like the classics unless they weave a story using the thread of the universal struggle between light and darkness. Consider your favorite stories: whether they be adventure, romance, comedy, or tragedy, the chances are that when all else is brushed away, the gem inside is a message that shows that light, hope, and love are good and saving things, and deception, fear, and hate destroy.  Many elements of The Crucible are situational, but the message is not.

4) The story does not end all wrapped up in a bow

Predictability, while sometimes comforting and nostalgic, isn’t a great tool to achieve timelessness.  Yes, there’s “nothing new under the sun” as Ecclesiastes 1:9 wisely laments, but a truly great story is often one that subverts expectations.  As referenced above, the good guys should usually win, and the light should shine through the darkness, but the manner in which this happens can leave room for creativity.  The two week spoiler wall is certainly past for The Crucible, which has been out for over half a century, but I don’t want to ruin the ending for those of you who may yet read it, see it, or reread it post-high school.  Suffice it to say, The Crucible ends with hope prevailing against fear, but certainly not in the way most readers and viewers predict, and not in the ways they would probably prefer.  The same is true of many enduringly great stories.

I believe a timeless story is one that is beautiful, dynamic, and most importantly, hinged and founded on an enduring truth or reality that is not governed by the present moment.  This is the opposite of the instruction I got from many professors and coaches when I was learning for years how to be a creative writer. The advice I constantly heard was to “use the cultural moment,” “make something about yourself,” and to “only write what you know.”  Perhaps following this advice religiously throughout my late-teens and early-20s explains why I still haven’t gotten any of my original plays on a professional stage. It may be time to look instead to classic stories, which have already stood the test of time, as guides.  Maybe it’s time to try using the classics as my teachers. Arthur Miller and Louisa May Alcott always have class in session.

Forefront is committed to fostering a robust conversation on the intersection of Christian faith and the arts by publishing a wide range of voices and opinions. The views expressed here reflect those of the author.