We’ve all heard snippets of Joan of Arc’s story: “God told her to lead the French army,” “men’s clothes” or “burned at the stake.” Our distance from these events and their trite retellings make them fairy tales in our minds. I’d never considered Joan as a real girl—a girl, of only 13—who had such deeply held conviction in her spiritual faith and her belief in what was right that she was willing to die for it.
This is what kept playwright Jean Anouilh up at night and led him to write The Lark in 1953, which was adapted by American dramatist Lillian Hellman. This remarkable tale is now in production at Reno’s Brüka Theatre—and it will leave you in awe of the power of such conviction.
We’re familiar with the warrior Joan, but few know that before that, she was tending sheep on her peasant family’s farm in France when she heard the voices of angels telling her to support the coronation of Charles VII of France during the Hundred Years’ War, and defend her nation in the siege of Orléans. In the play, Joan (played by Riley McKinney) is a scrappy young woman undeterred by danger or the many adults telling her “no.” She must now face the consequences of her actions in a trial before the Bishop Cauchon (Chip Arnold), Inquisitor (Joel Barber) and the earl of Warwick (RN&R’s own Michael Grimm). As the play opens, the bishop insists that before they can rush to judgment about Joan, they must first learn the entire story.
Thus begins Joan’s tale, told through a series of flashbacks before the tribunal, portraying Joan’s visit from the angels on the farm and, despite her family’s protests, her journey to the a garrison commander (Bradford Ka’ai’ai, in one of his five roles), as the angels instructed, to request a horse, a man’s clothes and an armed escort to Chinon to see Charles himself.
Her enthusiasm inspires the king-to-be (Jessey Richards), and he is convinced of her devotion and purity—the importance of her virginity is reaffirmed repeatedly throughout the story—and grants her the opportunity to fight for France.
The battles themselves and Charles’ coronation—the goal sought by the angels—we learn of through accounts told at trial. Those details, of course, are available in history books. But it is when the French start losing; Joan is captured by the enemy; and hope is lost that Joan herself is put on trial for heresy. Her three sins? Wearing men’s clothes, acting upon visions that some believe were demonic, and refusing to submit to the church’s judgment. She is like the lark, the high-flying bird associated with spirituality, purity and the elevation of the spirit who refuses to let others shoot it down. She can save herself from severe consequences by doing what’s asked, and no one would blame her for it—but that would mean denying what she knows in her heart to be true.
We know where this is all headed; that part is legend. But what’s striking about The Lark is that in today’s “meh” society—where few of us, let alone our young people, have enough conviction to get up off the couch and fight for anything—Joan shows us the value of fortitude and the power of acting on what you feel is right, no matter the sacrifice.
Also remarkable is this odd truth: It didn’t matter how fiercely or fearlessly she fought, how well she did so, how strong or capable she might have been, or how noble her cause—she was wearing the wrong clothes, an irony that is never lost in this story.
Every performance in this play is impressive, and I can’t help but chalk this up to direction from Holly Natwora, whose touch, as usual, is gold. She shepherds a large, demanding cast (most of whom hold at least two roles) through 2 1/2 hours of history, philosophy and religion without ever losing the human thread. The talented actors include Ka’ai’ai, who brings reliable spark and charisma to every part, and Arnold, who gives a fiery performance as the bishop who urges—begs—Joan to go against her conscience and save herself.
But chief among the play’s talents is McKinney, whose portrayal of Joan is nothing short of spectacular. Having previously seen her in numerous supporting roles, I see now that this is a role she was born to play. She is captivating—lovably girlish, yet capable of seeming invincible, undeterred by fear or danger, and able to motivate legions to follow her.
I would have followed her anywhere. And in the final, heartbreaking scene, I was moved to tears by her unflagging courage, and by how our own courage pales in comparison.
Brüka Theatre presents The Lark at 7:30 p.m., Wednesdays through Saturdays, through May 30; and 2 p.m., Sundays, May 17 and 31. (There is no performance on Sunday, May 24.) Tickets are $34.55, with discounts. Learn more and get tickets here.
