To some devout Christians, witches aren't just innocent Halloween scares: they're eternally damned brides of Hell. It may seem nutty to hear folks railing against Harry Potter, but in pre-scientific America, supposed Devil worshipers served as convenient scapegoats for any misunderstood mishap. Ostensibly rational Americans were once terrified of witches and warlocks.

Of course, none of that dread was reserved for the 1960s show Bewitched, a sitcom clearly based on the 1950 John Van Druten play Bell, Book and Candle. If you're my age or older, you grew up with Bewitched or its reruns; the show is memorable for plenty of reasons, including star Elizabeth Montgomery's adorable nose twitch, Samantha Stephens' bizarre relatives, and that unexplained Darrin swap in season six. But when you place Bell, Book and Candle in chronological context, it's remarkable how intense it truly was - much darker, to be sure, than the sitcom it inspired 14 years later.

For one thing, its protagonist's familiar spirit, the cat Pyewacket (played in Olympia Little Theatre's production by a short, docile actor named Dexter), pays homage to a freakin' demon. English "witch-finder general" Matthew Hopkins claimed in 1644 that he'd witnessed a coven of witches; in the aftermath of his wild accusation, a young woman confessed to colluding with numerous demons including an imp she called Pyewacket. That's no cute, cuddly kitty on OLT's stage - it's a cute, cuddly agent of Satan!

Even the title of Van Druten's play is ominous; it's a reference to the Catholic ritual of excommunication, which begins, "Ring the bell, open the book, light the candle." Though the word "witch" is uttered rarely and pyrotechnics are kept to a minimum, it's pretty clear Bell's protagonist could open a can of unholy whoop-ass if provoked.

Said protagonist, Gillian Holroyd, is played by McKenzie Clifford in this production. She over-enunciated and seemed physically stiff the first few minutes of final dress rehearsal, but loosened up for the rest of the show. She's pretty and promising, and I suspect we'll see more of her down the road. Bobby Brown (no relation to New Edition) seems less comfortable on stage. Dave Marsh and Toni Murray make strong impressions in briefer roles.

The winner in this cast is Austin Lang as Gillian's mischievous brother, Nicky. In countless 1960s comedies, there's a (let's say) confirmed bachelor living upstairs, perpetually ready to dispense romantic advice and swan about in a silken housecoat. That character, usually played by Paul Lynde or Tony Randall so Rock Hudson would look studly, comes to blatant fruition in Lang's portrayal - and thankfully, it works. He nabs most of the laughs in this production. The script is more diverting than amusing, but I was grateful for each moment of edge.

I'll come right out and say it: This production is a sweeping improvement over director Kendra Malm's debut effort, last season's Love, Sex and the IRS. Its script is light-years smarter, for one thing, and Malm's gaining sea legs, as demonstrated by thoughtful soundtrack choices. Her progress is undercut, however, by her set design, which all but ensures audience members favor one side of a thrust stage. I'm dying for someone in the South Sound to conduct a basic directing seminar about design and blocking for the round.

Ah, well. This show falls short of consistently spellbinding, but it's a solid base hit that bodes well for the new season at Olympia Little Theatre.

Bell, Book and Candle
Through Oct. 9, 7:55 p.m. Thurs. – Sat., 1:55 p.m. Sun., $10-$14, Olympia Little Theatre, 1925 Miller Ave. NE, Olympia, 360.786.9484