Tom Bell, who in 1979 created the role
of Horst in Martin Sherman's play about Nazi persecution of
homosexuals, died the night before this revival opened. His 2006
counterpart, Chris New, lacks Bell's flintiness but turns in an
excellent performance in what is apparently only his second
professional stage outing. New is entirely believable, and affecting,
as a man trying to survive life in Dachau without sacrificing
everything in himself that makes living worthwhile. The contrast is
with Max, who metamorphoses from flamboyant Berliner gay-about-town to
someone who will deny everything for survival, even telling of how he
raped a teenage girl in order to "prove" his heterosexuality and so
earn a yellow star, at least one step in camp hierarchy above the pink
triangle. Time and again, however, Max fails to suppress his essential
character, his very identity.
This production's main commercial attraction is the reappearance on a
British stage of Alan Cumming as Max. Cumming's instinctive pertness
rings interesting changes at some points in the evening, as when he
describes the purpose of pointlessly moving rocks from one pile to
another and back as being "to drive us
maaad", with a daft whoo-whoo
inflection. It's not this playfulness that is his problem, but rather
the fact that he is
too
emotionally eloquent an actor. Even from row K of the amphitheatrical
main Trafalgar Studio, one can clearly see every spasm of fear,
revulsion, tenderness and despair cross Max's face. It is an admirable
performance, but it doesn't fit the script: if we can see Max's true
feelings so easily, how does he conceal them from his jackbooted
oppressors?
The other problem is that director Daniel Kramer has chosen to make his
Nazis real monsters: whooping, bellowing, revelling in their
inhumanity. It makes for a lot of terror (even during scene changes, as
furniture is simply hurled into pits on either side of the stage – the
débris of civilised life piling up), but at the expense of more
potent moral horror. In an age when various proscriptions are being
enacted against confected categories of Other, what we need to remember
is that the black-uniformed tyrants were human beings as ordinary as we
are, and that conversely we may be no different from them. Humanity is
not the sole preserve of the two men shown standing to attention during
a work break, making love with words only, never even touching. Dachau
was a minor camp; it is now generally believed that only (only!) 30,000
or so people died there. If this production plays to full houses for
the entirety of its run, it will barely be seen by as many people.
Written for the Financial Times.