Copenhagen
is the quintessential Michael Frayn play. Its setting in the world of
quantum physics may be uniquely fitting to the Frayn approach, but time
and again his dramas demonstrate that no single perspective can show us
all the salient aspects of an issue or a sequence of events. Most
famously, his classic farce
Noises
Off (whose latest revival transfers from the Old Vic to the West
End later this month) shows us the same first act three times in a
succession of temporal and emotional contexts. But each of the three
plays in the current Sheffield season devoted to Frayn –
Benefactors in the studio space,
his double-agent drama
Democracy
which opens in the Crucible next week, and
Copenhagen itself in the Lyceum –
consists of constantly shifting angles and serial re-evaluations. Or,
as Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle puts it, the more we know
about one property of a particle (such as its position), the less we
can reliably know about others (e.g. momentum).
His 1984 work
Benefactors
observes the assorted connections and disconnections amongst its
quartet of protagonists whilst one of them attempts to design and build
a new high-rise public housing development in south-east London. (The
play is set in the late 1960s, just as high-rise was falling out of
favour.) Matters of public and private territoriality bounce off each
other, creating complex interference patterns and harmonics. That,
however, is an inappropriate metaphor for Charlotte Gwinner’s
production, which uses a minimum of sound and lighting effects,
trusting instead in script and performances to do the work. She is
right to do so. Simon Wilson’s architect David is in a world of his
own; Abigail Cruttenden as his wife Jane despises her own obligingness;
Rebecca Lacey as neighbour Sheila is a kind of English suburban version
of Honey in
Who’s Afraid Of Virginia
Woolf?, mousily manipulating others to allow her to depend on
them. Sheila’s husband Colin is one of those rumpled Luciferic roles in
which Andrew Woodall excels: morally despicable yet dramatically
compelling. We not only watch the changing angles for the characters,
but observe further ones of our own, as we look in on a vanished world
where public housing was part of the cultural conversation. David’s
development is to be for 3000 people, roughly three times as many as
the total of council houses built in all of England in 2010. Then we
leave the theatre and look across the city centre to the roughly
contemporaneous “streets in the sky” Park Hill development, now
undergoing refurbishment and Europe’s biggest single listed building.
In
Copenhagen the personal
and political also morph repeatedly into each other, but through the
medium of physics. Heisenberg, his former mentor Niels Bohr and Bohr’s
wife Margrethe repeatedly re-analyse Heisenberg’s 1941 visit to Bohr in
Copenhagen. How much was it a personal reunion, how much a matter of
scientific politicking between the German Heisenberg, professor at
Leipzig under the Nazis, and the half-Jewish Bohr in occupied Denmark…
or how much a matter of scientific and military intelligence regarding
the then-nascent field of nuclear fission and its weaponisation? The
three reminisce, debate and argue, producing a sequence of versions or
“drafts” of what happened or may have happened. Director David Grindley
takes a similarly sparse staging approach to Gwinner, and is aided by a
top-notch cast: Henry Goodman as Bohr, Barbara Flynn as Margrethe and
Geoffrey Streatfeild as Heisenberg. In the past I have sometimes
questioned Streatfeild’s choices in characterisation, but I have always
admired his intelligence and skill; here his Heisenberg is
magnificently alive, ironically since all three characters acknowledge
that they are now dead. Another Fraynian shift of angle.
Written for the Financial
Times.