Jean Bruller’s novella, published
illegally in 1942 under the pseudonym Vercors, was one of the first
salvos in the “intellectual Resistance” to the Nazi occupation of
France. Anthony Weigh’s adaptation of it is dramatically spare in order
to enact Vercors’ point. Of the three figures onstage, only one speaks
to the others: a young German officer, romantically deluded about the
nature of the occupation, who is billeted in a coastal cottage with an
older man and his pianist niece. He philosophises and offers anecdotes;
they utter not a word in response. The older man speaks in monologues
directly to the audience; the niece speaks at all only in the final
three or four minutes of the 90-minute play.
Vercors argues that even those occupiers who were not brutal were
insensitive and deluded. The officer’s speeches about a united
Europe(!) are abstract, whereas the man’s soliloquies to us are all
rooted in actual events, in the reality which the officer never
approaches, hard as he gropes for the language to do so. (There is much
byplay about possessive pronouns: when does “the room” become “my
room”, and so on.) When he experiences an epiphany during a furlough in
Paris, the officer transfers to the more honest war on the Eastern
Front rather than continue complicit in the “diabolical lie of
kindness” that occupied France can continue as normal.
One day Leo Bill may be cast in an unambiguously sympathetic role, but
not yet. His officer, clad in suit and waistcoat (only on final
departure does he appear in Nazi uniform), strains to be friendly but
remains agonisingly detached. As the older man, Finbar Lynch
immediately establishes that direct monologic connection with us which
made him such a fine protagonist in Brian Friel’s
Faith Healer a couple of years ago;
when not speaking, he is too skilled to convey dumb hostility to Bill’s
figure, but instead effectively becomes a brick wall. In Trafalgar 2’s
broad, shallow thrust configuration I was sitting directly behind
Simona Bitmaté, whose character is not just mute but virtually immobile
for 95% of the play, and so am in no position to judge her acting.
Director Simon Evans, rounding off the Donmar’s Trafalgar season,
rather overdoes the piano miming but for the most part diligently
serves the less-is-more aesthetic of the piece.
Written for the Financial
Times.