Tom Stoppard’s epic-scale play leopoldstadt “” has an almost equally grand challenge, and like an ill-fitting suit, it feels a little too big for a Shakespeare company production.
Stoppard’s semi-autobiographical journey follows generations of a wealthy Jewish family in Vienna from 1899 to 1955 through war and anti-Semitism that would change their lives and identities forever. The range of experiences is vast.
The family gathering, centered around commentary and illustrations, explores Zionism, the creation of a Jewish homeland, Germany’s annexation of Austria, two world wars, and the increasing “othering” of Vienna’s Jews over time after the war. Share the space with a lively conversation about “. The last postwar pause in Vienna.
For those who know to listen, an interesting, overarching nod to the mystery of prime numbers and Stoppard’s suggestion that there may be a theory that explains not just numbers but the patterns in our lives. There is even. When you arrive at an operatic time of nearly 3 hours, it’s hard to stay afloat.
Director Carey Perloff certainly keeps the pace swirling, and the ensemble carries the many varied moments with great conviction. It can be fascinating and thought-provoking at times.
Stoppard’s characteristic wit shows up from time to time. But for this to work, a lot of it lies in bringing Stoppard’s special tapestry to life. His use of time and emphasis, the revolution between well-chosen scenes, the expository dialogue, and the meta-feeling of the grander picture. Vision, let alone soul, can’t quite find the necessary twist here.
Extended family scenes feel histrionic and largely lack the love and intimacy we need to connect and care for them. The progression from general hustle and bustle to specific conversations and interactions is awkward, and Stoppard’s interesting comments and witty one-liners are often delivered very quickly and jarringly, disappearing before being fully considered. I’ll put it away.
This warp and weft thread is difficult to pull apart at the best of times, but some of Perloff’s choices do little to maintain cohesion. A case in point is the short scene between Gretl, the Gentile wife of the patriarch Hermann, and her lover Fritz, a Viennese dragoon and card-carrying anti-Semite.
In contrast to the general vibe of semi-realism, their scenes are literal musical theater, with flaunted abs, strategically fluffy bloomers, and lots of striking poses. This might have made sense if the rest of the production had suggested a surreal atmosphere, but without such a lens it feels downright dated.
Uncertain about their fate after Austria’s annexation, the feeling of discomfort reappears when the family gathers in the apartment. Despite carefully hinting that this is the greatest big family on earth, Perloff suddenly sterns with Hannah, played by Adrianne Krustanski, a child who was chatting about math even though there were Nazis in the neighborhood. Makes an unpleasant performance of reprimanding. In a grittier, more emotionally charged drama this would make all sorts of sense, but here it feels strange.
And there’s the huge challenge of coaxing performances from a very large cast of varying ages and experience levels, many of whom play multiple roles. No one player sinks the whole thing, but there’s a kind of rising dampness of distracting woodenness, overplay, or simply ill-conceived effort. Parlov draws some good moments, but the players often wander too close to caricature, and the English accents are rarely past the master.
The most powerful is Firdous Bamji, who works above the fray to give his mathematician Ludwig, and later Kurt, a truly warm and convincing influence. Nael Nasser brings consistency and charisma as the patriarch Hermann, who almost manages to overcome the increasingly stacked odds against the Jews of Vienna.
Brenda Meany, who plays Gretl’s wife, is memorable for her command of the play, even as it feels like she belongs in a more fantastical play. In smaller roles, Anna Slate brings real dimension to Jana and Sally, Mahboud Ebrahimzadeh is outstanding as Ernst, and Phyllis Kaye is a well-conceived Grandma Emilia.
It’s worth noting that Stoppard seems to have a blind spot when it comes to women when it comes to defending women’s performances. It is certainly historically accurate to portray them as caregivers, mistresses, and keepers of the family flame while they discussed theory and nurtured future (male) mathematicians. Women who shoulder domestic responsibilities and their cognitive burden have always liberated others to self-actualization. But given Mr. Stoppard’s sensibilities, it’s surprising how little he gets women to think and talk about.
Frankly, they are more pawns, bystanders, and plot movers than people. Even Rosa, an egotistical woman in her mid-1950s, is merely an intermediary between two male family members who do the important work of reconciling identities. If this is intended as a metatheme in line with his prime number theory, it doesn’t come through.
This myopia aside, despite its shortcomings; leopoldstadt It provides an eye-opening perspective on the European Jewish experience. This also raises important questions about how easy it was and may still be for society to decide that Jews somehow do not belong.
For those exposed to anti-Semitism, the emotional void can be powerfully filled by association. Will it get across to someone who has no personal or detailed historical knowledge? Much less than the critically acclaimed Holocaust books and movies. Does it matter? Not at all. Stoppard’s insights into Europe’s rejection of Jews are a powerful complement to the record, which needs to gather as many voices and perspectives as possible.
Leopoldstadt (★★★☆☆) runs through Dec. 29 at the Shakespeare Theater’s Herman Hall (610 F St. NW). Tickets range from $35 to $175. Call 202-547-1122 or visit: www.shakespearetheatre.org.
Source: Metro Weekly – www.metroweekly.com
