I saw something, and I'm saying something: A Little Less Conversation (A Little More Action)

Copenhagen
by Michael Frayn
directed by Scott Zigler
presented by the American Repertory Theatre

Copenhagen is a strange choice for the ART. Usually, a "strange choice" for a regional theater would constitute a play that was too experimental or esoteric, perhaps too large in scale. But for the good 'ole ART, Copenhagen is strange for its sheer normalcy. Who would have thought that the current ART regime (under the shaky hand of "acting", aka stalling, Artistic Director Gideon Lester) would be caught dead producing something that actually (you should be sitting down for this one) won a Tony! But in a strangely hollow season, the ART seems to be focused on taking as few risks as possible. Every production of this season carefully hearkens back to a success (financial, mind you) of recent years; Don Juan Giovanni and Figaro to Carmen, Donnie Darko to the Onion Cellar, No Child to the Syringa Tree, and so on and so forth, creating a "best-of album" of an 07-08 season. Copenhagen seems to be trying to bait the fans of their down and dirty 2006 No Exit, pitting Will Lebow and Karen MacDonald against an outsider (here John Kuntz, there Paula Plum) in a limbo of sorts.

And they got me. Not that I only went to Copenhagen because I enjoyed No Exit; I make a point to keep tabs on any show that passes through the ART. But I couldn't help but hope this show would be some sort of theatrical breath of fresh air...and fresh it was not.

Frayn's bizarrely vague script begins with Niels and Margrethe Bohr (Lebow and MacDonald), of introductory Physics fame, discussing themselves, and more specifically, one night in the fall of 1941. Are they ghosts looking back on their lives? Are they in hell? These questions (which tantalize in a plot description) remain painfully un-illuminated (along with much of the play's story and physical production) throughout the evening. Soon the first couple of Physics is joined by their dinner guest, Werner Heisenberg, who completes the triad needed to reenact that troublesome evening. The Nazis have Germany in their political grip at this point, and the German Heisenberg is visiting Copenhagen to give a lecture. While in Copenhagen, Heisenberg decides to pay a visit to his old mentor Mr. Bohr. Long out of contact, Niels wonders (both in 1941 and in retrospect) why Heisenberg is visiting him, and what information or guidance he will invariably ask for. Heisenberg rings the door bell, the Bohrs invite him in, Heisenberg and Mr. Bohr go on a post-dinner walk about the grounds, and the rest (as they say) is history.

Only trouble is, none of the characters can come to a consensus on what actually occurred that night. Afflicted with some form of collective fogginess, Niels, Margrethe, and Werner come together (somewhere...) to piece together the discussion that occurred between the two men on their old-time's-sake walk. Margrethe insists that it must have been Heisenberg trying to get information out of Niels, and then eventually accuses Heisenberg of just coming to show off his success under Nazi sponsorship. Heisenberg posits that he was visiting Bohr for guidance on the dubious moral question of a physicist's responsibility when it came to manipulating atomic experiments. Niels waxes nostalgically on the Golden Age of physics, and fiercely questions where his once-protégé’s loyalties now lie; with his friends or his country. The fact that Heisenberg led the German effort to create the first atomic bomb, and Bohr moved to America to work on the like-minded counter project that first bore fruit escapes none of them. All three characters discuss, debate, and defend their actions on that last walk, which acts as a culmination to the successes and failures of their histories together.

Even as I write this, I begin to dupe myself into believing that the content of Frayn's play is rich and interesting, but that is the very problem. The intricate monologues and spitfire back-and-forths all contain fascinating pieces of information and difficult questions, but the play and production never mines these for anything further, making it an ultimately unsatisfying dramatic experience. Amidst countless furrowed brows and frequent pondering, I was largely unmoved and unchanged by the end of its considerable running time.

Which is not to say it was without its high points. John Koontz, although often too stiff to demand my attention, became a highlight of the show in the latter part of the first act as he recounted hearing the success of the American atomic bomb over the radio. Heisenberg's deep conflict between his international friends and identity as a Jew with his loyalty to his country was one of the more deeply affecting stretches of Copenhagen, acting as an oasis amongst a dry desert of fact and theory. It struck the perfect balance between larger concepts of history and science, and one man's private ambition and regret that I think was aimed for, and missed, by both Frayn and Zigler in the rest of the show. The content-heavy dialogue, although mostly comprehensible in the moment, registered as flat drama because it was rarely connected to any relatable human terms.

Zigler's direction (and all three performances from the usually solid actors) seemed to suffer from this same flatness. When Niels, Margrethe, and Heisenberg changed perspective from their ghostly selves to the flesh and blood of the 1941 present, there was no effort made to indicate this, or stylistic choices to distinguish the two. Although some blame can surely be attributed to Frayn's static script, there was no resonant arc for these people, and never did the ensemble raise the stakes high enough to sustain interest over the length of the production. For a show that reenacts one night three different times, I never fully grasped why that night was so important, as the character's fixation on it never rose above the mere curiosity of a guessing game. The indifference that Lebow, McDonald, and Koontz gives us is passable at first, but grows tiresome, and eventually, frustrating. At the end of the 2 hour and 20 minute run time, I was expecting the three to be at each other's throats, blood boiling, in desperate attempts to confront the past, but they consistently relied on a detached, conversational style to get their points across. This un-textured acting and direction was matched by David Reynoso's clunky set and Kenneth Helvig's first dim then gimmicky lighting. The grey floor was divided into a grid, and the back wall consisted of three interlocking panels, black and reflective. This harsh-angled geometry (which Zigler bases his blocking around, having the characters follow the straight lines and 90 degree turns of the floor) seems completely counter-productive to the images of free-wheeling electrons and orbiting particles that the play so proudly spouts, and takes no creative point of view on the gauntlet that the play's vagueness throws down. Helvig perhaps tried to reckon this by placing three giant LED-strewn rings above the playing space that can sequentially illuminate, giving the appearance of one light traveling a circular path. The concept is intriguing, but the execution is woeful, and ends up looking like a cheap Las Vegas approximation of "science". To cap off a night of wishy washy choices, he baths the stage in a dim glow, occasionally highlighting it with mossy greens and subdued oranges. If you are looking for illumination of any kind, you will find none here. Both potentially harmless elements eventually distract; the set as it melts away to an upgraded Dying City (who did it better) coup when Heisenberg describes his bomb-ravaged homeland (only to blow its surprise-factor wad in the middle of the first act), and the lighting as it blinks away pitifully during one of Lebow's more watchable moments.

Koontz, as mentioned, did have his moments, but failed to recapture any kind of passion in the second act. This may very well be attributed to Frayn's structure, which actually becomes less and less interesting as the play goes on, eventually meandering in the moral implications of a lazy miscalculation (I know I always fuck up my labs- why can't Heisenberg?). But that doesn't let Lebow and MacDonald off the hook, two actors whose chops are known throughout the town. Lebow fares better, probably because he actually has a substantive part, and is generally quite grounded and distinguished. MacDonald get the short end of the triangle, as a lay witness who can add comparatively little to the boys-only debate club of most of the show, but does get to interject a few dry witticisms as the thankless wifey. Even if they were sort-of passable, I couldn't shake the fact that they were playing themselves. What began as subtlety soon revealed itself to be boring, and in the end their characters seemed to have as much dimension as Reynoso's "I'm not there" set.

Without reading Frayn's script, I honestly don't know how much I didn't like about the show I can contribute to his writing. However, even if Frayn's script is the practically dead horse on display now, Zigler's dusty, dim production makes no case for it, and instead takes painstakingly care in giving it all the fervor of a lecture hall. I practically yearned for some of the usually abundant edgy art flourishes; come on, this is the ART, with a reputation to protect! Let's get those Bohrs getting it on in the middle of the floor (how raw!)! Let's get a news clip of George W playing in the background (how relevant!)! It even made me excited for their next production as the ART returns to its Euro-twisted classical roots with Julius Caesar, directed by French import Arthur Nauzyciel. Who cares if it's bad? At there's no uncertainty there- simulated sex and anachronisms ahoy!