Theatre in Review: Wiesenthal (Theatre Row)

	Tom Dugan. Photo: Carol Rosegg

Simon Wiesenthal led an exemplary life, one that intersected with some of the most terrible events of the 20th century. But is it the stuff of drama? Tom Dugan's new drama, Wiesenthal, leaves the question hanging.

A Jewish inmate of several concentration camps -- he was born in an area of Austria-Hungary that now belongs to Ukraine -- Wiesenthal stared into the horror of the Holocaust with his own eyes. Emerging from World War II with his body and soul barely intact, he chose to stay in Austria, dedicating himself to tracking down ex-Nazis and bringing them to justice. Tireless in his efforts, he tracked down over 1,100-war criminals, beginning with the minor role he played in the kidnapping of Adolf Eichmann. On the face of it, it sounds like real-life melodrama, history as an action-packed thriller. And, as pieces as The Pianist of Willesden Lane and Irena's Vow have demonstrated, the life of each Holocaust survivor seemingly has its own unique, and highly compelling, imprint.

Dugan, who also stars in this solo show, disappears impressively into role of Wiesenthal, the fiftyish actor plausibly transforming himself into his ninetyish protagonist. (He is helped by the costume designer, Alex Jaeger, although the too-obvious bald cap is something of a distraction.) Dugan is especially good at contrasting Wiesenthal's jokey, ingratiating manner with the steel-trap mind contained within. As written, Wiesenthal has some provocative things to say, about his rejection of the concept of collective guilt, his decision to live in Austria while so many others were emigrating to Israel ("If you want to find a cure for malaria, you must live among the mosquitos."), and the possible damage he has done to a daughter who grew up understanding that she came in second to father's profession.

But Dugan, who has structured the piece as a lecture by Wiesenthal to a group of visitors, has trouble finding drama in this highly dramatic life. The play is set on the day of his retirement, and before he heads to his sendoff party, he has a few more things to get off his chest. Even now, working against a 5pm deadline, he is trying to positively identify the residence, in Syria, of Alois Brunner, a high-ranking Nazi officer who spent his sunset years advising Bashar al-Assad's regime on torture techniques.

We hear about some of the remarkable episodes from Wiesenthal's early life, especially his separation and astonishing postwar reunion with his young wife, but Dugan refrains from telling the story in sequence, so some of the episodes don't land as strongly as they might. And, as we quickly learn, the business of Nazi-hunting mostly consisted of grunt work -- poring through phone books, sifting through records, working the phones, and other mundane activities.

Instead, we mostly get the elderly Wiesenthal musing on the meaning of it all, recalling bits of his past, and amusing himself by offering grapes to the first row and telling schmaltzy jokes. Speaking of his wife, he cracks, "We've been married 60 years. Maybe she will change." His hate mail, he says, goes in "the meshugganah file." Calling the hotel in Syria where he believes Brunner lives -- the authorities won't act until they have confirmation of his residence -- he chats up the receptionist, passing himself off as a physician named Dr. Richard Kimble, suggesting that he is either a fan of Harrison Ford films or of the old television series The Fugitive. He has a few sharp words for Laurence Olivier's portrayal of a fictionalized Wiesenthal in the potboiler thriller The Boys From Brazil.

Even his musings on the evil of the Holocaust aren't terribly interesting, as they consist of ideas that you most likely have heard before. Wiesenthal apparently subscribes to Hannah Arendt's banality-of-evil theory, which has come in for critical reexamination in recent years.

Dugan can be compelling when making the point that The Diary of Anne Frank, in reducing the Holocaust to a single tragedy, is far more effective than trying to grapple with "the numbing effect of numbers." There's something inherently gripping in the image of the emaciated camp survivor installing himself in the office where American soldiers interrogate death-camp guards -- the beginning of a lifetime of bearing witness. And it is certainly touching when he confesses that the 1,100 Nazis he captured constitute the merest drop in the bucket in terms of those still running free. But there's no getting around the fact that Wiesenthal suffers from a deficiency of drama.

Jenny Sullivan's direction seemingly aids Dugan in getting the most out of the thin script and she has overseen a solid production design, including Beowulf Boritt's book-lined office; Joel E. Silver's lighting, which instantly shifts the action between decades; and Shane Rettig's sound design, which fluently blends piano and violin with traffic noises, car horns, jackhammers, train whistles, barking dogs, and the testimony of Eichmann in an Israeli court.

But in the last analysis, Wiesenthal is a bit like its protagonist -- amiable, wandering, often full of penetrating insights, but just as often devoted to wandering off topic. The older audience at the performance I attended mostly stayed for the talkback, and young people who attend would certainly learn a valuable lesson. But then, lessons, not excitement or stimulation, are what Wiesenthal has to offer.-David Barbour