Theatre in Review: Camp Siegfried (Second Stage)Context is everything in Camp Siegfried, the simple story of a boy, a girl, and an ideology. Their romance unfolds on Long Island during the summer of 1938. He, played by Johnny Berchtold, approaches her (Lily McInerny) -- they have no character names other than "He" and "She" -- trying to strike up a conversation over a noisy German band. The music causes certain amusing conversational roadblocks (He: "First time on Long Island?" She, smiling: "I know.") but soon they are nervously making eyes at each other. Like any conscientious young man, he asks for her address, which, as it happens, is one of the camp bungalows on Hitler Street. You read that right. Playwright Bess Wohl has dug into the history of the title entity, a real-life summer camp for families, located in Yaphank, Long Island, operated by the German American Bund for the purposes of disseminating Nazi ideology. (Part of a network of similar camps in other states, it was sufficiently popular to draw 40,000 for its German Day celebration in 1938.) Berchtold's character is a model of Aryan good looks, the product of a family deeply committed to the cause; McInerny is a skittish, neurotic young thing, exiled for the summer from her hometown of Baltimore following an affair with a married man. What happens between them is what you would expect -- a gradual coming together, followed by plenty of fooling around. But because these babes are lost in a very sinister woods, their summer fling takes on increasingly warped dimensions. Early on, Berchtold drills McInerny in the details of German pride, noting that their culture has given the world Oktoberfest, beer, hamburgers, Christmas (well, at least the tree), and kindergarten. McInerny, whose shyness disguises an independence of mind, says about the latter, "What did they invent, exactly? It's just a place to drop off your kid." Clearly, the young man has his work cut out for him. Note that the above list of achievements, doesn't include, say, Beethoven, Schiller, or Goethe. Wohl is aware that the parallel between Camp Siegfried's populist philosophy and today's politics of resentment is sufficiently clear that it needn't be stressed. Strength, physical vigor, and domination are the prime virtues; critical thinking doesn't even make the list. A certain thuggishness lurks underneath the worship of nature and physical culture: Berchtold recounts how the camp, facing complaints about noise from the residents of Yaphank, threatened to sell the land to members of the Black community, noting with grim satisfaction, "That sure stopped 'em dead in their tracks." He adds that the camp's youths are drafted to do all the plumbing and wiring "because we can't have unions or outsiders sneaking around/Because every year some guy/Some FBI hack tries to sneak in here undercover somehow/And catch us." Along with a certain paranoia and proto-MAGA attitude, the atmosphere is geared to educating youth in what Berchtold calls "the spirit of the fight," which explains the midnight hikes and hard physical work that leaves McInerny covered in cuts and bruises and missing more than few toenails. At the same time, the dating atmosphere is notably loose, with couples constantly running off to the woods to have sex. This is because producing more Aryan babies is a community priority. When it looks as if McInerny may be pregnant, Berchtold is thrilled, not so much at the prospect of fatherhood, but to prove to his derisive father and brothers that he isn't the family runt after all. By then, McInerny, despite her uncertain grasp of German, is selected to give the German Day speech and, in the play's most remarkable scene, she leans into the task; beginning on a halting note but egged on by the crowd, she transforms into a regular little Joseph Goebbels, ranting about "The devils/Bolsheviks/Communists," promising to "rip them out and tear them to shreds/Lock them up and throw away the key/Laugh when they beg for mercy." By the end of the tirade, she is exhausted, exhilarated, and more than a little frightened for herself. As Oscar Hammerstein II noted, you've got to be carefully taught. The young people in Camp Siegfried are so accustomed to the noxious air surrounding them that it seems like the purest oxygen. When their romance unravels, for reasons not to be revealed here, it comes as something of a wake-up call for McInerny -- not so much for Berchtold, whose gaze turns toward the Fatherland. And, of course, it is 1938... In this deft, compact, two-hander Wohl excavates a fascinating, if dismaying, slice of recent New York history, while obliquely commenting on those who prefer to live in today's political echo chambers. David Cromer's laser eye for the tiniest emotional shifts makes him the right director for this property and his actors, both making their New York theatre debuts, are ideal. Berchtold is bright-eyed energetic, and eager to please -- also insecure, aggrieved, and bent on proving his masculine bona fides. McInerny is a charming bundle of nerves, filled with mordant observations yet afraid of expressing herself too strongly. Their progress toward a passionate liaison is acutely charted. The action unfolds on Brett J. Banakis' daringly conceived set, which places a rolling, grass-covered hill onstage at the Tony Kiser Theatre, with Tyler Micoleau's lighting calling up morning sunrises, fading afternoon light, and flickering campfires. Brenda Abbandandolo's costumes have a fine sense of period. Christopher Darbassie's sound design takes in military bands, target practice, bugles, and cheering masses. Darbassie's involvement is interesting because, earlier in the season, he designed This Beautiful Future, another drama about a pair of too-innocent lovers during World War II. Where that play wobbled, however, Camp Siegfried works with a sure hand. These young people are the product of their toxic environment, their view of reality seen through a distorting mirror. Until life hands each of them a profound shock, there is no escape from a dream of history that is about to turn into a nightmare. --David Barbour 
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