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A Special Show

 


I do theater, community theater. It is one of my main hobbies, although that seems too weak a word to describe one’s art. Not a hobby then; a passion. My fellow thespians and I do not get paid for this art, but we take it as seriously as if we were being paid. And sometimes we get to be a part of something special.

I remember when it was proposed to our theatre company that we should perform The Diary of Anne Frank, I was not thrilled at the idea. My thinking was that it is depressing, and everyone knows how it is going to end. Where is the joy in bringing that to the stage? But I kept my mouth shut, and one of our members decided to direct the show. She had one casting session for the adults in the play, and another separate one for the young girls. I was cast as Otto Frank, Anne’s father. I went to the casting call for the girls: Anne and her sister Margot. It was like nothing I had ever seen. Dozens and dozens of little girls flooded the studio theater for the auditions. I did not envy the director. I became numb watching girl after girl read the same lines. Then, one girl read the part and I perked up. She kind of looked the part and she read well. I said to myself “that’s our Anne.” It was indeed.

One of the strengths about this production was that each actor fit their part particularly well. I cannot say why exactly, but the character of the actors informed the character of the characters. We all did homework. Our director asked us all to read The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, so we could get our heads into her world and the world of the Franks, the Van Daans, Mr. Dussel, and the others. We were all keenly aware that none of us, either the actors or the production team or the crew, were Jewish (well, except for the girl who played Anne, who was half Jewish). Knowing that, we were determined to be as respectful as we could be. We endeavored to make it as authentic as we could. We found someone to help us with Ashkenazic pronunciation of the little bit of Hebrew in the script. Our prop mistress had conversations with the owner of a Jewish supply store to determine what props and costume pieces were appropriate.

In addition to reading the diary, I reread Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Which recounted his time spent in a concentration camp. I had read it in college, but decided it was time to read it again. I recommend it as an amazing tale of someone who endured unspeakable hardship, unspeakable evil, and survived.

We began rehearsals in earnest and all of us gave input, respectfully recognizing that it was always the director’s call as to what made it in the show. One of my suggestions was that Anne should be pronounced ‘Anna’ because that is the way it would have been pronounced in Germany where she grew up. I just thought we ought to be pronouncing her name the way she knew it. It seemed particularly important to me, playing her father.

My early misgivings about doing this show quickly gave way when it became apparent to me that this was going to be a special show. It was a window into real human lives. It was a tragic story, a story about people who died, and yet, it was also a story about people who lived. For the three years they spent hidden in that attic, the Franks and the others, lived their lives. They experienced milestones, sadness, and joy. We listened to their fears and hopes. As we watch them grow and live, we almost . . . almost forget what is coming. It was to be a special show, but I had no idea how special.

The only one who survived the concentration camps was Anne’s father, Otto, who was played by me. At the end of the play I had to deliver a monologue that sums up the fates of the others who hid in the attic, and tries to make sense of the senseless.  Our director would not let us rehearse the last scene until about a week before we opened. She felt it affected the cast too much. I was not quite prepared for the reaction we got on opening night. As I was delivering my final monologue, I heard audible crying from the audience. It was not hard to find the emotional underpinnings for my scene. I don’t want to give the impression that it was my brilliant acting that was causing the audience to cry. It was the culmination of everything the audience had experienced up to that moment, and I think, the fact that we had Anne’s words (a page from her diary) projected on the set while I was speaking. It was emotional overload. The crying happened every night through the run of the show. Sometimes the sobbing was so loud, I worried for the audience member. I have acted in many plays over the past 30 years. A number of them were tragedies, but I have never (before or since) experienced the audience being so moved that I could hear them crying. It was an important show because it is an important story. Despite its sadness, I did not hear one person who regretted seeing it. A letter to the editor called our production magnificent. I have learned not to be turned off from something just because it might be sad.

Star Liner

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