Eight Nights
Reviewed by Iris Mann
Antaeus Theatre Company
Through December 16
RECOMMENDED
This heartfelt odyssey, covering eight decades (1949–2016) in the life of a Holocaust survivor struggling to move her soul beyond the horrors she has undergone, is lyrically rendered in Jennifer Maisel’s beautiful scenario. Maisel explores the way in which the legacy of the persecuted echoes down the ages to affect future generations.
Yet, the full potential of Maisel’s masterfully crafted script, which is suffused with an element of magical realism, is only intermittently realized in this world premiere production by Antaeus Theatre Company. Director Emily Chase stages the work smoothly, but under her direction some of the actors, several of whom play multiple roles, fail to explore the depths of trauma implicit in the theme. As a result, the production falls short of eliciting the deep emotional response the subject matter warrants.
The play consists of eight scenes, which take place a decade apart in the same New York apartment, each falling on one of the eight nights of Chanukah. The story begins with the arrival of 19-year-old Rebecca (played by Zoe Yale for the years 1949-1978) at the home of her father, Erich (Arye Gross). Mentally and emotionally, she is still back at Auschwitz and Dachau, the concentration camps where she was imprisoned and where her mother and two sisters died. She is terrified by every sound, every knock at the door, and every stranger. She had been a passenger on the historically famous ship, the St. Louis, which, loaded with Jews fleeing the impending Nazi regime, had sailed the world seeking refuge after one country after another closed its ports. As a consequence, the passengers were forced to return to Germany, and many were subsequently slaughtered.
Yale has the physical delicacy and birdlike quality suitable to the role, but she needs to reach for deeper layers of a damaged psyche. In addition, her accent is not consistent. She is more effective when playing Amy and Nina, Rebecca’s daughter and granddaughter.
Conversely, veteran actor Gross gives a finely tuned, multilayered performance as the father who escaped Germany in 1939, expecting that his family would soon follow. Gross projects a visceral sense of guilt beneath an essential decency and genuine fatherly love. But he fails to establish a contrast between this character and that of a current day Muslim refugee from Syria, which he also portrays.
As time passes, Rebecca (played by Tessa Auberjonois for the period 1988-2016) begins to engage in the world. She marries, has a family, and builds a successful business selling maternity clothes. Yet, she continues to be haunted by the horrors of her past and by the ghosts of those who have gone before her — apparitions which appear onstage to move in and out of her life. Like many other survivors, she refuses to discuss the Holocaust — believing that she is shielding her family, particularly her daughter and granddaughter, from knowing about the atrocities. But her choice only serves to erect a wedge between herself and those she loves. The play ignites in a confrontational scene when Arlene (Karen Malina White) the wife of the African-American soldier that liberated Rebecca, upbraids her for not sharing her past with her daughter.
But Rebecca refuses. Auberjonois is enormously potent in this role — palpably in touch with the passions whirling around in her character. She also helps the evening come alive during the sequence in which Rebecca, in a Shoah-like taped interview, finally testifies about the Holocaust And Malina establishes a strong presence as Arlene, skillfully differentiating that character from her later role as Lacey, the lesbian lover of Rebecca’s granddaughter.
Other cast members acquit themselves reasonably well. Christopher Watson has an effective moment as Ben, Rebecca’s liberator, who can’t get the horrors he witnessed out of his mind, while Josh Zuckerman imbues Aaron, Rebecca’s husband, with a tender quality and the anguish of one who is shut out from his wife’s inner life.
Devin Kawaoka plays Steve, the half-Japanese lover of Rebecca’s pregnant daughter. It is he who gives voice to one of the playwright’s stated aims, to draw parallels between the Jewish experience under the Nazis and the experiences of other victimized groups: African-American descendants of slaves, Middle Eastern refugees, and — in Steve’s case — the Japanese, including his grandparents, who were interned during World War II. (Rebecca rejects this comparison, insisting that while it must have been terrible for his grandparents, it’s not the same.) At one point, Steve relates how his grandfather was mistakenly shot and killed by a guard. It’s a potentially powerful moment, but Kawaoka needs to reach further to embody the pain such a tragedy must engender.
Despite this and other shortcomings in the production, the finely conceived, sensitively written story is one the public needs to hear.
Kiki & David Gindler Performing Arts Center, 110 E. Broadway, Glendale; Fri.-Sat. & Mon., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. (dark Nov. 15, 16, 24 & 25); through Dec. 16. (818) 506-1983 or www.Antaeus.org. Running time: one hour and 40 minutes with no intermission.
