Subscribe to The Jewish Standard free weekly newsletter

 
font size: +
 

The doctor is in

‘Professor Bernhardi’ a bit time-worn, but surprises remain

 
 
 

There is a good play buried in the three-hour production of “Professor Bernhardi” from the Marvell Rep, but you have to wade through a lot of Germanic bluster and posturing to get to it. Written by Austrian Jewish physician-turned-playwright Arthur Schnitzler in 1912, the play traces the fallout from a bitter confrontation between a respected Jewish doctor and a Catholic priest in 1900 Vienna.

Controversial from its beginnings, “Professor Bernhardi” was banned by Austrian censors before its first production. The Nazis later blacklisted all of Schnitzler’s works, most of which deal frankly with sexuality, describing them as “Jewish filth.” The first full English-language production was in 1936, five years after Schnitzler’s death, in London. The play has been rarely performed in the United States, but this translation by G.J. Weinberger is running in repertory with another controversial play, “The Threepenny Opera,” in a season devoted to “burned & banned” plays.

What could be more contemporary than the conflict between science and religion? It is on front pages every day, it seems.

“Professor Bernhardi” opens in an anteroom at a high-class clinic in Vienna. A young woman is dying of infection after a botched abortion. Her physician has given her an injection of camphor to ease the pain, and she has entered into a blissful delusional state — she believes she is well and will be going home soon. When a priest arrives to offer her last rites, the ritual that will allow her to enter Heaven, the clinic director, Professor Bernhardi, refuses to let him enter. His rationale is that once the woman sees the priest, she will know she is dying. Bernhardi wants to give her a happy death, one free of anxiety. Ergo, no last rites.

In no surprise to anyone but Bernhardi, the priest is outraged, and so is a large segment of Catholic Austrian society. Bernhardi, however, is blithely unconcerned. He believes totally in his correctness. It is a battle between “houses of God versus houses of healing,” as far as he is concerned, and he cannot imagine that anyone could see it any other way. Sam Tsoutsouvas plays Bernhardi with just the right note of inflexibility; he is as certain of the truth as any zealot. Utterly rational, he explains to everyone that all will be well, and there is nothing to worry about.

Everyone around him — and it seems to be a cast of hundreds — is very worried. “We live in a Christian state,” one of his colleagues reminds him, and if the board of directors does not support him, the clinic may fail. Bernhardi holds an ace, and that is his relationship to his patient, a prince of the province. As long as the prince supports him, he is okay. But how long will that be? Then there is the possibility of appointing a non-Jewish doctor to the staff instead of a more intellectual Jewish doctor. Will Bernhardi do it?

The wheeling and dealing reveals the precarious situation of Austrian Jews; they are tolerated but despised, no matter how many convert to Christianity or join German dueling clubs.

And this is part of the problem. While the portrayal of anti-Semitism may have been shocking to Schnitzler’s Austrian audiences, it is routine today and not nearly as pertinent as the struggle between faith and science. A lot of the arguing about the position of the Jews could have been cut without losing much, and it might have left the central issue in clearer focus. The play is extraordinarily talky, and lot of the talk does not take it anywhere. A leaner script would have been able to move more adroitly.

Still, even with all the long-winded Germanic exposition, the play holds one’s attention. There are enough turns in the plot so that the audience cannot foresee the end, and director Lenny Leibowitz keeps things moving as best he can. The acting overall is satisfactory, with a few standouts, and that helps. Perhaps the next production of “Professor Bernhardi” will be shorter and more compelling.

“Professor Bernardi” can be seen at TBG Theatre on West 36th Street through Feb. 29.

For more information about the 2012 season, visit www.marvellrep.com

 
 
 
 
Add a Comment

Name:

Email:

Location:

Remember my personal information

Notify me of follow-up comments?

Please enter the word you see in the image below:


Auto-login on future visits

Show my name in the online users list

Forgot your password?

 

‘Eavesdropping on Dreams’

You’re better off going to see a movie (‘The Flat’)

We have seen the Shoah treated as somber tragedy, as adventure story, as cartoon, and as farce. Now, in the new play “Eavesdropping on Dreams” by Rivka Bekerman-Greenberg, we have the Shoah as soap opera. The production by the Barefoot Theatre Company directed by Ronald Cohen at the Cherry Lane Theatre unfortunately mistakes histrionics for emotion, and manages to present a two-hour play about arguably the greatest tragedy experienced by a people without a moment of believable feeling in it.

“Eavesdropping on Dreams” focuses on the relationship between three women: Rosa or Raizel (Lynn Cohen) who survived four years in the Lodz ghetto, working as a hatmaker; her neonatalogist daughter Renee (Stephanie Roth Haberle) who devotes herself to saving babies and playing sex games; and Renee’s daughter Shaina (Aidan Koehler), a young woman who dropped out of medical school, broke up with her boyfriend, went on March of the Living to Lodz, and has just returned home transformed. Rosa is also visited periodically by the ghosts of her brother Yakov and Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, the “king of the Jews,” who turned the ghetto into a workshop in order to convince the Nazis that the residents were too valuable to kill, at least right away.

 

The Wedding Singer’ auditions in Bayonne

 

RECENTLYADDED

‘Eavesdropping on Dreams’

You’re better off going to see a movie (‘The Flat’)

We have seen the Shoah treated as somber tragedy, as adventure story, as cartoon, and as farce. Now, in the new play “Eavesdropping on Dreams” by Rivka Bekerman-Greenberg, we have the Shoah as soap opera. The production by the Barefoot Theatre Company directed by Ronald Cohen at the Cherry Lane Theatre unfortunately mistakes histrionics for emotion, and manages to present a two-hour play about arguably the greatest tragedy experienced by a people without a moment of believable feeling in it.

“Eavesdropping on Dreams” focuses on the relationship between three women: Rosa or Raizel (Lynn Cohen) who survived four years in the Lodz ghetto, working as a hatmaker; her neonatalogist daughter Renee (Stephanie Roth Haberle) who devotes herself to saving babies and playing sex games; and Renee’s daughter Shaina (Aidan Koehler), a young woman who dropped out of medical school, broke up with her boyfriend, went on March of the Living to Lodz, and has just returned home transformed. Rosa is also visited periodically by the ghosts of her brother Yakov and Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, the “king of the Jews,” who turned the ghetto into a workshop in order to convince the Nazis that the residents were too valuable to kill, at least right away.

 

The Wedding Singer’ auditions in Bayonne

 

The Soap Myth

Reworked play ‘nails it’ in portraying survivor archetypes

It was the early 1970s. I was a volunteer at the Center for Holocaust Studies in Brooklyn — really just an office at that Yeshiva of Flatbush that Yaffa Eliach, my teacher, had commandeered from the principal (her husband, David). It served almost as a drop-in center for the hundreds of Shoah survivors who lived in the immediate neighborhood, and was one of the building blocks of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in downtown Manhattan.

I do not quite remember how it happened. There was a free-standing glass case in the office, and one day I looked down at my right hand and realized I was holding a grayish cake of soap, about the size of one of those complimentary hotel bars left on the bathroom sink for guests. The soap in my hand made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and, like in every bad horror movie, I could feel the chills up and down my spine. This cake of soap had three letters on it. To me they looked like RJF, although I have heard others say the middle letter is an I. Either way, it basically meant Pure Jew Fat. I looked at Ray Kaner and Stella Wieselthier and said, “Am I holding my aunt? My uncle? My brother?”

 
 
S M T W T F S
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30 31