It’s amazing to realize that it is the 75th anniversary of Anne Frank’s birth. Good timing for a new Toronto production of The Diary of Anne Frank, which opened this week at the Bathurst Street Theatre. The adaptation of her published journal faithfully retells the account of two Jewish families hiding from the Nazis during the occupation of Amsterdam and now includes slightly scandalous material omitted from the original publication.
Like many, I was familiar with the story of Anne from my childhood, and thought that I could at least roughly anticipate what the show would present me with. Still, it wasn’t until I got home from the opening-night show that the fear set into me-how could I possibly review a play about a subject as sensitive as the Holocaust? Being Jewish, I have been told all my life that I must never forget the atrocities committed during the genocide of the Second World War. I’ve been reminded constantly of the melancholy legacy of my heritage and my responsibility to continue its traditions. So when it came time to review, I wondered, how do you separate the heritage form the art?
Alexander Galant’s production of the adaptation by Wendy Kesselman was both reverent of the legacy of Anne, but also unfortunately dismissive of its implications: its timidity to delve into the rich poeticism of the original text leaves it a slightly dry account. It’s understandable as to why-likely the same thoughts crossed Gallant’s mind as had crossed mine: how do you avoid bastardizing the story of Anne while still doing justice to your art?
The text itself is relatively solid. Some of the dialogue between the families seemed a bit contrived, but this was likely just due to my jaded 21st-century ears and/or the dated quality of the tone. It attempts to get across the lightness of Anne’s spirit through comic relief (for example, the references to chamberpots) and dance sequences, but its overall tone was unsurprisingly grave, with weighty quotes coming from the young girl like, “The whole world is waiting, and many are waiting for death.” It was definitely Anne’s monologues that were most gripping, with such surprising soaring lyricism from the mind of the young girl.
The sets were naturalistic and generally suffused with an aura of yellow, evoking a sense of the pages of Anne’s worn diary. The three-tiered stage also did well to demonstrate the enclosed quality of the annex. Unfortunately, to reflect the many small areas, they had to be spread out on stage, thus taking away from the claustrophobic effect. Galant still managed to create some stirring images, most notably with the play of moonlight and candlelight on the eve of Channukah.
In terms of the cast, Jennifer Waiser as Anne (last seen as Little Sally in CanStage’s Urinetown) was fabulously compelling and totally made the evening. Her relationship with Peter (Gabe Plener), the boy from another family who lived with them in the annex, was rightly awkward, and Philip Shepherd as his father Mr. Van Dan communicated tremendous tension.
The legacy of Anne remains a compelling story no matter how many times one has been reminded of it. The production at the (sadly underused) Bathurst Street Theatre is loyal to the text, but is unfortunately rather conventional and unwilling to take risks with a more stylized approach. Still, Waiser makes an otherwise by-the-book evening (pun intended) extraordinary.
See the next issue of the Varsity for a behind-the-scenes feature on The Diary of Anne Frank, including an interview with up-and-coming young actor and U of T student Gabe Plener, who plays Peter.
