By Adam Bloodworth
In the opening moments of Watch on the Rhine, the word “misinformation” is pertinently thrown about. It feels thoroughly modern and in some ways, it is. The word has existed since the 1500s, which justifies its appearance in Lillian Hellman’s 1941 play about Kurt Muller, an anti-fascist protestor who flees possible incarceration in Germany to stay with family in America.
Director Ellen McDougall’s idea, perhaps, was to align Hellman’s ideals about freedom fighting with contemporary ideas about the rise of fascism in Europe, alongside a message about conveying truth. The set is gorgeously sumptuous, all grand armchairs and rich cream carpets, the kind of plush, middle class setting in which unpleasant things are not spoken of.
The family members buzz anxiously, awaiting Kurt’s arrival, each with their own trauma about why he’s been away so long. The idea is to present the varying ideals clashing: the absolutism of Kurt’s protests, the displacement of families because of it, and how it all that grates on self-gratifying matriarch Fanny.
McDougall’s vision sustains a sense of tension in the first act as the Farrelly family welcome Kurt, his wife and their children into the safety of their suburban mansion. Hellman’s script is full of vivid humour, too, which raises constant laughs, even if they aren’t side-splitting. But the second act feels too ponderous. Nothing much happens, least of all a rallying call about the scourge of fascism and how it’s ripping families apart.
It’s not that Mark Waschke doesn’t give it all as Watch on the Rhine’s Kurt: at the end of the first act, his body contorting into weird shapes and his face like some frenzied beast, he embodies the grief, bravery and stress of a man forced back into danger for their beliefs. His concerns just aren’t given enough time and space in the script to be examined, and felt by the audience, authentically. Likewise Patricia Hodge as Fanny, who is hammily fantastic, waves her arms around and delivers jokes with panache.
But Watch on the Rhine tails off with a whimper. A symbolic opening and closing turn by David Webber’s Joseph, the house help who questions the place of black people amongst the white privileged set, feels shoehorned. I’m not sure if there’s a reason to reprise Watch on the Rhine in 2023, but if there is, this isn’t it.
Watch on the Rhine, Donmar Warehouse, runs until 4 February and tickets are available at the official website
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