- Title: Leopoldstadt
- Written by: Tom Stoppard
- Director: Patrick Marber
- Actors: David Krumholtz, Brandon Uranowitz
- Venue: Longacre Theatre
- City: New York
- Year: To July 2, 2023
Tom Stoppard’s career as a playwright is nearing its end where so many others have begun – with a drama about identity, filled with elements of veiled autobiography.
Leopoldstadt, now extended on Broadway through July, is deeply informed by the 82-year-old’s later-in-life discovery of the full extent of his Jewishness and how much of his family was lost in the Holocaust.
It seemingly reflects, too, a reconsideration of the blithe way in which the world’s most successful living English-language dramatist (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Arcadia) referred to his past in the past – for instance, his long-time self-description as a “bounced Czech” who had lived “a charmed life” growing up in Britain.
For the true story of how Stoppard’s harrowing escape from what is now the Czech Republic as a toddler in 1939, turn to Hermione Lee’s recent, thorough biography.
Leopoldstadt, on the other hand, takes place in Vienna, and follows several generations of a Jewish family from a time of prosperity during a relative lull in antisemitism in 1899 though to the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany and Kristallnacht in 1938.
A final, crucial scene takes place in 1955. In it, the connections to Stoppard’s own history crystallize as a young writer assimilated into his British stepfather’s culture appears.
Immediately, Leopoldstadt dizzyingly introduces a dozen members of the Mertz and Jakobovicz families gathered for a holiday celebration, their integration into Austrian society symbolized by a Christmas tree a child accidentally tops with a Star of David.
In true Stoppardian fashion, if a bit more staccato than usual, the conversation is filled with ideas about art, politics and science. The theme of memory is fascinatingly introduced through the grandmother Emilia (Betsy Aidem), a survivor of Eastern European pogroms, who describes the transformative power of photography; she can only visualize in her mind the faces of relatives she can look up in her family photo album.
Eventually, the opening scene pares down to an argument between Ludwig Jacobovicz (Brandon Uranowitz), a mathematician excluded from tenure who is compelled by Theodor Herzl’s vision of a Jewish state, and his brother-in-law Hermann Merz (the excellent David Krumholtz), a businessman who fully believes in a future where Jews become more and more assimilated.
Merz has married a Catholic named Gretl (Faye Castelow) and converted. Now, he’s gaining admittance into social circles and clubs previously off-limits to Jews. It’s this character’s tragic journey toward recognizing his own naïveté that is the first major plot line – one involving Arthur Schnitzler’s scandalous play La Ronde, a portrait of Gretl painted by Gustav Klimt (anyone who follows art-world news will definitely guess what happens to it), and an affair that is a double betrayal.
After a jump in time to 1924, the next generation of this Jewish family takes the stage at a bris that goes comically awry – and we see how the Great War, Bolshevism and Zionism have led to new debates and divisions among them. Then, we move again to 1938 and the most wrenching scene.
None of this is exactly new subject matter for theatre, but Stoppard’s 2020 play – having its North American premiere in New York, instead of Toronto with Mirvish Productions, owing to the Omicron wave last winter – is in tune with today in the way it asks the pressing question: How will we know whether history is repeating this pattern now?
Its clearest flaw is that, no matter how many times director Patrick Marber projects the family tree onto a curtain, it’s not easy to figure out who’s who. I was still puzzling it out by a final tableau with the full cast of 38 on stage, robbing it of some emotional power.
At the same time, what distinguishes Stoppard’s play and makes it a true event is that big cast – which only a playwright of his unparalleled pull could demand – and how he uses it to make his points in an original and theatrical way.
Leopoldstadt is on one level about math – a favourite subject of the playwright – and the difficulty human beings have in fully fathoming numbers the larger they become.
Early in the play, Ludwig asks one of the children to add the numbers one to 10 in his head. The boy’s lack of interest in the fact that the answer can be found quickly by grouping the numbers into 11s leads Ludwig to declare that he will not become a mathematician.
By the scene set during Kristallnacht, Ludwig is an old man, now asking children to add the numbers from one to 20 and play cat’s cradle with a knotted string – but his ability to picture patterns, to visualize numbers in his head in groups, seems also to be leading him into madness.
This is potent metaphor for our difficulty in intellectually processing the six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust, and the play’s final image is not just a memorial tableau, a stage photograph to help us remember, but also a mathematical visualization of genocide. We must see patterns, Stoppard says, even at the risk of losing our minds.
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