Facing the darkest corners of human nature can be an overwhelming experience, but what happens when the evidence of that darkness is presented in the most mundane of ways? This deeply moving documentary drama, "Here There Are Blueberries," by Tectonic Theater Company, recently premiered in London, and it forces us to confront precisely this unsettling question.
The play centers on Rebecca Erbelding (portrayed by Philippine Velge), a young curator at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. She and her superior are meticulously examining a newly discovered album containing 116 photographs from the Auschwitz concentration camp, spread across 32 pages. These aren't images of suffering; instead, they depict guards, high-ranking officers, their families, doctors, and female radio operators. Crucially, there are no inmates, no Jewish individuals in these snapshots. When Rebecca asks how her boss copes with such material, the answer is simple yet profound: focus on the details. Dwelling on the overwhelming 'big picture,' she's told, can be paralyzing.
And this is the part most people miss... For the most part, this 90-minute forensic exploration leaves the audience to grapple with the immense moral implications on their own. The director, Moisés Kaufman, and co-writer Amanda Gronich, began developing this piece after The New York Times published some of these very photographs in 2007, following their donation to the museum by an 87-year-old American officer.
The set design by Derek McLane masterfully transforms from the sterile offices of the museum to spaces that accommodate powerful testimonies and detailed explanations. Giant projections of the photographs adorn the back wall, making the casual poses and relaxed interactions depicted on such a grand scale truly extraordinary. Among the individuals highlighted are notorious figures like Josef Mengele, infamously known as "the Angel of Death," and Rudolf Höss, the camp commandant who, as chillingly dramatized in the film "The Zone of Interest," lived in a pleasant family home mere yards away from unimaginable horrors.
We frequently see Karl Höcker, the SS officer to whom the album belonged. In one poignant image, Höcker, who passed away in 2000, is pictured with a group of female radiographers, all enjoying fresh blueberries. This scene, in particular, begs the question: is this the banality of evil? The word 'evil' itself is used sparingly, only once, by a Nazi publicist whose late-stage self-awareness offers a heavy moral commentary: "Our great and terrible mistake was made up of countless smaller mistakes."
Kaufman's production bravely delves into complexity, even as it confronts the absolute worst of human behavior. The atmosphere is charged with urgency yet maintains a remarkable calmness. A cast of eight actors, predominantly British but all speaking with American accents, skillfully unveil details such as Solahütte, a nearby Polish resort where officers could unwind. Astonishingly, the narrative reveals that in 1944, even as the German war effort was crumbling, a Christmas party was held for the officers' children.
While I've awarded this production five out of five stars, it feels almost uncomfortable to do so. Was I sufficiently absorbed? Surprised? Horrified? Did I weep? The answer to all these questions is a resounding yes. I strongly encourage you to experience this play. It marks a significant and bold start for Lisa Spirling, the theatre's new artistic director, and it's unlikely she'll program anything quite like it again, as it truly operates on its own unique terms.
But here's where it gets controversial... At the play's conclusion, images of the victims finally appear. After witnessing and hearing everything that has unfolded, these final images resonate with a familiar yet profoundly new sting. The impact is as devastatingly effective as it needs to be.
What are your thoughts on confronting the perpetrators' humanity through their personal photographs? Does it make the atrocities easier or harder to comprehend? Let me know in the comments below!
