Review: HERE THERE ARE BLUEBERRIES, Stratford East

Sometimes a play is far more valuable than what the four walls of a theatre can hold. 2007: history will never be the same after the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum gets a hold of a photo album from 1940s Germany. As the archivists leaf through the pages, the day-to-day routine of Nazi officers stationed in Auschwitz unfolds before their eyes.

Men and women in uniform, smiling, laughing, as if millions weren’t being slaughtered a stone’s throw away. They pose in front of the camera, ignorant of the repercussions of their actions. Moisés Kaufman and Amanda Gronich’s Pulitzer-nominee opens an unflinching dialogue with contemporary events. As genocides, wars, and roundups populate our news rounds, we’re invited to reflect. It’s a jolting watch.

Portable cameras changed everything. From being the bulky curiosity of a few to turning into an accessible hobby, the popularisation of taking snapshots of life turned common people into the willing recorders of history. Here There Are Blueberries frames the brutality of the camps with staggering originality and never ignores the ethical concerns that offering this side implies. It’s its strength.

The piece is built with academic precision: the evidence is displayed across the staging, each picture a reminder that Nazis weren’t beasts, they were normal citizens with normal jobs. A bank teller, an accountant, and a confectioner rose to the top positions in the camp’s administration. As survivor Karl Stojka said: “It was not Hitler who arrested me, nor Göring, nor Goebbels. I was arrested by the janitor, the grocer, the milkman, the tobacconist.”

The production is quiet and controlled; it lets the facts speak for themselves. It over-justifies the process here and there, but it’s an excusable fault. The educational angle of the writing overwhelms the aesthetic purpose of drama, but, in doing so, delivers a raw lecture that bleeds past the proscenium, just like David Bengali’s projections do. Derek McLane’s set is a clinical representation of an archive lab, with small tables turning into the surfaces where the photos are shown.

The company directly addresses the public, presenting the findings with apt aplomb. There’s very little space for emotion, even when the descendants of the officers take the stage to reconcile the horrors with their own memories of their grandfathers. What transpires is the political relevance of everyday life, how personal documentation is crucial to our understanding and contextualisation of history. 

Kaufman’s direction is relentless in its intensity. Philippine Velge leads with composure. She introduces the footage and builds on the data, creating a palimpsest of forensic analyses and empathy. As the researchers dig into the subjects of the photographs, we meet a variety of testimonies, from experts to survivors. The cast of eight is a cohesive ensemble who’s unafraid to disappear under the weight of the story they tell.

Though the focus is firmly on the jarring cognitive dissonance between the jolly images and the knowledge of what lay behind them, the victims are not forgotten. A profound epilogue shows the other harrowing reality. It’s a sombre performance, imbued with dignity and thoughtful self-examination.

This is mandatory viewing at a time when it seems to be necessary to remind that Nazis used to be put on trial. Monsters do not commit atrocities, people do. Lisa Spirling's tenure as Artistic Director is off to an excellent start.

Here There Are Blueberries runs at Stratford East until 28 February.