Theater

Portrait of an artist

Anne Frank's diary is just the beginning

By MEGAN GRUMBLING | November 21, 2006

WATCHFUL GAZE: Abby Rose as Anne Frank.

Anne Frank’s celebrated diary is not just a window into daily life during a horrific time. In these loving, compulsive entries, we can also see the raw ore of an artist: the undeniable urge toward expression. Her words demonstrate not only art’s powers of preservation, but also the miraculous way in which art can trump trauma. Frank’s invincible prose frames and fills the story of how eight hiding Jews keep a hold on their humanity in The Diary of Anne Frank, directed by John McCluggage for the Seacoast Repertory Theatre, in Portsmouth.

Otto and Edith Frank (David Kaye and Elizabeth Barry) took their daughters Margot and Anne (Megan Quinn and Abby Rose) into hiding in Amsterdam in 1942, joining with Otto’s business partner Van Daan (Christopher Bradley), his wife (Constance Witman), and teenaged son Peter (Joshua Moore) to live in a hidden apartment above a factory. Soon joined by the elderly dentist Mr. Dussel (Don LaBranche), they go about their lives in cramped rooms, keep the blinds drawn, and must be absolutely silent for the ten hours each day that the workmen move beneath them. The rooms of their apartment are represented by scenic designer Michael Minahan without walls, suggesting the tight proximity of the families and the easy carrying of their sounds throughout the space. And just as noises carry easily among these close-living people, so are moods and irritations passed along. In the faces of McCluggage’s fine cast, we see high degrees of both reaction and restraint as everyone tries to retain both dignity and community.

The heart of the group — the member who invariably gets everyone’s blood going, for better or worse — is of course the irrepressible Anne. Rose’s portrayal of the precocious youth is feisty and affecting; she makes Anne endearing without downplaying how remarkably exasperating she must also have been. The Anne who first arrives in the hideout would today be a prime candidate for Ritalin: she burbles; she flits and zooms; she scrambles up and bounces on the bed. You can see the fear surface in the eyes of the grown-ups as they watch her and imagine trying to keep her silent for hours each day. But Rose emphasizes not just Anne’s headstrong energy, also showing her natural writer’s perceptiveness and empathy. It’s these qualities that have left us with such a detailed and intimate portrait of the eight humans living in such close and quiet quarters, and Rose’s penetrating gazes at her housemates give us a strong sense of the intuitive mind behind the writings.

The relations between Anne and the other members of her household make an intricate, fraught study — from Mrs. Van Daan’s mild flirtations with Otto, duly noted by Edith, to the broken humiliation of Bradley’s normally arrogant Mr. Van Daan, when he is caught sneaking the carefully rationed bread. The cast does a wonderful job expressing the nuances of these relationships — glances between the women or husbands and wives; clipped tones and swallowed retorts; gazes that convey more than their accompanying words. There are also some striking ensemble moments during which we are reminded by the common horror uniting them — at the sound of a siren, they fall silent and raise their heads as one, waiting; as the last sounds of the factory workers fade, the collective anticipation and then relaxation is palpable.

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