It's easy for us Americans, safely barricaded on two sides by the earth's biggest oceans, to ignore the border disputes of countries sharing more closely forged histories and real estate. Ah, but what if those disturbances invaded our homes—indeed, our very families? Would you render their agents your assistance? How much? And for how long?
Lillian Hellman's 1941 play, Watch on the Rhine, proposes a blue-blooded Virginia clan confronted by that very question: Mrs. Fanny Farrally's house guests are former-neighbor Marthe and Teck, her titled Rumanian husband—the latter now living in exile and low on finances. Then daughter Sara Mueller, née Farrally, returns home with her German spouse, and it soon becomes apparent that theirs is not a casual visit. Kurt, you see, is wanted by the Nazis for his covert activities on behalf of citizens waging a private war against Hitler's oppressive policies—information Teck swiftly turns to his own advantage, threatening to inform his poker buddies in the German embassy of the fugitive's presence in their city. Will Kurt succumb to blackmail, surrendering the money earmarked for his allies? Will he be forced to break the law in order to thwart Teck's self-serving scheme? Most important, will his wife's relatives help or hinder him in his mission? One can argue this premise's analogies to those of our involvement in foreign wars today—clearly defined ideologies are easier to comprehend than blood feuds rooted in centuries-old tribal conflicts. Hellman's scenario does not lend itself to tidy debate, however. In defending the righteousness of his personal sacrifice in support of his beliefs, Kurt draws a careful distinction between the enemy leaders and opportunists like Teck, who exploit social unrest for their own profit. Sara, too, makes an eloquent case for global intervention—if for no reason other than to alleviate the distress of children grown too-early accustomed to fear and flight. Gradually, her kin vow to aid them, whatever difficulties it may bring.
Plays of this period rely more on dialogue than on visual imagery for their narratives, but the actors of the Artistic Home never stumble during the lengthy speeches—frequently didactic, but always articulate—that Hellman demands of them. Under Cody Estle's direction, a heavy-lifting acting ensemble (featuring in the roles of the Mueller youngsters, a trio of pre-adolescent troupers with resumés as impressive as those of the adults) navigate their text with never a misstep, while the seasoned technical team deftly transforms their West Town storefront into a mid-Atlantic mansion teeming with museum-accurate ambience.
