'Prayer for the French Republic' shows antisemitism's affect on generations of one Jewish family
Whatever your political inclinations, there’s no denying the urgent timeliness of Joshua Harmon’s epic family drama, “Prayer for the French Republic.” Running through May 11 at Skokie’s Northlight Theatre, the intricate, three-hour, multigenerational drama hurtles by on a razor's edge between tragedy and comedy, rage and serenity, hope and despair.
Directed by Jeremy Wechsler (in a co-production between Northlight and Theater Wit) with an acute eye for the contextual scope of centuries of Jewish history, “Prayer” is centered on a French Jewish family whose roots in Paris date back centuries. Set in Paris, the scenes fluctuate between 1944-1946 and 2016-2017. (The title comes in the form of an ancient prayer woven into the dialogue and recited with both reverence and power.)
As “Prayer” moves from the Nazi-occupied France of 1944 to the rise of the extreme-right National Front party in 2016, the larger picture becomes clear: Harmon is showing us how easily history can be erased, forgotten and repeated.
The drama unfolds in two timelines: In 1944 and 1946, we’re with Adolphe (Torrey Hanson) and Irma Salomon (Kathy Scambiatterra), patriarch and matriarch of a sprawling Jewish family that’s been in France for generations. Their family tree was once a flourishing bower, but it’s been stripped. France is occupied by Nazis. The Salomons have no idea what’s become of their children, including son Lucien (Alex Weisman) and grandson Pierre (Nathan Becker).
In 2016, we meet Adolphe and Irma’s descendants, Marcelle (Janet Ulrich Brooks) and her husband, Charles (Rom Barkhordar), who are living in the family’s Parisian home with their children, Daniel (Max Stewart) and Elodie (Rae Gray). Marcelle’s brother Patrick (Larry Grimm) is a frequent visitor.
Also in the household: Molly (Maya Lou Hlava), a distant cousin from America whose openhearted questions about Jewish culture, history and politics reveal someone who is naive to the point of ignorance but genuinely striving to learn.
As 2016 moves into 2017, the family grows increasingly alarmed as antisemitism is on the rise. Daniel has been assaulted twice. The hate speech is getting louder and more frequent.
Ultimately, Charles and Marcelle face the same horrible dilemma that faced Irma and Adolphe over 70 years earlier: They feel increasingly under threat in their own country. Should they uproot their lives and leave, or hope things get better and stay?
Charles is adamant, citing the millions of Holocaust victims who didn’t get out when they still could, certain their citizenship would save them. The family knows full well it didn’t: The Nazis killed roughly 11 million people during World War II — including 6 million Jews. Charles is blunt: “It’s either the suitcase or the coffin,” he tells Marcelle.
Wechsler’s ensemble knocks the show out of the park, never more so when the Salomons are in conflict. This is a gloriously loud, contentious family. They interrupt and talk over one another, shout and slam doors. Yet the ensemble makes it clear that amid all the vitriol, this is a family defined by unconditional love.
Brooks and Grimm anchor the cast as the Salomon siblings. Brooks can convey worlds in a single word, and she's in peak form here. Marcelle is exceptional at excoriating her children, but there’s never a question that she would do worse to anyone who tried to harm them. As Marcelle’s brother Patrick, Grimm is fantastic, whether he’s tone-deaf singing at the treasured family piano or screaming at his sister. Patrick is the narrative link between the two eras on stage, sometimes breaking the fourth wall and addressing the audience directly. Grimm’s commanding presence is ideal for a role that demands a fluid merger between narration and action.
Gray’s Elodie is also strong, particularly in a blistering, show-stopping monologue on Jewish history. Gray maintains breathless ferocity as Elodie schools Molly on the Jewish diaspora, starting with the 11th century massacre of Jews in Rome, Spain, France and Germany, to the hate crimes Daniel suffers.
Joe Schermoly’s inventive scenic design is ideal. The lights of the Eiffel Tower glitter above a set that encapsulates past and the present: On one side of the stage, the Salomons' home in the 1940s; on the other, the modern trappings of Charles and Marcelle’s home. In the middle, a gorgeous piano that’s been an integral part of the family history for generations.
“Prayer for the French Republic” offers no easy answers. In the end, we hear a rousing rendition of "La Marseillaise," France’s national anthem. Not everybody’s singing. It’s a portrait of a family filled with pride, resilience, joy and a grim resignation that the nation celebrated in the anthem is no longer safe for them.