Copenhagen is a brilliant but troubling play. Set in an ethereal
afterlife, two dead physicists involved in the development of the atom bomb
reminisce about their friendship, their science, and their implication in
the horrors of Nazi Germany and Hiroshima. It sounds grim, but is supertense
and packed with intrigue. Remorse invades every silence, and the scientists
cannot but dwell on the political implications of their discoveries. But
Frayn's play never fully deals with the question of responsibility, and
there is a sense that a devastating premise is wasted.
In September 1941 the German physicist Werner Heisenberg and Danish physicist
Niels Bohr met in occupied Copenhagen. Heisenberg had once been the prodigal
son of the regal physicist Bohr, but he is now working for the Nazi regime
while Bohr, half-Jewish, sees his life threatened and his country trampled.
The meeting, then, is not likely to be a happy one, and even today a great
deal of myth and mystique surrounds what might have been said. During
the play Heisenberg offers several explanations for his visit, any, all
or none of which could be true. What is certain is that the atom bomb
was high on the agenda. Was Heisenberg creating the bomb for Hitler, and
did Bohr know whether the Allies were further ahead in their nuclear efforts?
Frayn succeeds magnificently in drawing us into the not obviously appealing
world of very difficult physics. The manner in which Heisenberg and Bohr
elaborate and argue about tricky-sounding notions from quantum mechanics
somehow makes it all seem very obvious, and the audience cannot help but
feel slightly more intelligent than before the play began. The fact that
these theoretical principles led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands
of people is a factor. But it is the connection of the behaviour of atoms
to the behaviour of people that fascinates us for a moment. Just as a
particle can never be located with utter certainty, so Heisenberg realises
he can never quite know himself or know what he is doing. And just as
particles behave differently when under observation, so the characters
are under the observation of each other, a third character (Bohr's wife),
and the surveillance of the Nazi secret police. There is an elegance between
form and content, and one cannot help feeling a slight elation and ego
boost when this becomes clear. Nevertheless, Frayn is playing a dangerous
game.
On the one hand, if human action is reducible to mechanics, then we are
absolved of our crimes. On the other, at the end of the play each character
throws in the towel and sighs "well, we'll all be dust one day anyway".
What? Two hours of big brain theories and ethical dilemmas of a world-historic
scale, and none of it really matters?
The performance of the play was no more than adequate. The actors often
garbled their lines, though in a long play of little action there was
a lot of script to learn. The wife came across as a one-dimensional harridan.
The lighting and stage design obscured the actors' faces. These details
are perhaps less relevant in a play of ideas, and the bond between Heisenberg
and Bohr had some feeling, but it is to be hoped the presentation at future
showings improves.
Copenhagen should be seen. It explores both an important and unresolved
historical moment, and the enduring relationship between science and power.
It is a compelling and sometimes ingenious play that gets the mind racing.
And it will make you feel like you understand Einstein.
Ben O'Loughlin, 13th May 2003
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