There are four versions of Anne Frank's diary. The last incorporates extra notes along with the original, one she edited herself for publication, and one her father Otto edited and made it his life's work to disseminate. His forms the basis for the Hacket couple's script. Writer Cynthia Ozick has been right to question the sentimentality, the toning down of what must have been grittier reality than what appears onstage here. All you see of the Dutch are two brave former employees who help sustain the Franks. You hear the bad guy who betrayed them was a thief-blackmailer looking to save and promote himself.
Despite cramped quarters and ever-dwindling diet, after hours they can talk and move about quite freely. They eat with china and silverware. They seem to have enough light, hear important news, wear clean clothes. Except for a tear-jerker of a Hannukah celebration, there's little evidence of their Jewishness. When they take in Dentist Dussell (played by Dean Anthony with nerves visibly on edge), he clearly thinks of his heritage as Dutch tinged with Christian and never fully identifies with the others. And what a sorry lot that wonderful Otto has to deal with! (Luckily, David Breitbarth summons his considerable talent to make you believe in that goody-good, near-Messiah.)
Since The Diary is said to have been read by more people than any book other than The Bible (though which version of either isn't clear), what intrigues is how the story comes to life. If you accept it as a coming-of-age (however much under pressure) story centered on a girl who wants love and to be a famous writer, then Lauren Orkus' Anne will satisfy. Not so, if you'd prefer someone who's not always "on" to the point of preciousness. You'll tend, then, to agree with the earlier, resentful Peter (who needs a rest from her and in fact can't identify with his fellow shut-ins) or the later Peter (who eats up Anne's bubbly comforting and somewhat shares her hopes for a better future). Either way, Andrew Foster draws you into Peter's reality.
Devorah Millman's interpretation of Mrs. Frank also rings exceptionally true as she suffers Anne's disdain while trying to cope with life dwindling. Kate Goldman likeably embodies bland sister Margot; she deserves a less obvious wig. You'll love to hate Brad Wallace, who pulls no punches as selfish Mr. Van Daan, ultimately making you sorry for his missus. Until she suffers his abuse, however, her aristocratic ways and flirting with Otto are well calculated by Carolyn Michel to make Mrs. Van Daan hardly sympathetic.
Patrick James Clarke and Katherine Tanner brighten the scene as Frank's loyal employees, then risk-takers, finally keepers of the legend. The problem is: the Hacketts' play often seems more legend than real horror. The set, while duplicating the actual Frank hiding-place, should somehow appear more claustrophobia-inducing. Perhaps the blocking, which moves everyone adroitly, nevertheless gives the impression of more room for interaction. Costumes seem authentic. In fact, sometimes the changes in what the people wear ring truer than those in their attitudes. What you may get most out of this production is the desire to see the latest version of Anne Frank's diary - and compare. Or to read the book, the whole book.
