New York Theatre I:

Anyone with even a superficial knowledge of existentialism and Marxism can sense a basic incompatibility between the two dogmas. Jean-Paul Sartre is making a valiant attempt to embrace them both. The Condemned of Altona--written a few years before the Critique of Dialectical Reason, Sartre's futile attempt at reconciliation--reflects the tension that has resulted. To this philosophical mixture is added a complicated plot and allegory on the Algerian War, which was raging when the play was written. (The name of the hero, a former Nazi officer who was the "Butcher of Smolensk" is Frantz, rhymes with France.) Almost too much goes on at one time, but the result is very exciting theatre.

Frantz has lived in an attic for thirteen years--fooling himself into believing that Germany is being destroyed, throwing empty oyster shells at a picture of Hitler, and making tape recordings for the "crabs" who will judge mankind in the thirtieth century. He sees no one, and refuses an interview with his father, whom he associates with the family's Nazi background. Even time is kept out of his attic world. The only one who can see him is Leni, his sister, who brings him his meals and loves him incestuously. To keep Frantz for herself, Leni refuses to tell him that his father is to die of throat cancer in six months and wants to see him.

The father takes advantage of the subservience of his younger son, Werner, to free his older son. His first step is to make Werner swear to stay in the family home to take care of Frantz if something happens to Leni. But Johanna, Werner's wife, has seen Werner crushed by his family environment, and she is forced to help the father free Frantz; for only in that way can she free her own husband from the imprisoning commitment.

But what the father doesn't count on, is that Johanna also falls in love with Frantz, believes in his "crabs" more than he does, and perpetuates his isolation. The father then switches alliances, and tells Leni that Johanna has been seeing Frantz. That's when it really hits the fan: Leni tells Johanna of Frantz's past as a torturer; Johanna abandons Frantz; Frantz sees his father and they commit suicide together. Leni takes Frantz's place in the attic.

We have, then, five condemned people: Frantz to his attic and guilt; Leni to her incestuous love; the father to death in six months; Werner to his inferior position as unfavored son; and Johanna to an impossible choice. And they live in a world polarized by the existential isolation of Frantz's attic and the mundane world below. Frantz, to escape his war-time guilt, has tried to assume guilt for all. His rejection of ends-justifies-means ("evil was our only material... Good was the final product. Result: the good turned bad") is almost a Camus-esque rejection of political involvement. But when the father, below, says "it is easy to assume responsibility for everything when you do nothing," Sartre the Marxist repudiates this kind of pure existentialism.

The pattern of Marxist influence is also present in the structure of the play as a whole. Frantz, like Geotz of The Devil and Good Lord and Hugo of Dirty Hands, is liberated by his choice to face life as it is, which for Sartre meant choosing Marxism. "Going downstairs" is a perfect symbol for the acceptance of political participation by so many of Sartre's other characters, and suicide always follows their conversion as it does Frantz's. Yet Sartre still clings to both philosophies. For Frantz in the end escapes mauvaise-foi, his refusal to accept the reality of his past, and his last words are existentialist in tone: "I have been! I ... took my century on my shoulders and said: I am responsible for it."

It takes good actors to put over such a dizzy combination of psychology, philosophy, and polemics; and since the Lincoln Center Repertory Company has been taking a lot of gas from New York critics for bad acting, one might have expected Condemned to be over the actors' heads. Happily, this was not the case. Tom Rosqui is most impressive as he chills the audience with the power and insanity of Frantz's explosive moods. Priscilla Pointer deftly handles the shifts between the confident conniving, insecurity, and subservience' that is Leni. Edward Winter is pathetic enough as Werner, the play's only shallow character. And George Coulouris (not a regular member of the Company) is convincingly imperious as the father.

The only unsuccessful character was Carolyn Coates, as Johanna. Miss Coates simply did not look the part. Normally, this would not bother me; but for several important reasons, Johanna's most important quality is her beauty.

Another criticism of the production concerns the translation, which is much worse than the published version. Phrases have become weaker and less significant: "All trees have rotten branches" loses its universality as "there's a black sheep in every family," for example.

But the show is still powerful. One can feel the conflicting philosophies, the political polemics, and the tortured thought, as well as watch a plot that is complicated enough in itself.