Review: Men Without Shadows
By Jenny Sandman
CurtainUp

“Hell is other people.” — Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

Sartre, one of the great writers of the twentieth century as well as one of the foremost proponents of existentialism, has long been regarded as the embodiment of angst-ridden cool. As an existentialist, he felt that humans were adrift in a meaningless and absurd universe, paving the way for both Absurdism (in theatre) and the rise of atheism (in religion). He also wrote several books, including Being and Nothingness, and several fine plays, most famous of which was No Exit.

Men Without Shadows, a rarely performed piece, was last seen in New York in 1948, and given current events, could not be better timed. It explores the brutal sadism of war, its dehumanizing effect on all involved, and the constant pressure of everyday life during a war. The play takes place in occupied France in 1944. A group of Resistance fighters has been captured by the Germans; they are being held in a makeshift prison, and they know they will be tortured and then killed. Unfortunately, they have no real information to give the Germans-until their leader is thrown into the cell with them, a victim of mistaken identity. One by one they crack under the strain of waiting. we also see their captors—a group of bored, disinterested Germans (or French turned traitor), they plod through their job, knowing in a few months that France will be liberated and they will be shot. Only one shows any sort of interest in his gruesome job, displaying an unnatural curiosity in the limits of human flesh. They are fighting against each other, the prisoners against the jailers, each determined to "win" both are destined to lose.

Sartre doesn't refrain from the awfulness of the situation; scenes of torture are shown in full detail, and we can only watch as the prisoners writhe in agony, screaming and bleeding while their wrists are being broken or fingernails pulled out. They are all systematically tortured until they begin infighting, and worse. It's not a play for the squeamish, but for those wjp can take it, it's a brilliant look at moral relativity. Do the ends ever justify the means? When innocent people die, is any cause truly just? Will any of it matter tomorrow, when they are all dead?

Simon Hammerstein (of Adam Rapp's Trueblinka) uses the tiny space of The Flea Downstairs to excellent advantage. The long, thin stage is divided in half lengthwise by a half-wall; the prisoners pace back and forth in front of it, the jailers behind it. We feel the claustrophobia and frustration of both sides. The cast is uniformly excellent, demonstrating true ensemble acting. The captors (David Wilson Barnes, Jordan Lage and Rik Walter) are chilling in their nonchalance. Hillary Keegin is the lone woman. She must shoulder the emotional guilt of them all, and endures perhaps the harshest punishment.

At times the language is stilted and a bit vaulted; but that is probably the fault of the translation, not Sartre's. The actors do a fine job of working with the stiff dialogue and the difficult, physical scenes. In this universe, absurdity is rampant, but there is some meaning; the Resistance fighters may not have accomplished much, but they remained true to themselves and their convictions. In the end, that is all any of us can do during a war, no matter how pointless.