At some point before they graduate from public school, every child has read Anne Frank’s story.
The book, “The Diary of Anne Frank,” has been on the core curriculum for decades. But as familiar as the text may be, seeing the plight of the impetuous teenager and her countrymen as the story unfolds on stage is quite a different experience.
At Bay Street Theatre in Sag Harbor, which is staging “The Diary of Anne Frank” as part of its Literature Live! series, audiences young and old are being transported to that attic above an Amsterdam storefront where Anne and seven others hid during the final years of World War II. It’s a tough story to watch.
The action begins and the tone is set as sorrowful sounding music plays to a silent and empty stage. Enter Otto Frank, Anne’s father, who is the only family member to have survived the Holocaust. It’s no surprise that Anne, her sister, Margot, and mother don’t make it but it’s still difficult information to hear.
Mr. Frank, a broken man, soon discovers his daughter’s diary. As he reads the first entry, Anne enters the stage and joins him. From there, the story begins.
Told over the course of two hours on one unchanging stage—and no intermission—the feelings of claustrophobia and desperation are reinforced throughout the play, written by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hacket and directed for Bay Street by Joe Minutello. Whether it’s the sound effects of bombers flying overhead, screaming air raid sirens or a common telephone ringing, the drama and constant threat of danger are never far from one’s mind.
Every time Anne, played by Jessica Mortellaro, speaks too loudly or moves about more boisterously than she should, I would anxiously cringe and want to shush her. And every time Mr. Van Daan, played by Josh Gladstone, lit up a cigarette, I was ready to crawl out of my skin.
“Put it out, put it out now,” I screamed inside my head. “They’re going to find you and kill you.”
Of course it wasn’t Anne’s impetuosity, Mr. Van Daan’s nasty exhalations, or any of the other nervous-making behavior—particularly from the antagonistic Mrs. Van Daan, played by Kate Mueth, and grumpy Mr. Dussel, played by Terrance Fiore—that finally got the eight occupants caught and sent to death camps, it was a simple, fatal stumble by Anne’s love interest, Peter, played by Sawyer Avery.
Hard as it is to watch such a sad tale, it was one well told at Bay Street. The actors all did their part to ensure that the audience was wrapped up in the moments big and small, a necessity for a story as well known and tragically sad as this.
For every point, there was a counterpoint. Even in the balance of characters and their personalities. Rounding out the cast, and playing parts that soothed grated nerves were Keith Cornelius as Mr. Frank, Lydia Franco-Hodges as Mrs. Frank and Georgia Warner as Margot, with strong support by Chloë Dirksen as Miep and Joe Pallister as Mr. Kraler.
Each actor did his or her job beautifully as I wanted to strangle the annoying and cloying Mr. Dussel and Mr. and Mrs. Van Daan; be adopted by kind and sensible Mr. and Mrs. Frank; make friends with adaptable and amenable Margo and Peter; give ration books and the contents of my wallet to generous and loyal Miep and Mr. Kraler; and alternately hug and roll my eyes at the precocious Anne.
Despite the inevitability of their fate, however, a fine thread of hopefulness ran through each of the characters. It’s this thread that keeps the audience engaged and rooting for the doomed captives. “I’m going to be remarkable,” says the plucky Anne.
She truly was. And by the end of the play, a good portion of those in the audience on Sunday afternoon were sniffling and sobbing, including me.
Bottom line: Gut wrenchingly tough but an important story, worthy of revisiting.
“The Diary of Anne Frank” stages at Bay Street Theatre in Sag Harbor through Tuesday, November 26. Show times are 7 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays and 10 a.m. on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Tickets are $25, or $12 for students. For reservations or additional information, call 725-0818 or visit baystreet.org.