The Broadway Theatre Review: MTC’s Prayer for the French Republic on Broadway

By Ross

“What is the beginning of a family?” This wise and thought-provoking question is posed in the first few moments of Manhattan Theatre Club‘s ambitious new play, Prayer for the French Republic which recently made the leap from MTC‘s New York City Center Stage 1 to their Broadway house, the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre. The question draws us in, and ensnares us in its strong start to the deep dive, with a familial grand piano sitting center stage focusing our attention on the instrument that binds them. History, both current and past, is the key point here, as the play begins to revolve around that magnificent piece like shadows and ghosts waiting for their entrance, sometimes literal and clumsy, while other times with the most effective ease.

When I last saw this play, the world, as it always seems, was steeped in tension and conflict, but the fronts have altered in meaningful ways, and with that reframing, there has been an adjustment in our ear around the hearing of what this play has to say. Clocking in at an impressively brave three-plus hours, this multi-generational tale of a persecuted Jewish family living in Paris is, in general, a captivating emotional engagement. Some might say, triumphant, worthy of your attention and patience. It definitely still enters our emotional hearts, but the attachment has altered and shifted. Not from one side to another, but something akin to the clumsy side, stepping over into a more uneven landscape, giving us a different angle to see and hear from a more complex perspective and vantage point.

As written with respect by Joshua Harmon (Significant Other, Admissions), the clarity fades in and out but never disappoints. The play spins forward with an intelligent confidence, worthy of its characters and its creators. It shifts its glance back and forth in time, finding compassionate and complex space between the Benhamou family living in modern-day Paris, circa 2016-17, and an earlier generation of the wife’s family, the Salomons, living in the same apartment, with that same familial-inscribed piano in 1944-46. But the hours living with these two families fly by, without interference, finding power and passion in the way each unpacks their generational trauma and unleashes their sometimes didactic complex arguments with a passion and force that is both hilariously intense and captivatingly annoying.

Winding their experiences together in an epic formulation, the exceptional writing and expert acting within bring us to the heart of Paris and the societal problems that are being experienced in that beautiful city and throughout the world. Only one character, an old and young Pierre, finds his way into both stories, but the energy of each group pulls on threads of acknowledgment that turn this heady exploration into captivating art. Directed with a simplistic loyalty to character and all their internal complexities by David Cromer (Broadway’s The Sound Inside), Prayer for the French Republic digs into a century of turbulence, folded in, revolving around, and connected internally to this one Jewish family. The shock is in its simple effective engagement, even when the writing sometimes overwhelms us with detail and history (layered with the added detail of the developing conflict), with an almost manic insistence to be heard and digested.

They’re “old people, leave them alone.” It’s that fantastical sentiment that keeps this family alive, and one we can’t ignore. The framework inside that statement can’t help but make us feel emotionally connected to this elderly couple, beautifully portrayed by Nancy Robinette (Broadway’s The Curious Incident…) and Daniel Oreskes (Broadway’s Oslo). They sit patiently at the table, strewn with books and papers, hiding out in their apartment trying to survive the war and keep it from coming through the closed door into the apartment. They miss their existence and their family, not surprisingly but with heartfelt deepness. They play, most compassionately with fantasy and humor, pulling us in carefully but with detailed intent, with Robinette delivering a powerfully engaging woman that will not be forgotten by any of us. It’s a spectacularly compassionate performance. Then, all of a sudden, the two are reunited with their newly liberated son, played engagingly by Ari Brand (Mint’s The Lucky One), and their quiet grandson, Pierre Salomon, tenderly portrayed by Ethan Haberfield (Paper Mill’s Oliver) whose only wish is to have a croissant. The later American Molly would totally get behind that request.

Besides that croissant and that grand piano, the grandson is the main generational link that ties these characters to the modern-day Benhamou family. That family lives elegantly in Paris, in that same apartment, but with a different air and religious energy. It’s posh in a way, yet comfortable, epitomized by the well-spoken and often slightly off-putting and intense matriarch of the family, Marcelle, the psychiatrist mother played to stern precise perfection by Betsy Aidem (Broadway’s All the Way). Aidem has a brilliant way of formulating her responses that sometimes make her difficult to like, but impossible not to care about and connect to. Her portrayal is both dynamic and masterfully complex, pulling out layers of complexity that no shut door could ever keep out. The family, in general, is a complicated series of sharp-edged connections, most specifically between Marcelle and her daughter, the psychologically compromised Elodie, played by a fiery and fantastic Francis Benhamou (PH’s The Profane). Her depression and intellectual passion push on the family’s edges until they almost snap. Almost. Until they surprisingly bind them together.

It’s another brilliant creation. Then, unannounced through the door walks a bloody tension that only worsens the arrangement throughout, as the family is sent reeling in on itself due to the shocking violence that has been brought upon their son, Daniel, charismatically and handsomely portrayed by Aria Shahghasemi (59E59’s Connected). Daniel has become the victim of a hate crime; an anti-Semitic attack that sets off alarm bells ringing upsettingly to the family. This violence, we are told, is occurring with much more frequency and meaning in Paris, across Western Europe, and the United States. The resulting energy in the room erupts, in a way, inside the Benhamou family, in some pretty determined and unique ways. The incident sens tremors down their collective spine, leading the father, elegantly portrayed by Nael Nacer (Bedlam/CST’s Angels in America) to proclaim, quite defiantly, that he wants the family to move to Israel, because Paris, he believes, and maybe Western Europe in general, is no longer a place of safety and sanctuary, but one filled with the threat of violence and increasing hate.

Here lies the formulation that vibrates throughout; the ideas of safety and hate, layered into politics and religion. The paralleled shared spaces of what was happening in Europe in those specific war-torn years in the mid-1940s and in the years 2016 and 2017 that are presented here, when that Orange Monster was elected and Marine Le Pen was trying (unsuccessfully, thank god) to become the President of France, add specificity to the difficult engagement and trauma this family is going through. And now, with that same Orange Monster trying to regain the White House with a sickening win the other night while also being on trial for so many different things it would take too long to list, the force of some of these emotional statements hit harder and ultimately, in a much different manner. This is highlighted, clearly and specifically when a distant relative from America, Molly, played by Molly Ranson (MTC’s Linda), shows up for a weekend visit while studying abroad. Her presence and tongue deliver mountains of unpacked baggage, especially as she becomes involved, most intimately, within the interpersonal dynamics of the family and their handsome engaging son.

It’s a bit structural, this addition, bringing a character into the world of French politics and having viewpoints that can be explained to her, showcasing her somewhat naive understanding of the world seen from the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It also, in turn, assists and unpacks the details to any audience member who doesn’t quite know who Marine Le Pen is or what all the fuss was about. It’s a forced framework, this visitor, but it delivers some dynamics to the Benhamous family that register and rattle forth some substantial and significant deconstructions. By her mere presence, Molly invites forth an opportunity for Benhamous’s passionate Elodie to lecture the young American with an impressive multi-page monologue about the intricate landscape and history of being a Jew in Europe, as opposed to being a Jew in America, all to make a more intimate plea. It is a complex cascade of points, worthy of its space in the play and handled with an emotional rawness by a fantastic Benhamou that leaves you breathing hard with stuttered affirmation, even if it feels somewhat forced and unnaturally didactic. Especially with the current world news headlines hanging heavy and hard inside our collective minds.

Talking and debating through the multi-generational space, designed with a somewhat clunky care by scenic designer Takeshi Kata (Broadway’s Clyde’s), with careful costuming by Sarah Laux (Broadway’s The Band’s Visit), a simplistic but elegant lighting design by Amith Chandrashaker (Soho Rep’s Fairview), and a solid sound design by composer Daniel Kluger (Broadway’s Oklahoma!), the space feels like we are sitting inside a fevered upset brain trying its hardest to unpack a brutal beating and a whole encyclopedia of generational trauma. But it holds us tight in its upset arms, even as it sometimes trips over itself, wanting to run away, yet not wanting to leave. Yet, the bigger umbrella theme of escaping while there is still time hits home, as many of us who sit outside of the privileged class look at the Trump years and our possible future as a Handmaid’s Tale warning of what might be on its way in. I know many a concerned citizen wondering when we should leave; skip town and country while the leaving is still good and possible. All this while balancing the violence that exists today in the Middle Eastern countries that are discussed most compassionately here inside the Prayer for the French Republic.

The landing still feels fraught, especially with the election gearing itself up, because the unnerving unveiling of anti-Semitic hate and white supremacy in America and the World just keeps growing and solidifying right before our eyes. Many of us did contemplate in the Trump years that very complex idea: What would I do if things started getting out of hand, and when would ‘waiting and seeing’ end up being the wrong too-late decision? We don’t have to look too far back in history to see some examples of this, which makes looking back and into this play a more unnerving experience. This is the shocking yet very real question asked, and the answer, or at least the half answer, is a heavy one to hold.

The play pushes forward, sometimes led by Anthony Edwards (Broadway’s Children of a Lesser God) as Marcelle’s brother, who is basically our narrator and the one who puts forth that initial question. He doesn’t understand the impulse to leave, especially as he doesn’t hold tight to the religious beliefs that his sister does. His value system and mistrust in Marcelle’s religious husband resonate but also remind us of those people who tell others to not be so proud or showy of who they actually are: “Don’t dress that way, you’re drawing unneeded attention to yourself”. “Stay in the closet and stop causing trouble for yourself”. This is basically one of the points put forth for debate here, both by Marcelle at first, and more abstractly by her brother. It’s a fascinating contradiction, that finds weight in its history.

I can’t say that I found the construction around the narration all that engaging. His character’s straightforward unpacking delivered direct to the audience usually slows down the emotional winding up within the formulation. It’s during these moments (and others) when the writing does become slightly didactic with characters sounding more like professors than authentic family members under stress. But the overall outcome connects, even in ways unintended when first written. Particularly so when the lineage connector, Pierre Saloman; Marcelle and Patrick’s elderly father, played beautifully by the engagingly kind Richard Masur (Broadway’s Democracy) steps onto the stage, sitting at the side of his younger self (Haberfield) completing the generational circle. The moment, gathered around that eternal piano, unearths an emotional historical context that feels ever so real and historically heavy.

Harmon and Cromer, along with this stellar cast, work some magnificently powerful theatrical magic together, navigating a delicate balance between time frames and the people within, with the actors delineating themselves beautifully. The attention to its heartfelt soul and its internal details are just a few of the many reasons Prayer for the French Republic delivers the weight of history so engagingly. It does pull apart the chaotic and frightening world, sometimes feeling awkward and clumsy with what has happened in Isreal since the play first appeared off-Broadway, but it does give us a framework to unpack its complex density with a bit more love, care, and insight. Even as we witness the world spin so dangerously all around us.