“We are good people,” says Anne, John Halder’s lover in Good. But can they be? The playwright Alan Plater described CP Taylor’s 1982 play as “the definitive piece about the Holocaust in the English language”. It tracks how Halder – a liberal and decent professor from Frankfurt – falls into arguing in favour of the Final Solution. In the lead role, David Tennant is stonily cold and compassionless in his sink from goodness, but Dominic Cooke’s confused production needs more clarity for it to fly.
For an easy existence, Halder joins the Nazis, despite not being “100 per cent sure” on Hitler. In conversations with his only and best friend, the Jewish doctor Maurice, he muses that the “anti-Jewish thing” can’t last; antisemitism isn’t practical as Germany needs the Jewish population. And with his “good” intentions to step back from the party if ever asked to do anything outside his moral conscience, the horrors of the regime are easy enough to look past.
Step by step, Halder’s grasp on right and wrong becomes steadily murkier. First, he is unbothered by the consequences as he abandons his wife, children and blind and sickly mother to pursue his lover Anne. Before long, he is reasoning that it is a positive move to destroy the texts of Jewish literary marvels as it will better education. Eventually, he starts to believe that running Jewish people violently out of their homes is, in fact, a protective warning for the Jews.
The enduring relevance of Good comes not just in its focus on Halder’s individual decisions but in its analysis of wider humankind. Through Halder’s lengthy ponderings, Taylor’s play suggests that any of us could be capable of turning to the dark side too. Halder’s efforts to delude himself into thinking that he’s doing the right thing are wholly self-serving but scarily relatable. This is a picture of the everyman accepting a life of evils in order to survive and thrive. Good asks if we were in Halder’s position, what would we do?
Cooke presents this journey into evil as a dream-like and terrifying descent. The music that Halder hears inside his head crackles in and out like flowing water. Played over the stage as he becomes more nonchalant about his dark choices, the noise drowns out what is left of his ethical principles. But though this illusionary production allows us to peer into the chilling mind of an initially lukewarm Nazi, it can sometimes be a battle to keep hold of its complicated narrative.
With his production housed on a sparse and angular set designed by Vicki Mortimer, Cooke has made the unsatisfying decision to shrink the usual cast of 10 down to three. The supporting actors, Sharon Small and Elliot Levey, have the mammoth burden of playing all the other parts – which, despite their enthusiasm, come off at varying levels of success. The text is baffling in form, with scenes that don’t always follow a linear narrative order, while the character’s lack of definite identity prevents the production from ever feeling truly disturbing.
Still, as Halder, Tennant is terrifically hypnotic. Stiff and empty, he keeps us at arm’s length as he swaps between his internal monologue and public face. He seems physically anchored to the stage as the wickedness buried inside of him wades out slowly. Tennant is an actor unafraid to take his time and it is a meticulous performance; each move has purpose, every jerk has considered aim.
The play’s conclusion is not a totally shocking one, but it does have power. Good is an alarming lesson on the dangers of narcissism and passivity that demands we think of more than just ourselves.
Harold Pinter Theatre, until 24 December
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