I’ve seen “The Lehman Trilogy: multiple times, both in London and in New York. And yes, I am convinced, even more so this time, that it is such a compelling drama, and so relevant to our upside-down pandemic world, that every person in the tri-state area should run, not walk, to the Nederlander Theatre before the show closes in January. Although I have described the play as a “cautionary tale,” it’s now time to ratchet it up to a true tragedy.
This is an exhausting performance for any actor or director. One only has to consider the sheer volume of dialogue to memorize and scene changes to block. Each of the three actors—Simon Russell Beale, Adam Godley and Adrian Lester—plays a range of roles, from toddlers to adults, rabbis to computer geeks, plantation foremen, factory owners, young girls, Greek diner owners, and others. Yet, as distinguished veterans of the British stage and beyond, they pull this off without missing a beat.
What makes this rendition of the Lehman story distinguishable from, and in some ways, even more riveting than the preceding ones, are nuanced script changes that resonate with current events and heightened awareness of past ones. One example of this is when the younger Lehmans remark how citizens of San Francisco revolted against mandatory mask-wearing, a clear reference to the Spanish flu of 1918, with its present-day COVID pandemic parallels.
The Lehmans’ saga in America began nearly 75 years before that, when Henry, formerly Hayum (Chaim), the earliest to arrive, travels from Rimpar, Germany, where Jews were not yet fully emancipated, to “that magical music box, America.” After disembarking in New York, he makes his way to Montgomery, Alabama. His brothers Emanuel (Mendel), and then Mayer, follow him. Their path towards the all-embracing American dream of freedom and success differs little at the outset from that of both Jewish and non-Jewish immigrants to this country, but before long, they transition from dry goods store owners to vendors of raw cotton, then post-Civil War Reconstruction bankers, and eventually, “merchants of money” and investors in cutting-edge industries and enterprises. The family manages to remain solvent after their rollercoaster ride through the South’s economic collapse and later the Great Depression but realize that achieving great results often necessitates great risks.
From the start, the family’s identities, hopes and fears are manifest in rituals, reveries, dreams or nightmares where the Jewish festivals serve as metaphors. Henry, quoting a sage, says, “On the night of Pesach, the future will reveal itself. Remove the chametz and then it is to be seen.” The three brothers, in unison, light the menorah and recite the blessings for Chanukah. Emanuel is in terror of a Shavuot train that comes nightly to him. Philip dreams he is helping his father, Emanuel, to build the sukkah’s roof, when suddenly he hears, “Everything is about to fall, Philip” (perhaps a premonition of the 1929 stock market crash).
When the Lehmans start their journey in America, they are Orthodox Jews. They pray daily before they open their store, which is closed on the Sabbath. They observe all the holidays and sit shiva meticulously when Henry dies. Their children assimilate, more so when Emanuel’s and then Mayer’s families move into the affluent Reform German-Jewish enclave in New York, where music, the arts and sportsmanship are prioritized over Judaic scholarship. Philip Lehman, Emanuel’s son, brilliantly portrayed by Simon Russell Beale, must take violin lessons, as his peers do. Robert “Bobbie” Lehman, Emanuel’s grandson, is played to perfection, tongue in cheek, by Adam Godley. Bobbie follows his dual passions—horse racing and global art acquisition—even during the Great Depression. He seems oblivious to the world around him. Bobbie, as he ages, is a mere caricature of himself, twisting and twisting, dancing as if the party will never end, until he finally collapses.
There is at least one aspect of the Lehman legacy, the source of the brothers’ income as new immigrants in Alabama, that is palpably troubling and unresolved. The fact that civic-minded, philanthropic men (including the Founding Fathers of this country) owned slaves and profited from a brutal system is nothing new. No questions are asked nor any answers given for the Lehmans’ reliance on and profit from such a system. The play does not judge the brothers, but the reality begs the question of the Lehmans’ overt complicity with the slave-based economy, both as slave owners and beneficiaries of the work completed by others’ slaves.
The Lehmans relentlessly pursue the American dream, even when the system on which they rely is devastated as the Civil War’s carnage continues, and even as their colleagues from the stock exchange turn suicidal after Black Tuesday of October 1929. Yet British/Afro-Caribbean actor Adrian Lester’s performance as Emanuel Lehman subtly and intangibly reminds the audience that the cash behind the Lehmans’ business ventures has been derived from practices antithetical to Jewish values.
One of the many ironic and paradoxical aspects of the Lehman family is that it produces Herbert Lehman, Mayer’s son, also played by Lester. He is the Lehmans’ moral anchor. Herbert acts as a foil to his cousin Bobbie’s extravagance, and it is on his shoulders that the burden and honor of public service fall. As a senator, governor and relentless crusader for European refugee relief, Herbert Lehman’s actions are overtly altruistic. They seem at odds with those of his upwardly mobile, younger Lehman cousins. Philip versus Herbert signifies “risk versus responsibility.” Despite their failings and excesses, though, the Lehmans’ contributions, both philanthropic and as developers of America’s infrastructure, should be acknowledged.
From his recitation of the Chanukah blessings to Kaddish, Lester excels as Emanuel Lehman, the observant Jew. His performance, and those of Simon Russell Beale and Adam Godley (Henry and Mayer Lehman, respectively), are stellar. As they file through a revolving door of Lehman family members and other characters, wearing only somewhat Chaplinesque black morning coats and occasionally top hats, they reveal the many conflicts among several generations of Lehman business and personal relationships.
The actors’ minimalist set has remained the same in all the play’s venues. It is dominated by a rotating, transparent cube, which effectively serves as a time machine, transporting the actors through decades, leapfrogging through political, industrial and technological changes into the 20th and 21st centuries. The simple props—an umbrella, flowers in a vase, a small radio, a marker, a conference table, chairs, and many empty cardboard boxes—have not changed since the original production, nor has the instrumental score, where modernist, repetitive melodic lines and chords are interspersed with the nostalgic lullaby “Raisins and Almonds” (Rozshinkas mit Mandlen).
The Lehmans’ personal tragedy, and that of the corporation bearing their name, is all the more poignant because of a universal message that director Sam Mendes and dramaturg Ben Power have built into Stefano Massini’s script. Call it “the higher you climb, the further you fall”; call it “the failures of the American dream”; or call it “the double-edged sword of assimilation.” There is no doubt that Massini has embedded his considerable knowledge of Judaism—he’s a non-Jew with a Jewish education—in the script and imagery. “The Lehman Trilogy”’s brilliance, and tragedy, are undeniable.
Rachel Kovacs is an adjunct associate professor of communication at CUNY, a PR professional, theater reviewer for offoffonline.com—and a Judaics teacher. She trained in performance at Brandeis and Manchester Universities, Sharon Playhouse, and the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. She can be reached at [email protected].
