Nigel Harman (Otto Abetz) and Jemima Rooper (Suzanne Abetz) in Farewell Mister Haffmann. Photography Mark Senior.Given the play’s pedigree and provenance, I was looking forward to the production which recounts the story of a Jewish jeweller Joseph Haffmann (Alex Waldmann) who cedes his Parisian shop to a trusted employee Pierre (Michael Fox) and his wife Isabelle (Jennifer Kirby) during the Nazi’s occupation of the city in 1942. The babyless couple agree to keep Joseph safe by hiding him in the cellar, but in return, they also dare to ask the father of four, for his help in conceiving a child.
Jean-Phillipe Daguerre’s original French play has been a notable success particularly among the Jewish community in France and Israel. Here, directed by Oscar Toeman, the English translation by Jeremy Sams largely downplays its more farcical elements and focuses on the excruciating initial awkwardness which Isabelle and Joseph endure in having to perform their sexual coupling, which over the months becomes familiar and morphs into a comfort for them both.
Unfortunately whilst Pierre’s sterility and dependence upon his employer as a sperm donor induces jealousy and resentment, this is only lightly touched upon. As distraction, we are encouraged to believe that he attends progressively more frenzied tap dancing classes whenever his wife and employer are scheduled to perform the act of congress. Later, as Pierre’s successful jewellery designs ensure the shop gains patronage from wealthy Nazis, he befriends the German Ambassador to Vichy France Otto Abetz (Nigel Harman) even to the point of inviting him to dinner together with his French wife Suzanne (an hilariously crass turn from Jemima Rooper). Joseph is incensed by the prospect and insists on inviting himself to the event, at which he has to consume suckling pig whilst pretending to be Pierre’s brother Jean. Predictably, despite a mellifluous start, the dinner unravels as alcohol and politics imbue the strained politesse with uncomfortable opinions and even more shocking revelations.
The production, which begs to be a hard-hitting and clever French farce, played out against a tense and ominous backdrop, struggles to decide what it wants to be and instead dips its literary toe into both comedy and tragedy, never quite settling convincingly on either.
Perhaps a clear view of the stage from below (and not perched on banquet seating having to peer over or under a barrier) might have provided a more favourable sense of proceedings? Who knows.
