Directed by Donald B. Bartalo, “BRAVURA:
The Life and Death of David Hochstein,” presented by the Multi-use Community
Cultural Center and Hummingbird Theatre Co., is the latest in a recent string
of biographical plays featuring prominent historical Rochesterians.
And if the success of “Revival: The Resurrection of Son House” and “The
Agitators” is any indicator, playwright Stuart Loeb’s theatrical profile of
Hochstein will resonate with local audiences.
The play
tells the story of the gifted violinist who was tragically killed during World
War I at the age of 26, and whose name is now synonymous with meaningful music
education in Rochester. But there are inherent inconsistencies in the story
which ultimately undercut a well-written script, a particularly compelling
first half, and a commanding performance from actor James Heath as the title
character. The result is a promising play that can’t seem to decide whether to
be a complex study of a young man choosing between his life’s
calling and his sense of moral obligation, or a sobering essay on the
destructiveness of war.
Smartly
constructed as a series of vignettes in predominantly chronological order,
“Bravura” centers on David Hochstein’s fateful decision to enlist the army and
fight overseas in World War I. He refuses to change his mind, even after
receiving a deferment to stay home, attend to his mother, and pursue his
burgeoning musical career as a dynamic violin soloist.
A character
simply called “Boy,” played with sincerity and pathos by Reece Gurell, accompanies the adult Hochstein throughout the play.
The child is clearly a tangible metaphor for the lost promise of Hochstein’s
youth, with whom the adult Hochstein is having an internal conversation. But
the play contradicts itself when the character of George Eastman, played by
David Byrne, acknowledges the boy’s physical presence.
Hochstein
eventually makes the seemingly inexplicable choice to join the war effort. We
get closest to understanding what motivated Hochstein in an especially poignant
mini-monologue, in which he challenges us to imagine great composers deprived
of their character: Beethoven, without valor; Tchaikovsky, without passion; and
Mozart, without joy. Voiced with conviction by Heath, the beleaguered yet
resolute Hochstein declares: “There is no harmony in a world of evil and
wrongdoing.” Here, we see an artist so distraught by the horrors of reality
that he feels the only response is to fight them head-on, in hopes that he can
help to make the world a place where music makes sense again.
With energetic
pacing and dialogue that crackles with wit and warmth, Hochstein interacts with
the people closest to him — his loving mother Helena (Denise Bartalo), his iconoclastic, anarchist aunt Emma Goldman
(Stephanie Roosa), his would-be wife Ernestine (Kate Osher), the violin teacher Leopold Auer (Byrne) — and they
all urge him not to go off to war. In the first two acts of the play, Loeb
provides the crux of the conflict: how can Hochstein reconcile his immense
musical talent and his responsibility to those who are emotionally invested in
him with his own sense of duty?
This tension
is most effective in the relationship between Hochstein and Ernestine, as their
obvious love and affection for one another is tested by the war. Osher’s portrayal of love interest-turned-army nurse
Ernestine is subtle and nuanced, with a full dramatic range that makes
believable the character’s transition from provincial innocence to desperation
and the wisdom that comes from abject loss. Heath and Osher
have a touching chemistry, tragically demonstrating a romance interrupted by
war.
Similarly,
the play itself seems interrupted. Once Act III begins, and the finality of
Hochstein’s decision to fight sets in, the tone shifts dramatically. What was a
fascinating look at a man at a crossroads becomes an unrelenting war epic, in
which Hochstein’s distinctive life and values are consumed (perhaps fittingly)
by the Great War. While this shift is understandable, it feels as if the
audience is watching two plays. Whereas the first play presents a clear plot
construction and an intriguing moral conundrum, the second play is dragged down
by its own heavy-handedness. In its admirable attempt to demonstrate the
devastating death toll that war exacts, Loeb’s drama becomes stuck in a morass,
in which the ultimate message of the play is obscured.
To its
credit, “Bravura” doesn’t make a moral judgment on Hochstein, and it doesn’t
tell the audience how it should feel about the musician’s fateful choices. But
the play doesn’t offer a consistent perspective on this matter, either. On the
one hand, the audience is meant to laud Hochstein’s bravery and heroism. On the
other hand, virtually all of the play’s other characters insist on the error of
his decision, which paints him as well-intentioned but ultimately misguided,
foolish, and even reckless. One especially heartbreaking scene shows Hochstein,
now a lieutenant, symbolically charging into battle with his men, violin in
hand.
In the end,
are we to praise Hochstein’s actions as “right,” or decry war and the way it
indiscriminately snuffs out lives such as Hochstein’s? Perhaps we’re meant to
feel both, but the ambiguity takes away from any larger takeaway, particularly
as it pertains to the Rochester musician’s legacy.
This article appears in Nov 14-20, 2018.
