Writer: Michael Frayn
Director: Michael Longhurst
The Hampstead Theatre has had much-needed commercial success of late in sell-out, star-powered revivals of works by that grand old man of contemporary British ‘theatre of ideas’, Tom Stoppard. Why not try the same trick with that other pillar of the genre, Michael Frayn? Why not, indeed. It is hard to find a spare ticket for Michael Longhurst’s much-anticipated production of the venerable writer’s Copenhagen, the first in London since its original National Theatre production in 1998. So, at one level, Hampstead’s bet has paid off.
Longhurst’s production is certainly clever, almost self-consciously so, and Frayn – now in his 90’s and a spritely presence at press night – has a rare capacity to make complex scientific and philosophical ideas more or less comprehensible. The piece looks stunning, courtesy of shimmering set design from Joanna Scotcher, but, gosh, does one yearn for some Stoppardian linguistic fireworks in what is a cerebral, demanding, and dense evening of talk, talk, talk.
It is 1941 in occupied Denmark. Renowned German physicist and originator of quantum mechanics, Werner Heisenberg (Damien Molony gets the best of the evening), journeys to Copenhagen to meet the Danish “Pope” of atomic physics, Niels Bohr (Richard Schiff) and his wife, Margrethe (Alex Kingston).
Long-time friends, collaborators, and competitors, the two scientists have something of a father-son relationship – parts of Copenhagen feel like sitting in on a hyper-erudite family squabble, with Margrethe trying in vain to keep the peace. “This is going to be a deeply awkward occasion”, Heisenberg tells us. Given that Bohr is half-Jewish and living under observation by the Gestapo, one can see why. The two men go for a walk. After 10 minutes, Bohr returns home in a rage, affronted at the direction Heisenberg’s questions are taking.
Fast-forward to an indeterminate point in the afterlife, where “now we’re all dead and gone”. The ghostly spirits of the three protagonists revisit that day’s events over three consecutive iterations to test their recollections and interrogate each other’s motivations. Bohr originated, and Frayn riffs on the complementarity principle in atomic physics: the idea that contradictory versions of the same truth can all be valid, even though you can only see one of them at any given moment.
Is Heisenberg there to warn Bohr, 16 years his senior and in covert contact with the allies, about his research? Is he seeking moral absolution for actions he knows might lead to a German atomic bomb? Is he trying to pump Bohr for fission research that might prove useful? Is he deliberately sabotaging Nazi research by failing to do vital calculations, or is he simply unaware they are needed? Each contrasting set of recollections shifts and revises the focus, without reaching a definitive conclusion. Frayn’s point is that the more we revisit a specific moment in history, the more its truth becomes blurred. Heisenberg’s visit remains a mystery not for lack of data, but because of the inherent fallibility of human memory.
Reworking the past to find a version that the three participants and observers can agree on proves to be a fool’s errand. Bohr eventually helps Oppenheimer develop the bomb dropped at Hiroshima, while Heisenberg ends up killing nobody, suggesting that finding agreement on moral culpability will be equally difficult. Perhaps unsurprisingly for a 2-hour 45-minute piece about moral dilemmas and sometimes impenetrable nuclear physics, the drama is most accessible when it shifts into the realm of the domestic.
Molony’s edgy, intuitive, move-fast-and-break-things Heisenberg is clearly no Nazi ideologue (the performance, though the most assured of the trio, threatens to veer into ‘tech bro’ territory). One senses that some of his determination to undertake research into nuclear fission stems from a misplaced desire to outgrow the shadow of his mentor. Strip back the mathematics, and there is an Oedipal struggle for paternal approval at play here.
Kingston’s angsty, feisty Margrethe counters the men’s dry science with human emotions, though she happily takes both down a peg or two when necessary. Schiff’s Bohr is tremendous, too – slow, deliberate precision on the surface, but underneath, there is vanity and self-regard.
Scotcher’s set is gorgeously evocative of an afterlife dominated by science and time. Bulbs hang low from the ceiling like so many flashing atomic particles (Neil Austin’s lighting design is first class throughout). A central circular revolving dais, edged in strip light and immersed in liquid, is etched with what could either be a clock face or an image of an atom. Complimentarily suggests it is probably both, and equally probably neither.
Runs until 2 May 2026
The Reviews Hub Star Rating
70%
Ghost theatre of ideas