Kat Skarbek🥉🦉

I went into this production of The Diary of Anne Frank as I suspect many others did, knowing the loose story – the discovery of a young girl’s journal narrating life in hiding during the German occupation of Amsterdam – but not, perhaps, having read the book itself.

From the moment the lights go up on the small, cluttered space, drowned by shadows both literal and figurative, this production captures with painful accuracy the claustrophobia of several families living in forced confinement. They survive on ever more meagre rations and heavily edited news brought by their kindly protectors, who attempt to shield them from the worst of what is happening outside. The constant threat of discovery sits like a weighted blanket over every scene, adding a quiet but relentless tension as each family struggles to remain hopeful, generous and kind while their world shrinks day by day.

The ensemble work is strong. Otto Frank stands as a pillar of spiritual fortitude: humble, strong and deeply kind, bearing the circumstances with a remarkable evenness of temper. In contrast, Mr Van Daan is angry, argumentative and more than a little selfish, his frustrations simmering beneath the surface until he explodes with increasing frequency as the interminable incarceration continues. The dentist, last to arrive at the safe haven, is anxious, pessimistic and at times almost nihilistic, his moments of brutal honesty tipping the families into near hysteria. Together they offer a convincing portrait of people reacting to unimaginable pressure in very human ways.

At the emotional centre of the story is Anne herself, portrayed as robust, energetic and mischievous. She pushes against authority in the way only a teenager can, and her relationship with her father forms the soft heart of the play: he is her safe harbour, the one person who truly sees her. Her relationship with her mother, by contrast, is distant and strained in a way that will feel painfully familiar to many parents of teenagers.

What struck me most was how modern Anne feels. She believes she is far more enlightened than the generations before her but does not always see her own shortcomings. She misunderstands her mother and pushes back against rules and expectations around demeanour and behaviour. In short, she is exactly like the young people we know today, which somehow makes her fate even harder to absorb. Despite the fear surrounding her, Anne’s spirit remains largely undimmed – though the night scenes reveal a more complex reality. She suffers terrible nightmares about being taken by the Green Police, waking screaming in the small hours, exposing the terror beneath her bravado while also highlighting the remarkable way the young still manage to feel invincible even in the face of great danger.

One line stays with you long after the curtain falls. Anne remarks that they are living in a way that no young people ever have before. It calls to mind our own young people, living through a time of unprecedented advancement and enormous divisive change. It is a sobering thought: that humanity can move forward in so many ways and yet still find itself circling back towards division, fear, greed and cruelty.

What I found particularly moving was the moment at the end of the first half when the family sing the Hanukkah song. It brought a genuine tear to my eye, witnessing these families – hunted, discriminated against, living under the ever-present threat of the concentration camps – still finding a moment to express gratitude and companionship. When you consider the enormous suffering happening in the world right now and the bitter irony of it, the moment lands with even greater emotional force.

The second half carries a fragile sense of hope. The allies have landed and liberation seems almost within reach after two long years of hiding. For a moment, the audience allows itself to breathe – to believe that all will be well. Then they are discovered. The families are taken away, dispersed among the concentration camps, and we all know the terrible ending that follows.

The play is also quietly funny at times, particularly in its portrayal of family dynamics. It is remarkable how little has changed in the relationships between mothers and daughters or fathers and sons, even when history itself is collapsing outside the door.

Overall, whilst not the most polished of performances, the production is surprisingly moving. It leaves the audience with a renewed sense of gratitude for freedoms so easily taken for granted and prompts a quieter reflection on our own daily lives. For two years these families felt no wind on their faces, had no privacy, no freedom to step outside and almost no information from the outside world. Today we consume a constant stream of news, commentary and noise until we are utterly overwhelmed by it. Perhaps this ceaseless input is what keeps us over-aware but still underactive when it comes to shaping our own futures. I cannot help but wonder whether any of us would make as good a job of surviving that stillness as they did.

In the end, this is not only a historical story. It is a timely reminder of the fragility of freedom and of the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit. And perhaps, like Anne Frank, given everything that is currently unfolding in our world, we are all still quietly clinging to the same two poignant words.

I hope.

To book tickets to The Diary of Anne Frank, please visit https://www.athenaeumtheatre.com.au/shows/the-diary-of-anne-frank.

Photographer: Amanda Humphreys

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