Ella Stevens and Samuel Adams Photo by Todd Cerveris

Based on her 1934 novel, Carson's play is receiving its American premiere by New York's indispensable Mint Theater Company, and it offers a portentous depiction of the rising tide of fascism and its effects on a middle-class family in a small Bavarian village. Although written several years before Kristallnacht–a 1938 watershed moment–Crooked Cross reflects a world teetering on the edge. Directed by Jonathan Bank, who also adapted (cutting extraneous characters and tweaking dialogue, for instance), the drama's value lies more in its historical significance than its literary merit.

The title refers to the swastika, the symbol of the Nazi party, and the play is set in 1932 and 1933. It focuses primarily on the romance between Lexa Kluger (Ella Stevens), a Christian, and Moritz Weissmann (Samuel Adams), a Jewish doctor. The young lovers valiantly carry on surreptitiously as the political forces begin to tear them apart, particularly from within Lexa's own family. The ominous threat is intensified by her own brothers, Helmy (Gavin Michaels) and Erich (Jakob Winter), who become increasingly more active in the Party.

Undeniably, the play's themes resonate with the current national mood as it seems that, like Europe in the early 1930s, this country is on the cusp of something–whatever that might be. Among current-events-weary audience members, there was a collective moment of shared familiarity when Lexa opines to Moritz: "Do you think they'll still talk politics in Heaven? Now every day, at home, everywhere, everyone, even Helmy - nothing but politics, politics." Even Lexa's parents (Liam Craig and Katie Firth), who represent the older generation and are initially resistant to the youth movement, reluctantly get swept up in the nationalist movement. Looking back to the comparatively carefree pre-World War I era, Herr Kluger says nostalgically, "I'd like to go back to the days before the war. Nothing but fuss all the time."

The play has the ingredients for a searing anti-Nazi drama (such as Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine), or a crackling propagandistic melodrama that Hollywood churned out in the 1940s and which Charles Busch spoofed in The Lady in Question. But the components ultimately don't cohere.

Part of the problem is in the writing. As a neophyte dramatist, Carson's scenes often meander, and they conclude with a whimper instead of a bang. It's telling that at the performance I attended, the audience sat in silence for a few moments after the final curtain–not due to shock, but rather uncertainty as to whether or not the play had come to an end.

Unfortunately, the production elements exacerbate some of the dramaturgical shortcomings. The performers still seemed to be finding their way into their characters at the performance I attended; consequently, there is not sufficient chemistry between the lovers nor compelling filial bonds among the siblings.

Additionally, the play and production share a cinematic quality, which is used to varying degrees of effectiveness through musical underscoring (by Emma Weiss, the music director, and Sean Hagerty, the sound designer), atmospheric lighting (Christian DeAngelis), and a scenic Alpine projection (Joey Moro). (Hunter Kaczorowski's costumes efficiently capture the epoch.)

Undercutting this filmic approach, though, is Alexander Woodward's constraining scenic design. To accommodate the four separate settings–for the nine shifting scenes–a revolving set forces a great deal of the action into a limited space downstage. Ultimately, the bigness of the play's themes and passions are stifled by the conflicting theatrics.

Still, if not completely successful, the play has much to say almost ninety years later. Two years before Crooked Cross opened in London, the Federal Theatre Project presented It Can't Happen Here, an adaptation of Sinclair Lewis's novel about authoritarianism taking root in the United States. Then and now, theatre can provide a valuable perspective on our past, present, and avoidable future.