Thought-provoking and stirring wartime drama that’s superbly acted

WHAT would you do if your home and daily routine were taken over by your declared enemy?

This is the scenario at the heart of The Silence of the Sea, wherein a German officer is billeted with a middle-aged man and his niece in occupied France during the Second World War.

This production has found its way on to the Progress stage via a very convoluted route. The Silence of the Sea began as a novel by Jean Bruller, known as Vercors, based on his own experience. It was published clandestinely during the occupation.

Director Peter Cheeseman translated and adapted the text for the stage in Stoke-on-Trent in 1976.

In the audience for that production was Dorothy Gibert, who patiently tracked down the adaptation for today’s audience and expertly directed this production, supported by lighting from Jon Churchill and sound from Richard Saunders.

The uncle (Gareth Saunders) and his niece (Hanna Proskura) come home to their cosy living room, shaking the rain from their coats and hair. The uncle begins to narrate directly to the audience. Saunders is to be commended for his marvellous voice and masterful delivery.

A uniformed German officer (Leo Burke) arrives to take up residence in their home. He is stiffly polite; the uncle and his niece show him studied indifference. Their plan of resistance is to continue as if he doesn’t exist and not speak to him at all. The officer, however, does speak. Burke gently and convincingly reveals to us the man behind the uniform, a cultured man, looking for meaning and naively optimistic about the future of Europe.

He draws upon the story of Beauty and the Beast, seeing himself as the unwanted outsider in the home of a young woman he clearly admires.

Hanna Proskura’s role as the niece is a tough one. She says next to nothing but conveys volumes by wordless glowering from her chair as she fiercely knits and sews.

She is visibly softened when the young officer plays the piano but will not venture out of her mood of silent defiance. It’s likely that Proskura’s understanding of hostility is fuelled by her own experience since she arrived in England from Ukraine only in September.

Meanwhile, the uncle begins to harbour doubts about their path of silence and even admits to feeling concern for their young lodger, in spite of himself.

The officer’s trip to Paris is indicated by a powerful montage of photographs and video clips, showing Paris overrun by Nazis. He returns a changed man, shocked by what he has encountered, his optimism shattered.

This thought-provoking piece relies heavily on the superb cast of three: Saunders, pitch and pace perfect as the uncle; Proskura, spikily moving as the niece, confused by her own feelings; Burke, touchingly open as a sensitive man in the wrong uniform, yet visceral when expressing his later disillusionment.

Susan Creed