REVIEW: THE ALBUM THAT WOULDN'T STAY CLOSED
REVIEW: THE ALBUM THAT WOULDN'T STAY CLOSED
IN HERE THERE ARE BLUEBERRIES, A CACHE OF SMILING FACES FROM AUSCHWITZ BECOMES A SEARING ACT OF THEATRICAL EXCAVATION, AND A RECKONING WE CANNOT LOOK AWAY FROM
IN HERE THERE ARE BLUEBERRIES, A CACHE OF SMILING FACES FROM AUSCHWITZ BECOMES A SEARING ACT OF THEATRICAL EXCAVATION, AND A RECKONING WE CANNOT LOOK AWAY FROM
★★★★★
★★★★★
There are evenings in the theatre that entertain, evenings that impress, and then there are evenings that alter the temperature of the room — that leave the audience suspended in a silence so dense it feels almost sacred. Here There Are Blueberries, the extraordinary new play by Moisés Kaufman and Amanda Gronich, is one of those rare works that does not simply tell history — it exhumes it.
There are evenings in the theatre that entertain, evenings that impress, and then there are evenings that alter the temperature of the room — that leave the audience suspended in a silence so dense it feels almost sacred. Here There Are Blueberries, the extraordinary new play by Moisés Kaufman and Amanda Gronich, is one of those rare works that does not simply tell history — it exhumes it.
The play is based on the true story of a photo album discovered in Germany in 1946 and, decades later, in 2007, brought to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Believed to have belonged to SS-Obersturmführer Karl Höcker, the album contains images of high-ranking Nazi officers and Helferinnen — young female clerical workers — smiling, laughing, picking blueberries, lounging in the sun. They are at Auschwitz.
The play is based on the true story of a photo album discovered in Germany in 1946 and, decades later, in 2007, brought to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Believed to have belonged to SS-Obersturmführer Karl Höcker, the album contains images of high-ranking Nazi officers and Helferinnen — young female clerical workers — smiling, laughing, picking blueberries, lounging in the sun. They are at Auschwitz.
And that is the shattering contradiction at the heart of this play.
And that is the shattering contradiction at the heart of this play.
Kaufman and Gronich do not sensationalize the material. Instead, they dramatize the meticulous research undertaken by archivist Rebecca Erbelding and her team at the museum as they analyze the photographs, identify the individuals, and piece together the context. The stage becomes a living archive — a space where scholarship, memory, and moral reckoning collide.
Kaufman and Gronich do not sensationalize the material. Instead, they dramatize the meticulous research undertaken by archivist Rebecca Erbelding and her team at the museum as they analyze the photographs, identify the individuals, and piece together the context. The stage becomes a living archive — a space where scholarship, memory, and moral reckoning collide.
What makes Here There Are Blueberries so astonishing is its restraint. The play invites us — almost dangerously — to look at these images without the protective shield of abstraction. We see perpetrators smiling, flirting, and relaxing. We see youth, camaraderie, and even joy. For fleeting moments, the production implicates us in an unsettling recognition: they look human.
What makes Here There Are Blueberries so astonishing is its restraint. The play invites us — almost dangerously — to look at these images without the protective shield of abstraction. We see perpetrators smiling, flirting, and relaxing. We see youth, camaraderie, and even joy. For fleeting moments, the production implicates us in an unsettling recognition: they look human.
But the play never permits moral confusion.
But the play never permits moral confusion.
These photographs were taken during one of the most horrific periods at Auschwitz — the height of the Hungarian deportations, when the gas chambers were operating at full capacity. Thousands upon thousands of Jews were murdered as these images were captured. The leisure depicted in the album existed alongside industrialized extermination. The contrast is unbearable — and that unbearable tension is precisely what the play refuses to soften.
These photographs were taken during one of the most horrific periods at Auschwitz — the height of the Hungarian deportations, when the gas chambers were operating at full capacity. Thousands upon thousands of Jews were murdered as these images were captured. The leisure depicted in the album existed alongside industrialized extermination. The contrast is unbearable — and that unbearable tension is precisely what the play refuses to soften.
In its final movement, when the Auschwitz Album is discussed and contextualized, the audience is reminded with devastating clarity that whatever glimpses of humanity these images seem to offer do not mitigate the atrocities committed. If anything, they deepen the horror. The banality is not neutral; it is damning.
In its final movement, when the Auschwitz Album is discussed and contextualized, the audience is reminded with devastating clarity that whatever glimpses of humanity these images seem to offer do not mitigate the atrocities committed. If anything, they deepen the horror. The banality is not neutral; it is damning.
Kaufman and Gronich have achieved something astonishing: they have transformed archival investigation into edge-of-your-seat theatre. The act of research becomes dramatic. Identification of a face becomes a revelation. A caption becomes an indictment. The process of asking, “Who were they?” evolves into the more urgent question: “How do we live with what we now see?”
Kaufman and Gronich have achieved something astonishing: they have transformed archival investigation into edge-of-your-seat theatre. The act of research becomes dramatic. Identification of a face becomes a revelation. A caption becomes an indictment. The process of asking, “Who were they?” evolves into the more urgent question: “How do we live with what we now see?”
This is theatre as civic ritual.
This is theatre as civic ritual.
Throughout the performance, I found myself thinking of my late grandfather, who was endlessly fascinated by the history of the Second World War. He was not a theatre man — rarely stepped inside one — but this is precisely the kind of production that would have drawn him in. Not because it is theatrical in the conventional sense, but because it is urgent, intelligent, and presented with such clarity of purpose that it transcends genre. It is the kind of play that makes history breathe — and ache.
Throughout the performance, I found myself thinking of my late grandfather, who was endlessly fascinated by the history of the Second World War. He was not a theatre man — rarely stepped inside one — but this is precisely the kind of production that would have drawn him in. Not because it is theatrical in the conventional sense, but because it is urgent, intelligent, and presented with such clarity of purpose that it transcends genre. It is the kind of play that makes history breathe — and ache.
And that may be its greatest achievement. It reminds us that history is not static. It is incomplete, awaiting re-examination, re-contextualization, and challenge. Plays like this should be discussed in classrooms, lecture halls, and staged in theatres around the world. They should inspire writers to dig into archives, to uncover overlooked stories, to interrogate photographs and footnotes alike. Documentary theatre, in the hands of artists like Kaufman and Gronich, is not merely a form — it is a moral act.
And that may be its greatest achievement. It reminds us that history is not static. It is incomplete, awaiting re-examination, re-contextualization, and challenge. Plays like this should be discussed in classrooms, lecture halls, and staged in theatres around the world. They should inspire writers to dig into archives, to uncover overlooked stories, to interrogate photographs and footnotes alike. Documentary theatre, in the hands of artists like Kaufman and Gronich, is not merely a form — it is a moral act.
Live theatre has a singular power. Film can show us these images. Books can analyze them. Museums can display them. But sitting in a darkened auditorium, breathing the same air as strangers while confronting the evidence together — that creates conversation. It compels engagement. It demands reflection long after the curtain falls.
Live theatre has a singular power. Film can show us these images. Books can analyze them. Museums can display them. But sitting in a darkened auditorium, breathing the same air as strangers while confronting the evidence together — that creates conversation. It compels engagement. It demands reflection long after the curtain falls.
This is only February, and yet I struggle to imagine another production this year that will match the quiet ferocity of this play. It is the finest play I have seen so far in 2026 — and one I suspect will linger with me for years.
This is only February, and yet I struggle to imagine another production this year that will match the quiet ferocity of this play. It is the finest play I have seen so far in 2026 — and one I suspect will linger with me for years.
If you can, make your way to see this production. What awaits you is not simply a play, but a reckoning.
If you can, make your way to see this production. What awaits you is not simply a play, but a reckoning.
Here There Are Blueberries - Theatre Royal Stratford East
Attended on 17 February 2026