Eddie Jaku was an Auschwitz survivor who wrote The Happiest Man on Earth after escaping to Australia. Despite experiencing unimaginable cruelty, betrayal, and devastation during the war, he showcased the profoundness of hope and altruism through his memoir and numerous public speaking engagements.
With Jaku having already shared so much of himself, what should we expect from a theatrical adaptation that draws from the same material? Would it be an awkward imitation of the original, or could it be something more cutting-edge, revealing a Jaku we wouldn’t normally see?
Written by Mark St Germain and directed by Ron Lagomarsino, the theatrical adaptation of The Happiest Man on Earth has its European debut at the Southwark Playhouse Borough. Disappointingly, despite starring Kenneth Tigar as Jaku in this one-man monologue, the production fails to either capture Jaku’s incredible qualities such his kindness, resilience, and compassion, or explore deeply into his internal world.
Basically, the play is a faithful recounting of the book in chronological order, following Jaku’s life journey from his happy childhood in Germany through the rise of the Nazi regime, his experiences in the camps, his survival and liberation, and a nibble of his post-war life. There is little structural or dramaturgical innovation of the narrative that could better interweave his post-war loving happiness with his tumultuous past in Europe.
Tigar adopts a tightly controlled, condensed performance style that reinforces the image of a victimised Jaku, though it might be a deliberate directorial choice. For most of his time onstage, he appears unsettled, walking with great tension, his hands trembling incessantly as if carrying the weight of untold anguish. His head jerks subtly but frequently, as if still haunted. Together with Brendan Aanes’s horrifying soundscape and Harold Burgess’s omnipresent yet random lighting, Tigar’s Jaku feels emotionally fragile with lingering trauma, an image that caters to the public’s expectation of a stereotyped Holocaust survivor. This is an image starkly contrasts the real Jaku, who always smiled warmly, always telling his stories with peace and calm.
The few seemingly “happy” moments come through awkward attempts at audience engagement, forcing humour that feels inconsistent and out of place within the production. Tigar greets the audience naturally before the show, but all of a sudden, the lights abruptly dim and he launches into Jaku’s life story. This abruptness and inconsistence recur throughout the play: one moment he is recounting the past, the next he is delivering us a sudden sermon on friendship or family by quoting Jaku’s original words. And then again, with no sign of transition, he leaves the audience in the dark auditorium and continues the recounting. Without smoother transitions, these shifts feel jarring and disjointed in terms of balancing direct address and normal acting.
These issues culminate in an over-packed production that feels like a constant running stream of intensity, leaving little room for emotional highlights or climactic moments. For instance, a scene where Jaku seeks refuge in a Polish man’s barn, only to be shot in the calf and forced to sneak back into Auschwitz, could have been deeply touching. However, the lack of emotional buildup and the unrelenting pace of the performance fail to deliver the moment the weight and empathy it deserves.
In the end, this adaptation feels more like a missed opportunity. It neither explores Jaku’s internal complexity nor captures the warmth and optimism that defined him, leaving the essence of The Happiest Man on Earth out of reach.
Listings and ticket information can be found here
