STAGE REVIEW : Bitterman’s ‘Ramp’ Just Scratches Surface of the Conscience

Shem Bitterman is a young man to watch, if only to make sure that he works just a little harder at creating his realities on stage and digs a little deeper than he is digging right now.

Bitterman’s “The Ramp,” which opened Saturday at South Coast Repertory, treads on slippery ground. Skates might even be the better verb to use. This co-runner-up in SCR’s 2nd annual new play Calfest (with Octavio Solis, who wrote the previously reviewed “Man of the Flesh”), has taken on a tough subject. He examines the profound and complex matter of individual conscience and responsibility in a society hell-bent on--how shall one put it?--keeping its genocides discreet.

The very contradiction in those terms lies at the heart of “The Ramp.” It introduces us to Heinrich (James R. Winker), a withdrawn, middle-aged German doctor who is assigned to a “hospital” in Poland during World War II. Heinrich--perhaps for good reason--is more in love with nature, which he ardently seeks out, than with people, whom he seems to avoid.

One day Heinrich meets Lotte (Pamela Gien) at the edge of a field. Lotte has a small farm and a 5-year-old son and shows Heinrich more affection than he’s had from anyone, except perhaps his mother. He is, in many ways (if we are to correctly interpret the letters he writes home to Ma), fixated on mother. This may partly account for the dream-world in which he resides and the reason he can’t always handle Lotte’s advances. It is definitely the reason his jaded and cynical camp colleague Fredrich (Norbert Weisser) is so impatient with his naivete.

We are, as you might have begun to suspect, in Auschwitz--though the dreaded word is spoken only once, and all we really hear of it is in the clacking of the trains relentlessly rolling in, one after another. And another. And another. (Michael Silversher’s sound design sends shivers through the room.)

Heinrich falls hopelessly in love with this young woman, until the angry Fredrich opens his eyes--pries them open--as to Lotte’s identity and her possible motives. But you can’t start to “see,” as Heinrich finally does, without acknowledging the entire field of vision. For the first time, Heinrich must admit to himself what it is he is doing in this tragic Polish outpost. The knowledge proves to be more than he can handle.

Bitterman has tackled his subject obliquely--always the wiser course. But the three-character play, in its effort to be indirect and haunting, remains a 90-minute exercise on one note. Many of its exchanges sound more earnestly designed for effect than passionately felt and honestly engendered.

This applies only to the writing, for the actors, if anything, are bending over backwards to make sure we “feel” this play. Under Steven D. Albrezzi’s direction, they deliver the right interpretations, but are allowed to whisper their lines more often than they speak them, frequently remaining nearly inaudible, even in the relatively modest confines of SCR’s Second Stage. A little of that can go a very long way.

Yet, fundamentally, it’s not the mechanics or the trappings of the production that are disturbing. Cliff Faulkner’s bare stage and swimming hole--eloquently lit by Tom Ruzika--presided over by a denuded tree and the suggestion of a forest in the distance, serve optimally. It is the skimming over of the issues. Whether Bitterman chose to tread a light fantastic with lines that often sound too calculated or too pat, or whether it is the attempt to deal with such an awesome mega-subject in a calculatedly mini-way, is difficult to assess from just one sitting.

The fact is that there is something if not shallow, then simplistic--almost dismissive--in this treatment. It’s a subject that requires depth and richness and ramification. Romulus Linney’s “2,” seen at the Humana Festival in March, dealt with an even more daunting and dangerous allied subject: Hermann Goering, trying to defend himself and the actions of the Reich at his Nuremberg trial. It managed to find wholly unexpected resonances for the character and create exceptionally gripping theater. But other examples aside, Bitterman is on the right track. What he needs now is to find the right compass.

At 655 Town Center Drive in Costa Mesa, Tuesdays through Saturdays, 8:30 p.m.; Sundays 8 p.m., with matinees Saturdays and Sundays at 3. Ends June 3. $20-$27; (714) 957-4033.