The physics of feelings
Play shows that science is often about fame rather than knowledge
Barb Stewart

It was one of the great mysteries of the Second World War.

In the fall of 1941, German physicist Werner Heisenberg made a trip to occupied Denmark to visit his friend and mentor, Neils Bohr, in Copenhagen. The reason behind the visit was, until recently, shrouded in secrecy, and whatever happened between the two resulted in the end of their friendship.

Why would a physicist working for the Nazis visit his half-Jewish friend in an occupied territory? The trip put both of them at risk.

At the time of the play’s writing in 1998, little was known about the why of this meeting, and Michael Frayn offers a fascinating glimpse into Heisenberg’s possible reasons for making the trip. What he also offers is an intriguing treatise on the nature of knowledge. Everything we think we know as fact is filtered through our own feelings, experiences and memories so that even ‘fact’ is a fluid point varying from person to person.

(In 2002, the Bohr family released 11 documents held at the Niels Bohr Archive, clearing up some of the mystery, but Copenhagen stands on its own nonetheless.)

Heisenberg (Ross McMillan); Bohr (Scott Hylands); and Bohr’s wife, Margrethe (Terri Cherniack), come together after their deaths to retell the story of that night, and with each telling we come to see the limitless possibilities and perspectives of the events of one single evening.

Did Heisenberg, who was involved with the German nuclear program, come to discuss with Bohr the humanitarian responsibilities of science? Did he come to brag, to show his former mentor that he was now Germany’s top scientist? Was he trying to get information from Bohr about the Allied nuclear

program? Was he trying to warn Bohr of the German nuclear program?

So many possibilities and no one correct answer. Frayn shows us human behaviour is never a simple, straight line flowing without distraction or disruption.

As Heisenberg, veteran Winnipeg actor McMillan deftly embodies the contradictions and confusion of the brilliant scientist whose love of his homeland, no matter its political actions, and scientific ambition lead to personal disaster.

Hyland’s Bohr is a wonderfully engaging and sympathetic character whose fatherly feelings toward Heisenberg are as complicated as any familial relationship. Bohr, as both Heisenberg and Margrethe state, is a good man, but even he ends up in Los Alamos, N.M., working on the atomic bomb.

Cherniack’s turn as Margrethe is compelling. Not a physicist, Margrethe nonetheless never wavers in support of her husband and tries valiantly to keep her own sense of truth. In the first half of the play, she seems a tad superfluous, as if there to force her husband and Heisenberg to speak about physics in plain language so she (and the audience) will understand.

In the second half, Margrethe’s true purpose comes to light. She unearths the complex dynamics among Bohr, Heisenberg and their fellow physicists, showing us that competition, jealousy and rage are just as much a part of great scientific discoveries as is the quest for knowledge. What we view as unbiased research may in fact be driven and shaped by egotism. Even the cold hard facts of science are steeped with emotion and fueled by passion.

Copenhagen shows us that nothing may be absolute in this world — but the way it unearths possibilities is captivating.