Copenhagen ****

Uncertainty sits at the centre of Michael Frayn’s ambitious piece, Copenhagen.

Frayn’s play feels uncannily prescient, with Trump’s threats to destroy an entire culture dominating today’s political landscape.

Where does science end and philosophy begin? The splitting of the atom—the twentieth century’s seismic scientific achievement—ushers in the possibility of unprecedented destruction, forcing moral questions to be confronted.

By 1941, Nazi Germany had conquered most of Europe, including Denmark. The production of an atomic bomb seems to be only a matter of time, and the global race is on. The stakes are beyond high – the first to produce such a weapon would be well placed to destroy their enemies. It is doubtful that Hitler would have shown restraint.

Nazi ideology had driven many leading physicists from Germany, leaving Werner Heisenberg (Damien Molony) as its leading light. He travelled to Copenhagen to meet with Niels Bohr (Richard Schiff) and his wife Margrethe (Alex Kingston). A Nobel prize winner, Bohr was an expert in this field, while the formidable Margrethe had a master’s degree in mathematics.

Joanna Scotcher’s stage is striking: a backdrop of scattered hanging lamps and distorted glass, a circular stage containing two embedded turntables, sparsely furnished and flanked by water.

What follows is not a re-enactment of the famous 1941 meeting, however. Instead, the setting is akin to purgatory with a fragmented series of conversations between the protagonists, interspersed with their thoughts, mainly focussing on that meeting.

Bohr had refused to co-operate with the Nazis, fearing the obvious repercussions of Hitler procuring the bomb and resents Heisenberg’s presence. For her part, Margrethe does not trust Heisenberg.

Molony’s performance is assured, but despite Bohr and Heisenberg’s relationship being akin to father and son, the chemistry between Molony and Schiff never quite ignites. Kingston delivers a measured performance – in turns arbiter, narrator and participant, she anchors the play’s emotional core.

The turntables serve to inject dynamism into this long, intellectually challenging, but fascinating play, but moreover facilitating Bohr and Heisenberg’s jousting - at times converging, then drifting from each other with barely a glance, adeptly worked by director Michael Longhurst. The water is allegorical to the heavy water required as part of nuclear fission, but is also suggestive of the expanse of water in which one of the Bohrs’ children perished.

There are countless themes explored in Copenhagen, but none more than uncertainty. Heisenberg developed his famous Uncertainty Principle out of epistemological philosophy. Scientists pursue truth, while philosophers study and debate existential matters designed to understand the world. Their spheres of interest overlap, however: both disciplines consider the relationship between the observer and the observed and this is brought into focus when the two scientists meet in Bohr’s apartment. Their conversations are obviously being monitored by the Gestapo, so they go for walks to talk more freely, the observers having changed the behaviour of the observed, leaning into the Uncertainty Principle.

Frayn continues to ask why Heisenberg went to Copenhagen. Post-war accounts from both men diverge significantly. Herein lies a paradox: we have two of the most brilliant scientists of the day, with consummate attention to detail, who are unable to agree on the content of their conversations.

We may only speculate as to why this is; Copenhagen’s ambiguity poses questions which remain unanswered.