By John Lyle Belden

I hope that this finds you shortly after I post it – so you can see – or this is shared before the next production – so you can anticipate – the important intimate drama of “A Pink Triangle” by Kirby Taylor.

The title refers to the patch worn by LGBTQ prisoners in Nazi concentration camps. Holocaust histories typically mention the yellow Star of David worn by Jews while tending to note in passing others tortured and killed included Roma, Communists, other political prisoners, and homosexuals. While the effort to eradicate Jewish people cannot be understated, the Pink Triangles were held in lowest regard in the camps, their harsh treatment including horrific medical experiments.

In fact, there was a macabre rainbow of color patches for various prisoner classes, a reflection of the regime’s ruthless organization of cruelty.

Coincidentally, “A Pink Triangle” has a three-fold theme. The first, its setting, is the historical hell of wartime Auschwitz, portrayed in the gaunt, nervous, hungry actors in filthy, ill-fitting striped clothing we see before us. Second is the paranoid horror of their existence and the realization among us watching that so much of the context sounds like something familiar, even relevant to current events. Third, and most important, is that this is a tragic and poignant father-son moment.

Lars (Jim Melton) can barely walk, let alone be capable of literally back-breaking labor in the stone quarry, so he gets the ironic relief of working at his own pace literally shoveling excrement while awaiting a more horrific assignment to Block 10, where experiments are conducted. His pink patch has made him a pariah; even his father momentarily shows revulsion when he sees it.

Hans (Dave Ruark) works beside Lars, the guards apparently unaware they are related. His patch is green, indicating a criminal (possibly for his family’s black-market dealings; we find from their conversation that his wife remains free to secretly help their neighbors with food and essentials). In him we see what in hindsight we refer to the “Good German” who got along and even supported the Nazis until he, like the others he was willing to condemn, was seen as unfit. He has memories of the disastrous end of the first World War and accepted the propaganda of whom to blame for hardship. Now feeling no allegiance to Hitler, he keeps secret the fact that he plays trumpet even though that would grant him easier duty in a prison or military band.

Though this is thoroughly researched, including visits to Europe – Taylor admits she had only heard of Pink Triangle victims a couple of years ago – she emphasizes this is primarily a story of a father and his son making contact, seeking some sort of understanding in what could be the last time they see each other. As a result, she has scripted an incredibly natural hour-plus conversation. Its rough flow is not primarily to communicate to us (which cleverly it does) but rather as two people who share both an intimate bond and immense pain, each felt caused by the other. Issues unresolved and unresolvable are verbally danced around yet must be confronted: Why Clara is still free; feelings about older son/brother Freddie, who served and died for the Fatherland; who betrayed Lars to the Gestapo. Helping stitch these frayed threads of discourse are odd familial touchstones, like past meals, or an ugly yellow couch.

In her directing debut, Holocaust historian Amy Grove of the CANDLES Center in Terre Haute (founded by survivor Eva Kor) keeps the story firmly grounded in its living hell. Death literally stalks these men, and all others held there, which we hear in the bursts of nearby gunfire that occasionally punctuate the scene. It’s also in the eyes of those before us. Melton, who also masterfully applied hollowing makeup, gives Lars the darting expression of a trapped rodent. His moments of feigned bravado and apathy, spiced with black humor. are his sole defense against madness, as fatal resignation battles for hope in his battered psyche.  In Hans’ expression, there is a secretly defiant watchfulness that manifests its hope in constantly looking for ways to work any system he’s in. Apparently, even if he does not survive this – his frequent cough making this more of a possibility – it will literally be on his own terms.  

Though these are fictional characters, they represent real people. Thousands were sent to concentration and death camps under an anti-gay law that predated the Nazi regime but had been strengthened and strictly enforced. The current production of “A Pink Triangle” at The District Theatre includes an exhibition of prints from Pink Triangle Portraits, a project by artist Bryan Sharland to document in paintings every queer victim of the Holocaust of which there is an available photo (including more recent pictures of survivors).

A necessary and overdue examination of a dark chapter of LGBTQ history – and human history – remaining Indianapolis performances of “A Pink Triangle” are 7:30 p.m. today (as we post this) and 4 p.m. Sunday (June 27-28) on the intimate Brian Payne Theatre (second stage) at the District Theatre, 627 Massachusetts Ave. Get tickets at IndyDistrictTheatre.org.