Review: Auriga Productions' THE LAST TESTAMENT OF RUDOLF HESS stirs more questions than it's willing to answer

The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess

By: Dennis Richard

Directed by: Bert Pigg

Produced by: Auriga Productions

(P)eople often talk as if the ‘annihilation’ of a soul were intrinsically possible. In all our experience, however, the destruction of one thing means the emergence of something else…To enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth; to enter hell, is to be banished from humanity.

C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain, 1962

Audience Rating: PG-13

Running Time: 45 minutes

Accessible Seating: Available

Hearing Devices: Not Available

Sensory Friendly Showing: Not Available

ASL Showing: Not Available

Sound Level: Comfortable volume

Audio/Visuals to Prepare For: Implications of suicide, sound of Third Reich marching and cheering

Reviewed by Kyle Lester

What defines your legacy? Of all the actions and milestones in your life so far, which ones do you think others will remember you by? Do our motivations ever truly matter, or are we simply the aggregate total of our most impactful moments, presented without comment? This question lies as the center of Auriga Productions’ premier of The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess, written by Dennis Richard and Directed by Bert Pigg. For those unfamiliar with Rudolf’s story, don’t feel too bad. He’s a fairly well-known historical figure, but a far cry from a household name to anyone under age 70. In brief, Rudolf Hess was a Nazi. He was such a Nazi, in fact, that he’s credited with being Hitler’s scribe and editor for Mein Kampf. He was also second in command of the Third Reich before he fell from Hitler’s good(?) graces. His journey down the Nazi hierarchy was accompanied by his ill-fated solo flight to Scotland, ostensibly to negotiate a peace with Great Britain on the eve of Germany’s invasion of Russia. He was arrested upon landing (because of course he was,) Hitler blew one of the few gaskets he had left, the Nazis disowned him, and Hess spent the remainder of World War II in English custody. The famous Nuremberg Tribunal eventually sentenced him to life in Spandau Prison, half of which he spent as its sole occupant until his 1987 death by suicide.

It is here that we begin our fascinating character examination. The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess opens with a view of its understated, minimalist set: a room with two chairs seated on opposite sides, and a small table with a lamp in between them. Already occupying one seat is Elsa (Sara Rachelle,) staring at the room’s entrance with dog-like focus. The motive for her presence is not readily apparent, as Director Bert Pigg denies his audience the comforting detail of a uniform, ID badge, or briefcase to frame her visit. Similarly, Elsa’s nondescript, gray pant-suit refuses to placate the audience’s curiosity as her quiet intensity radiates from an otherwise still presence. 

Within seconds, the eponymous Hess limps feebly onto the set with his cane and a folded newspaper. He is surprised by Elsa’s appearance, but nonetheless moves with resigned banality, as if he were merely shuffling to a family dinner. His cautious movement and tight grip on his cane befit his age, distrustful of his own body’s ability to hold him up. Punctuated by a throat-clearing grunt, he unfurls his newspaper with a *THWACK*. This nightly orchestra of his would seem completely suitable in another life, with elder Hess snoring blissfully in his favorite recliner while his grandchildren make ice cream in the kitchen. But this isn’t another life. The nonagenarian remains unaccompanied by the stereotypical cherished family memories of a patriarch in his last years. This is because Hess’ chaotic life effectively ended 46 years before. Locked in a modern-day oubliette, he is simply a dead man who has yet to take his final curtain.

Rashelle’s Elsa serves as the obvious catalyst for the script, and her youthful energy is the perfect foil to Hess’ weariness. She is presented as an unremarkable presence, yet she is incredibly unsettling. Elsa seems intent on revving Hess like an antique car engine, initially dangling the possibility of a full pardon in front of him before probing deeper. To sell his freedom to the world, she explains, they have to sell him – who he is, why he did what he did and, most importantly, how he feels about it now.

Rashelle’s spirited performance is one of the most effective parts of this deceptively layered story. While their conversation hits all the right notes of a woman looking for answers and (perhaps) hope, it never feels natural between the two. Elsa’s apparent earnestness is too calculated. Too controlled. Too manipulative. She is at once an avid supporter who encourages Hess’ absolution while also reminding him (and us) of the irrefutable destruction laid justifiably at his feet. In the hands of a lesser actor, these opposing insights would give the audience whiplash. With Rashelle’s performance, however, they give Rudolf clarity. Even though we can’t place who Elsa is, we increasingly become aware of why she is. Rudolf Hess has had 46 years of confinement to craft his own valediction. Now it’s time to say it out loud. 

Portrayed masterfully by Stephen Gruwell, Hess is a living contradiction. We have all the details of his past and are painfully aware of their ramifications, but those facts paint a caricature of evil rather than a pitiable human being who did unspeakable things. The script uses its dialogue to juxtapose Hess’ intrinsic humanity and with his unapologetic maleficence, asking the audience to reconcile the two in one complete person. Hess himself is incredibly uncomfortable with this. Guided by Elsa’s examination, he frequently oscillates from being relatable and introspective to passionately fighting for his own exoneration. It seems that just as we see a glimpse of Rudolf the man, Deputy Fuhrer Hess builds a wall of self-righteous indignation. He speaks of forgiveness, yet longs for something different. Something that requires nothing more from him than what’s already been taken. He wants vindication. He wields the tale of his flight to Scotland like a sword, as if his involvement in millions of deaths should be listed with an asterisk that says, “But he once tried to broker peace.” In one of the show’s most profound moments, Elsa reminds Hess that, had his mission been successful, he may very well have been a hero fit for the Nobel Prize. Another life would have placed him in that favorite recliner, dozing off as his Nobel award gleamed from his mantle. Unfortunately for Rudolf, that life is nothing more than vapor, desperately coveted but profoundly unobtainable.

The way Director Bert Pigg and his actors craft their understated tone is brilliant. All of the puzzle pieces interlock perfectly, yet we’re not sure if we believe the picture. This is on purpose, because The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess isn’t here to answer questions. It’s here to challenge those who would. A routine-looking set, a weathered old man, a historical atrocity, a mysterious visitor…they all beg the audience to fill in the gaps with their own biases before getting ripped apart. The show’s delicate atmosphere relies on this tactic. Before a word is spoken, we are presented with ordinary set-pieces that barely mask what lies beneath. There are no obvious reminders of where we actually are – no prison doors, barred windows, or guards stationed nearby. Aside from a dated newspaper clipping on the wall and occasional war-time audio, the meager set could just as easily be a small apartment or nursing home. But slowly the cracks begin to show and the questions mount. 

The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess sports a brisk 45-minute run time, and the closing curtain arrives before you know it. In that span, we witness our characters scrutinize the humanity of someone who fantasized about leading a revolutionary geopolitical movement but ended up being its inglorious, frail demise instead. Once the dust settles, the question remains: what are we to do with a man who is at once painfully human, yet cast as the unflinching effigy against intolerable evil? Is it our duty to acknowledge the imperfect, wayward soul rotting away with his irrevocable decisions, or do we simply allow him to be the black-and-white bookend the world requires? Perhaps even more poignantly, what is he to do with that? I’ll give you a hint: there is no “right” answer, there is simply the one you are most comfortable with. Because no matter your take, Rudolf’s fate was written long ago. 

In 1900, Rudolf Hess was a child. In 1911, he was a student. He would go on to become a decorated war hero, a pilot, a revolutionary and politician, a husband and father, a murderer, an emissary, and finally, a prisoner. By 1987, Rudolf Hess was nothing more than a dead man with a heartbeat.

Random kudo to the production team:
The choice to have Elsa and Rudolf speak with a generically European accent rather than trying their hand at German was wise. Director Bert Pigg allows for very German pronunciations of certain words, such a “Fuhrer” and “Reich” to remind us of the context, but he avoids the pitfall of over-relying on an accent that all too often devolves into a parody of itself.

The Last Testament of Rudolf Hess finished a limited engagement in Dallas and is set to follow that up with another in Fort Worth from March 6-14 at

Artes de la Rosa Cultural Center for the Arts 1440 N Main St Fort Worth, TX 76164 March 6, 13, 14 at 7:30 pm March 8 at 2:00 pm

Tickets can be found at ticketleap.events/tickets/auriga-productions

Cheers, and I’ll see you at the next curtain,

Kyle