THEATER REVIEW

Although a life of science can be lonely, this is of little consequence when there is the chance to discover the secrets of life.

In Fountain Theatre’s production of “Photograph 51,” a play about the woman behind the double helix, Rosalind Franklin, we see that science can be the most cut-throat profession of all.

The competition comes from the chase for the structure of DNA, which in the 1950s was yet to be known as the hereditary material sought after by geneticists.  This period is when Maurice Wilkins of King’s College London brought in expert X-ray diffraction biophysicist Franklin to do work on his best sample of DNA. The play centers on the leaking of Franklin’s data to James Watson and Francis Crick, who use them to construct the model of DNA that won them a Nobel prize, which they share with Wilkins but not Franklin.

If Anna Ziegler’s play is a reenactment of the past, the play within the play reenacts the past for each character in it. For example, Wilkins imagines what it would be like to have gone into the Phoenix Theatre to see “The Winter’s Tale,” and makes believe that Franklin would have fallen in love with him. Later, Wilkins imagines what would happen if Franklin told her love interest, Casper, her true feelings about him before she gets sick from ovarian cancer.

None of these scenarios made it into history because none of them actually happened. Ziegler tells us that what Franklin did for the history of science happened, although it is not history.

The play’s primary focus is on Franklin, who is portrayed with an expert verisimilitude by Aria Alpert. Everything, including her hair, her expressions and her lonely existence, is captured by Alpert, who also conveys the sense of curiosity that drove Franklin to science, such as the refrain that she makes in seeing the “shape of things.” Franklin is the only character in the play with no regrets. When Wilkins announces Watson and Crick’s model to Franklin, her reaction is not to ask why she couldn’t solve the problem first and claim credit. Her reaction is one of excitement that the puzzle has finally been solved.

There aren’t many plays about science, but “Photograph 51” is as good as it gets. It captures an exemplary student-professor relationship between Ray Gosling and Franklin.

Gosling mentions when first meeting his advisor that graduate students are like liquid, because they conform to the vessel of their advisers, a notion that holds true today. Another point about science comes when Franklin sits on her data, blissfully unaware that there is any competition going on.

Instead of including mistakes and publishing early, she waits until she is absolutely certain. Watson and Franklin’s competing views on how to do science are inherent in today’s scientific world. One can theorize and conjecture, or one can attempt to capture absolute certainty. The former was rewarded with a Nobel prize.

At first glance, Ziegler’s play should be about the rediscovery of a scientific pioneer. But the play invites us to misunderstand it.

“Photograph 51” is much less about a subject of controversy as it is about a life in science, taking its example from one who has been discriminated against and has little opportunity.

Yet, the curiosity to seek the understanding never goes away, even when Franklin is badgered by unethical colleagues, tempted by homely comforts, and confronted ultimately by her own mortality. Franklin died of a tumor, most likely cause by the X-ray laboratory.

While the ensemble that interprets Franklin’s life gives understated performances, it is Alpert’s portrayal of Franklin that stands out. In a play about science, it can be difficult to capture attention, but Ziegler and director Simon Levy make it smooth sailing even without an intermission.

Much of that success may be due to the interpersonal relationships among scientists that are emotionally conveyed by Daniel Billet, Ian Gould and Alpert. Gould, for example, looks, behaves and talks like James Watson.

His personality matches that of a hot-shot scientist, and his arrogance comes through easily. Gould is as real a Watson as one could imagine.

After all, authenticity matters in science, too.