Patrick Page, Jason Sanchez, Adrien Rolet, Jake Berne, and Kristine Nielsen in Archduke. Photo: Joan Marcus

“Who’s gonna remember me?” asks Gavrilo (Jake Berne) near the end of the first act of Rajiv Joseph’s surprisingly current and strangely compelling new play Archduke, now playing at the Roundabout’s Laura Pels Theater. Like the more famous figures of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, these characters are driven by, even obsessed with, how future generations will view them. But unlike America’s founding fathers, whose every stride seemed to bring them closer to immortality, Joseph’s confused and ineffectual aspiring assassins stumble into the history books almost against their will, making Archduke sharply funny and deeply tragic.  

Action starts with an encounter between soon-to-be historical footnotes Gavrilo and Nedeljko (Jason Sanchez), both destitute and dying of consumption. In a very Godot-like setup, they discuss their rapidly approaching mortality, the search for meaning in life, and sandwiches, all while waiting to rendezvous with a man they know nothing about for a purpose they are equally ignorant of. When Trifko (Adrien Rolet) finally arrives, he hints at their purpose–violence. But it is only when the trio arrives at the house of Captain Apis (Patrick Page) and his cat-despising housekeeper Sladjana (Kristine Nielsen) that they learn what is being asked of them: the assassination of Austria’s Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, Sophie. The captain and Sladjana ply the hapless youths with food and wine and sweets (and, later, horrifyingly, kitten hearts) and promises of immortality to persuade them to embrace radical Serbian nationalism.

The play starts out a bit wobbly, to be honest. Neither Sanchez nor Berne feels completely at ease in their characters, or with the broad acting style the rest of the cast embraces, and the first scene, which goes on too long, comes off flat, expositional, and slow. But Joseph and director Darko Tresnjak quickly hit their stride with the second scene; the pacing improves, the dialogue sharpens, the characters and ideas become more engaging. This is in no small part due to Page and Nielsen, who breathe life into the drama with their over-the-top portrayals of outwardly refined but quite clearly batshit insane terrorists, pulling off outrageous lines (Sladjana says “Cats killed my mother” with a straight face) and moving (yet still ridiculous) speeches, like the captain’s description of his accidental disembowelment and defenestration of the Serbian king and queen.  

With this zestful drive, the younger characters (and the actors) become more engaging and comfortable as the play progresses, so that by the end, even after Page and Nielsen have done, the play maintains its verve. The ultimate scene, where the young killers debate whether to strike a blow for Serbian nationalism, lose their virginity, or grab a sandwich, is terrifically effective and affecting.

While the play takes awhile to find its footing, the design elements are in top form from the start. Starting with Alexander Dodge’s elegant set with a mesmerizing pre-Great War map that dominates the preshow curtain and continuing until Matthew Richards’s last light cue, the show’s visual artists add dimension without getting in the way of the action. Sound design by Jane Shaw is transporting, and Linda Cho’s costumes (including caps) communicate so much about the characters who inhabit them.  

For all the over the top comedic elements (two pig heads at a feast for four people!), Joseph makes a subtle and convincing critique of violence as a political tool, consciously and astutely drawing parallels to modern radicalization. Then as now, the powerful manipulate the weak, playing on their poverty, hunger, hopelessness, and desire for their lives to have meaning. I’m sure the script plays fast and loose with events, but historical accuracy is hardly the point. The ill-fated killers realize (too late) that fame for fame’s sake is worthless, and that being enshrined in history is less desirable than a good meal.  

Of course the ultimate irony is that the play’s titular focus, Ferdinand’s assassination, is remembered not for advancing the cause of Serbian nationalism or striking a blow for freedom but for igniting one of the deadliest conflicts in human history. Violence, in the end, cannot be controlled and cannot be an engine for positive change.  

They should have gone for the sandwich.