Politics and the art of telling the truth
EXECUTION: it signifies capital punishment as well as performance of artistic activity in the creation of a masterpiece, and both senses of the word are skilfully synthesised in Howard Barker’s multilayered Scenes from an Execution.
The human slaughter in the Battle of Lepanto, when men were reduced on a massive scale to pieces of meat, evokes the former; while the latter relates to the challenging depiction of this atrocity in a celebratory painting commissioned by the Doge of Venice in the 1570s.
Barker’s play might be set in Renaissance Venice, but it transcends time and place as it probes, none too gently, universal issues such as artistic independence versus patronage, integrity versus corruption, the mutability of critical opinion, and sexual politics. Most of all, it deals with manipulation of truth with an eye to the judgement of posterity… the more things change, the more they stay the same, as five centuries of history have proved.
At the centre of the action is the painter Galactica, a titian-haired 46-year-old at the height of her profession in an age when it was unusual for females to pursue a career at all, least of all one such as this. But there is nothing conventional about this woman, whose relationships are characterised by aggression; her daughters, her lover, her patron, and the principal subject of her painting all find themselves on the receiving end of abuse from her abrasive tongue. Her dynamism and sensuality make her a compelling individual, and her fearless commitment to depict the truth (rather than the sanitised version of it required by her paymaster) demands as much respect as her artistic talent.
To this succulent role, Steyn brings exceptional energy and insight, making the fictitious artist come alive before our eyes. Her costumes, imaginatively created by Leigh Bishop, are doffed and donned seamlessly as the persona moves from one milieu to the next, at one moment scantily attired in the embrace of her lover in bed, the next formally arrayed for an interview with the Doge.
Hopkins, not for the first time, portrays the latter character with distinction. The role is particularly demanding since it requires a plausible amalgam of humour and gravitas: the Doge of Venice, lover of the arts, is also vain, sensual, amusingly naïve, and petulant as a child when crossed. Hopkins achieves this with his usual aplomb.
Admiral Suffici, brother to the Doge and focal point of the painting, meets Galactica’s feistiness with calculated impassivity; Rebelo is irreproachable as the anti-heroic foil to Steyn’s energy in scenes between artist and subject.
Equally at odds with Galactica is the critic Rivera, to which part the articulate and gorgeously costumed Akudugu brings haughty elegance. Ramabulana, playing Carpeta, the lead’s lover and rival painter, is well cast and rings the emotional changes required of him with authority.
Versatility displayed by members of the cast in various cameo roles is impressive. Cleo Raatus convinces equally as a war veteran, a prosecutor, and a Venetian official; Lauren Blackwell and Phoebe Ritchie are neatly differentiated as Galactica’s daughters, their characters morphing easily into such diverse alternatives as rival painters and sailors.
The length and complexity of this play demands deft direction, and Stopford’s long familiarity with Scenes… (which she directed in 1994) shows to good effect in keeping the audience alert throughout the two hours of its duration. Excellent theatre for those who savour some intellectual activity along with their entertainment.