Scenes From An
Execution (Tooth and Sinew) runs
at the Old Fitzroy Hotel from May 13 – 31 2014. By Howard Barker, directed by
Richard Hilliar.
Scenes From An Execution is an incredibly rich,
textured piece of theatre. There is so much here to chew on, intellectually and
emotionally. At its heart is an enthralling female character, prickly, complex
and utterly engaging. The show raises fascinating questions about art and
authority which I’ll continue to mull over for some time.
The play is set in Venice in 1571. Controversial artist
Galactia (Lucy Miller) is commissioned by the Doge (Mark Lee) to paint a picture
commemorating the Battle of Lepanto, one of Venice’s most comprehensive
victories over the Ottoman Empire. He expects her to conform to certain
artistic boundaries – to celebrate the victory and the glory of Venice. But
Galactia has a different story in mind. After an encounter with Prodo (Peter
Maple), a war veteran made ridiculous by the arrow shaft stuck in his head, she
decides to paint a portrait of the battle as it really was: a bloody, merciless
slaughter.
I don’t want to give too much of the plot away and spoil it
– particularly as this is a show well worth seeing for yourselves – but the
ongoing story of the painting and its contentious ownership raises questions
about art and intention that I’m very interested in. This play might be about
sixteenth century Venice, but these are questions with ongoing resonance. I’m
not sure whether there was a similar moment in art history, but I am familiar
with some of the literary theory around these questions. Schleiermachian
hermeneutics, one of the early forms of literary criticism, placed the author
at the centre of the work. In this model, the reader became a sort of
detective, puzzling over the text in an effort to reach the author’s true
intentions. But in the twentieth century, the New Criticism emerged, which
centred the text, rather than the author. In 1968, Roland Barthes famously
declared that the author was dead. Michel Foucault made a similar claim when he
called the author a function.
While this is congruent with literary development at the
time, it is also not coincidental that this is a period when marginalised
writers’ voices started to be heard: voices from writers disenfranchised by
their race, class, orientation and/or gender. The dead author trope became
another way of marginalising them. We see
something similar in Scenes From An
Execution, particularly in the second act. Galactia is so certain her work
belongs to her, but a new mode of criticism is emerging, represented here by
the critic Rivera (Katherine Shearer).
Let’s talk a bit about Galactia, this fascinating female
artist, and her relationship with her work. Her character arc in this play is
remarkable, centring as it does around art and her pursuit of truth rather than
her relationships, as so many female arcs do. (I have absolutely zero problems
with female arcs centring on relationships, but this should not be the only
option open to women.) Indeed, the most important relationship she has in this
play is not with her lover Carpeta (Jeremy Waters), but with her art – and, by
extension, with truth. Galactia believes she is doing a brave and noble thing
with her art: an important thing, an incontrovertible thing, an intrinsically political
thing. But she does not take into account the fact that ownership of her work
might be challenged. I found the way this idea of truth and art is treated and
mobilised in Scenes From An Execution so, so interesting. I want to say
a lot more about it, but a) a lot of it involves Foucault and that’s a bit
boring, and b) I don’t want to spoil the show.
This is a really good production of a very difficult script.
It is very intense the whole way through and perhaps could have benefited from
a little more light and shade, but when I think about where that stillness
could go, I’m at a loss. Like Galactia, this play is relentless – and that is
part of its appeal. Director Richard Hilliar has put together a great ensemble
– Lucy Miller as Galactia and Jeremy Waters as Carpeta are particular
standouts. There is so much going on in this piece, and it would have been easy
for it to get bogged down in its own verbiage. But happily, this does not
happen. I found Scenes From An Execution utterly fascinating. Make time
to go and see it.
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