Theatre in Review: Scenes from an Execution (Potomac Theatre Project)

	Alex Draper, Jan Maxwell, Jonathan Tincle. Photo: Stan Barouh

Even if Scenes from an Execution was a far less interesting production it would now be mandatory viewing, given the fact that Jan Maxwell -- one of the finest actresses now working on the New York stage -- has recently announced her impending -- and, to my mind, entirely premature -- retirement. But if she really intends to leave us, at least she is going out in a thunderclap of glory. Maxwell first played Galactia, a 17th-century Venetian painter at war with everyone around her, in a 2008 production of Howard Barker's irony-drenched historical drama. Galactia, who is very loosely based on the 17th-century painter Artemisia Gentileschi, specializes in epic works of art; the lady playing her is a specialist in epic portraits as well, and once again she does not disappoint.

The title of Scenes from an Execution makes it sound like a drama of the gallows; in fact, the execution in question involves a painting, covering a thousand square feet, of the Battle of Lepanto, in which the Venetian State rescued one of its colonies from a siege by Turkish forces. It was a scene of mass slaughter -- according to a video documentary about Scenes from an Execution, produced by London's National Theatre, 40,000 men died in a matter of a few hours -- and it is expected that Galactia, who has won the commission, will deliver a canvas swathed in glory and teeming with heroism, just the sort of thing to rally citizens around the Venetian flag.

But Galactia has no intention of creating a piece of state-sanctioned uplift. A typhoon in human form, she rattles the halls of power with her frank and furious temperament, an honesty that cannot be contained under any circumstances. "When I show meat sliced, it is meat sliced, not a pretext for elegance," she says, and indeed her painting will depict a charnel house, the mutilated bodies piling up under the unseeing eyes of commanding officers. Worse, she subverts the painting's intended official message with sympathetic portraits of Turkish victims. "With one figure, I transformed the enemy from a beast to victim, and made victory unclean," she boasts. Her daughter, Supporta, an artist herself, calls the painting "a great waterfall of flesh."

Ignoring the warnings of government officials and her loved ones, she barrels ahead, throwing some spectacular fits of fury along the way. Finally, the Doge and the local Catholic cardinal, appalled at the direction of her work, scheme to replace Galactia with Carpeta, her married lover and a mediocre genre artist; she eventually ends up in jail for her sins, raging against the darkness. Even there, we hear the voice of a weary prisoner imploring her to please shut up.

This is not a simple, straightforward tale of a one heroic artist against the world, however. As written, Galactia is a kind of monster, egotistical, brash, completely unfeeling when it comes to others. Engaged in an argument with Carpeta, she disrupts the funeral of a colleague with her boisterous behavior, lifting the coffin lid to take a look inside. In an intimate moment, she curtly dismisses her lover, saying, irritably, "Let go of me; you always start to touch me when I think." Supporta, walking out on her, cries out, "Why won't you be hurt?" In the end, Galactia is no martyr to the cause; long after Scenes from an Execution is over, you will wonder whether she has triumphed over those who would suppress her talent or if she has been co-opted by a covey of politicians much wilier than she.

In scene after scene, Maxwell delivers a fully formed characterization of a woman whose genius renders her out of step with history; whether straddling the top of a ladder like a pirate, her palette in hand; lying on the floor, facing Carpeta with her legs spread, insulting his talent; musing on "the effect of cutlasses on flesh, the way they slice out pieces, like a melon, flinging the scrap into the air;" or insolently offering to return her commission if she will, at last, be allowed to think for herself, she commands the stage like one of the Venetian generals she has been hired to paint. She is one of the Furies, descended to earth, possessed both of a godlike talent and a scalding honesty, not caring who or what collateral damage results from the pursuit of her muse. In a career marked by extraordinary performances, this may be her greatest achievement.

Do not think, however, that Scenes from an Execution is merely a star vehicle. Under Richard Romagnoli's tough, sinewy direction, Maxwell is surrounded by a superb company. David Barlow earns our sympathy as Carpeta, who specializes in portraits of Christ among the flocks (which Galactia laughingly dismisses as self-portraits); in his most telling moment, a private viewing of Galactia's painting reduces him to tears of rage. Alex Draper's Doge is an intelligent, but icy-hearted, bureaucrat, who insists that "great art must always celebrate." (Handling a plate of fruit, he says, "They come from Crete. We left two thousand soldiers dead there, but we have the grapes.") Lana Meyer makes Supporta into a formidable opponent, especially when reminding Galactia that, having gained such a prominent commission, she has a responsibility to Venetian women. Bill Army is a frigid study in aristocratic mannerisms as the Doge's brother, a naval commander and a homosexual, who is most vitally interested in how the painting represents his beautiful hands. Steven Dykes is marvelously oleaginous as the cardinal who reminds Galactia that she is depicting not victims but a "fraternity on Christian crusade." Pamela J. Gray provides some lovely, silken line readings as Rivera, an art critic, whose studiously neutral manner bristles with any number of unspoken thoughts. "I try to look nice, although it's murder I do for my cause," she says, brightly.

The play is staged on the same festival set designed by Hallie Zieselman for PTP's repertory, which includes the plays Judith: A Parting from the Body, by Barker, and Caryl Churchill's Vinegar Tom. An open space with a handful of furnishings, it helps the production to move at a headlong pace. Mark Evancho's lighting uses the upstage scaffolding as a kind of gobo, filling the stage with intriguing shadow compositions; in the evening's most daring gambit, the lights are turned off altogether, allowing Galactia's two prison scenes to be played in darkness. The costumes, by Jule Emerson, with additional contributions by Mira Veikley, interestingly blend a 17th-century silhouette for the ladies with neatly tailored Edwardian suits for the men. Cormac Bluestone's sound design blends a variety of musical interludes with the sound of waves and seagulls, Gregorian chant, prison doors, and whispers.

Even as one thrills to Scenes from an Execution, one is stunned to realize that this is apparently Maxwell's swan song as an actress. Can it really be true? I choose not to believe it; as long as there is life, there's hope, and I feel certain that she will return. In the meantime, she leaves behind, for those who see it, an indelible memory of her astonishing talent. -- David Barbour