Of all British theatre's great curmudgeons (Arnold Wesker, Edward Bond et al), Howard Barker is the most curmudgeonly of all. He grumbled to the Guardian that Scenes from an Execution, now running at the National Theatre in the Lyttelton, wasn't his best play. He isn't interested in entertaining audiences and believes theatre should be an ordeal. He hasn't much time for liberal humanism, so I don't think he would share my outlook on life. Despite all this, I bought a ticket.
In the end, despite everything, I quite enjoyed it, which the author would probably see as a failure. Galactia, a woman painter, has been chosen by the rulers of 17th century Venice to create a massive canvas commemorating the battle of Lepanto against the Turks. Her realistic concentration on blood and slaughter isn't quite what the Doge and his chums had in mind, so they commission another painting from her lover and put Galactia in jail, only to release her after a few days and welcome her back into the fold. Repressive tolerance (there's a nice phrase from the 1960s when both Howard Barker and I were young) triumphs again. 'We absorb all and we show our greater majesty,' the Doge explains. It's not repression and censorship that reinforce authority, but tolerance; the rebel is stripped of all power when rebellion is absorbed and allowed.
Barker's argument is clear enough; what counts is how well he manages to dramatise it. Although the first half of the play has its tedious moments, the conflict comes to life much better in the second half. This is partly thanks to a well conceived stage design by Hildegard Bechtler, who has devised a highly effective way of showing Galactia in prison. The costumes are a subtle blend of the 17th century and the modern, and director Tom Cairns knows exactly what he is doing. The production's chief virtue lies in Fiona Shaw's casting as Galactia. She's not normally one of my favourite actors, but this is as good as anything I've seen her do. Galactia is barefoot and clad only in a dirty smock; she might almost be a female John the Baptist, a permanent life force dominating the stage. The painting she is working on is never visible but we sense it through the voices of the characters on stage. This play isn't in the same rank as George Bernard Shaw's Saint Joan but at it's best, it's quite effective. At the end, Galactia casts aside her smock and Fiona Shaw's long raw-boned figure appears in a smart black dress. The play ends with the Doge inviting her to dinner; she accepts. It's not a happy ending, for we sense that for Barker, this reconciliation is a tragedy. Galactia may accept the Doge's invitation, but if National Theatre boss Nicholas Hytner ever invites Barker to dinner, I am sure he will turn it down.
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