By James V. Ruocco
Is there anyone out there, who, upon a visit to a worldwide modern museum - The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Le Louvre, The Smithsonian Institution, The British Museum, The Museum of Modern Art, for example - hasn't had the urge to actually touch a famous painting and get away with it.
I should say not.
You lean in as close as you can.
You check to see if anyone is looking.
Is there a security guard standing watch?
You take a deep breath.
The temptation to break the gallery rules is greenlighted.
You do it.
You smile.
You get away with it.
And voila, the experience of touching a select work of art has been granted.
In "The Rembrandt," Jessica Dickey's quirky, idea driven 2017 play about a great artistic masterpiece, the subject of art, its expression, its composition and its survival through the ages is lensed by the playwright through talky conversations, emotional engagement, assertive extracting and strong opinions that segue into big reveals.
The centerpiece - and a major one at that - is Rembrandt's "Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer," an oil canvas painting depicting the ancient Greek philosopher wearing a gold chain while viewing the sculpted bust of Homer.
Painted by Rembrandt in 1653, as a commissioned work for Sicilian nobleman Don Antonio Ruffo, the painting, we are told, contains brushstrokes and a limited palate of colors that reflect the artist's mood at the time he painted the piece. Dickey also points out the actual dimensions of the artwork, 143.5 cm (56.5 inches) x 136.5 cm (53.7 inches), which, as the play evolves, is a story conceit important to her telling.
Told through four different segments, the opening scene of "The Rembrandt" is set inside the gallery of a modern-day museum housing the artist's hypnotic "Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer" painting. Here, three characters - a museum security guard; a copyist who has set up her easel; an armed security guard - converse about morality, survival, brevity, protocol, isolation, rivalry, poetry, individuality and oh yes, art imitating life.
However, once the artwork is touched (lot of funny, well-orchestrated banter leads up to this revelatory moment), Dickey, taking her cue from Tom Stoppard's "Arcadia," time travels through the ages - past and present - to plead her case about the detritus of life itself, its philosophies, its consequences, its truths and its swimming tides of evolution.
At TheaterWorks, the ideas, inspirations, transgressions and challenges invoked by Dickey for "The Rembrandt" fall into view with promise, commitment, pondering and argument. It's a thoughtful, ambitious piece, rich in character and brushstroke. But enroute, it also disconnects and bores with scenes that lose their weightiness, warrant immediate script revision or cause the audience to fidget, fall asleep or wonder what the hell is going on.
Dickey, as playwright, digs deep. She takes chances. She has heart. She has soul. She has confidence. She knows how to write dialogue. Her characters are full-bodied. Positioning, however, isn't her strong point. Some of her connections, through heavy-handed, aren't dramatically evolutionary. Some of her ideas, lack pulse or cry repetition. Others, in particular, beg questioning. For example, why are we at the doorstep of Rembrandt's home, circa 1653? What is the point of Homer's 800 BC soliloquy?
The latter, though riveting and beautifully performed by Michael Bryan French, who, stepped in (script in hand) for Covid-inflicted Bill Buell, is strangely out of place with the rest of ongoing narrative. How does it connect with the previous scenes? What is Dickey trying to say? What is its purpose? What are we, as an audience, expected to take away from these staged moments? And finally, how does all of this relate to the final scene, which involves a man's death by Stage 4 cancer, homosexuality and pistachio pudding?
New York based director Maria Mileaf whose directorial credits include "Feeding the Dragon," "The Beauty Queen of Leenane," "The Rainmaker," "Art" and "Blithe Spirit" fuels "The Rembrandt" with curiosity, laughter, imagination and fascination. Acting wise, her casting is flawless as is her ability to move the characters in, out and around Neil Patel's splendid, moody, atmospheric set design which lends itself nicely to the proceedings.
Directorially, she addresses Dickey's recurring theme of "life being altered by art" with both style, purpose and commitment. Scene's flow. Exchanges, interactions, patters and shifts in tone are seamlessly intertwined. Motivations are front and center. No one is ever at a loss for words.
The drawbacks in the storytelling, however, prompt some discourse for the otherwise proficient Mileaf, often leaving her in the dark or not being able to fully carry a scene to its potential despite directorial encouragement, resource and determination. Nonetheless, she perseveres regardless of the play's drawbacks.
Mixed signals aside, "The Rembrandt," as lensed through Mileaf's eyes, reminds its audience that observations are universal. Time never stops moving. Art mirrors and shapes minds. Discovery is meant to be treasured. Touching a work of art can be especially gratifying. Oral poetry breeds insight. Beauty lies in the eyes of its beholder. Theatre can and will cast its spell regardless of the guesswork.
"The Rembrandt" stars Michael Chenevert (Henry/Rembrandt), Brandon Espinoza (Jonny/Martin), Amber Reauchean Williams (Madeline/Henny), Ephraim Birney (Dodger/Titus) and Michael Bryan French (Homer/Simon).
Played at TheaterWorks for 90 minutes without an intermission, the cast - persuasive, real, natural - step back and forth into their dual characterizations and different stories splendidly, guided intuitively by Mileaf despite hiccups in the storytelling, the dialogue and the play's thematic structure.
They aspire. They pivot. They undermine. They challenge. They motivate. They interact. They personalize. They entertain. They speak their mind. They also work hard to get past the play's awkward moments even when the material derails, if only fleetingly. Then again, there's always tomorrow.
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