“An aged-up Stephen Smith plays the eponymous artist with all the power and emphasis that can be mustered by a younger actor playing an old man.”
Editorial Rating: 4 Stars (Nae Bad)
This is a very engaging and thoughtful show presenting the life, loves, and art of the legendary French impressionist painter, Claude Monet. As we are shown, the great artist’s private life was certainly full enough of drama, crisis, and angst to justify a play. This production, a piece of well-crafted new writing by Joan Greening, takes us on a journey to Belle Epoque Paris and beyond, offering much entertaining insight into the bohemian world of these creative types whilst shattering a few myths about what drives their urge to paint.
The small, black box Mint Studio of Greenside @ George Street is simply transformed into the artist’s world by means of a few props and we see Monet’s instantly recognisable works projected onto a blank canvas standing on an easel. An aged-up Stephen Smith plays the eponymous artist with all the power and emphasis that can be mustered by a younger actor playing an old man. Two characteristics of this production give it a very intimate feel. The lighting is deliberately kept fairly low – much at odds with the bursting colour of Monet’s canvases, but subtly encouraging introspective focus on the man himself. Secondly, the monologue is quietly underscored by original piano music by Joseph Furey playing in the background. I’m not usually a fan of incidental music in theatre, but this gently melodic accompaniment adds a wistful backdrop to Monet’s tale.
The human story behind the legendary paintings is often fascinating and revealing. Monet was no saint: an aesthete, but no angel. The roller coaster of his love life often belies the tranquillity evoked by his art. His relationships with fellow artists were often complex, whilst catastrophic events in his own life often threatened his very ability to create his works. Spiced with moments of humour and wit, there are also many surprising revelations concerning the stories behind some of his most celebrated images. No spoilers here, but I’ll never look at his famous Water Lilies paintings in the same way again, having been told how the subject matter in his garden pond at Giverny was so beautifully arranged. There was even a word of warning for us critics in learning how the name of the genre Impressionism arose from some laboured mockery by an infamous and now largely forgotten journalist.
Of the many solo shows on offer at the Fringe, a number are always biographical dramatisations of some historical person’s life: often a literary or show business figure, or more rarely, an artist. The problems inherent in representing an artist’s life on stage include: the sedentary nature of their work; talented individuals leading often dull and uneventful private lives; and the difficulty of making drama from the creation of still-life in the shape of a canvas or sculpture. In a different show I saw earlier this week, we watched an actor physically recreate a painting brush-in-hand as she spoke to the audience in character as the artist in question; very talented and skilled, but not great theatre and more suited to the radio. This production does not make the same mistake and is thus well worth going along to see.
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