Ross Zentner
Clare Arena Haden (left) and Daniel Molina in "Artemisia."
Clare Arena Haden, left, as the adult Artemisia and Daniel Molina as her lover Maringhi look at one of her "canvasses."
Forward Theater’s world premiere of Lauren Gunderson’s Artemisia, commissioned by Forward, is a pretty big deal. Gunderson is one of the two most produced playwrights in the United States right now, and from the opening night audience’s embrace of the work, it’s easy to see why. (Madison is not missing out on current theatrical trends; Forward will be presenting what is currently the most produced play in the country, Clyde’s, by Lynn Nottage, in November.) The play, part of the statewide World Premiere Wisconsin festival, runs through April 30 at the Overture Center Playhouse.
In her introduction in the Playbill, Forward Theater artistic director Jennifer Uphoff Gray (who also directed the play) calls Gunderson’s theatrical trademarks “humor, heart, a little romance, and a bad-ass heroine ripped from the pages of history” — and that hits the nail pretty much on the head.
Gunderson’s plays often feature groundbreaking dramatizations of real women from history, dressed in period costume but speaking in our current lingo, breaking barriers and smashing glass ceilings (or struggling to). The savvy blend of past and present may bring to mind Tom Stoppard, especially Arcadia, but Stoppard is more sly and nimble, whereas Gunderson tends to be more straightforward. Yet the collision between past and present is salient. “Has that much really changed?” is the question that’s bound to occur to the audience.
Artemisia, based on the life of 17th-century Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi, starts out at a dramatic level of 10 and amps to 11 soon after. As we first meet young Artemisia (Madison Uphoff) she is a passionate and impertinent 17-year-old, already painting and resisting the advice of her painter father Orazio (James DeVita). He wants her to focus on craft; Artemisia is interested in telling a story. How to gain control over one’s own story — especially for a woman — becomes a key theme.
Artemisia is soon thrown off course as an artist when an assistant of her father’s, Tassi, “takes her honor.” This rape occurs offstage, but its aftermath is shown, vivid enough. Artemisia is almost broken, but she persists. Uphoff is especially good at transitioning from the saucy, belligerent teenager to a trapped young woman, let down by her well-meaning but practical father, who wants her to marry her rapist to restore her honor. She refuses.
Fortunately an older Artemisia (played by Clare Arena Haden) finds a future with a different husband (spoken of, but not seen in the play) and with a lover, Francesco Maringhi (Daniel Molina). She gives birth to five children, three of whom die shortly after birth. Haden’s Artemisia has a tempered confidence, yet her face-offs with her father are familiar, almost seamless, from those in the opening scenes, showing that their father-daughter dynamic is hard to overcome. In this stage of her life she is struggling to balance her children with her “time and control over [her] being.” The theme of a woman needing control over her story, her body and her being, recurs in some form nearly every scene.
Artemisia’s son Cristofano dies at age four, resulting in her most serious crisis of artistic confidence. Haden imbues the adult Artemisia with real warmth; her worst moments when she “wants to die” from grief are natural, moving. Her daughter Prudenzia (also played by Madison Uphoff) is the only one of her children who reaches adulthood, becoming her mother’s model, advocate and eventually an artist herself.
The emotional transitions are all the more noteworthy since other scenes are quite jocular, playing almost like classic television sit-coms. A benefactor of Artemisia, the crafty Grand Duchess Christina of Lorraine (Laura Gordon) is the great comic scene stealer of the play.
The stage set is simple, mainly a few chests and a sofa for actors to sit on, and “canvases” — just the frames, no images — set on easels. The lighting design (by Noele Stollmack) mimics the warm colors of Artemisia Gentileschi’s own paintings, which are projected behind the set between scenes.
The dramatic arc of the play is essentially the story of Artemisia’s life, told chronologically. The upside of this is it creates the realism of a biopic. The downside is that it doesn’t feel like there’s a traditional dramatic “arc”; every scene can seem as important as any other scene.
And while the use of contemporary lingo brings these characters and their struggles into the present day, I’m not convinced the characters’ frequent use of the F-word served any dramatic, social or philosophical purpose. Artemisia’s status as a bad-ass doesn’t come from casual profanity aimed at her father or anyone else.
It comes from her continuing quest to remain true to her own artistic vision, and to do her own story justice.
