Scenes From an Execution is aptly titled. It refers to both an epic painting of a famed Venetian battle and the imprisonment of the unapologetic artist who created it.
Galactia, a 16th-century woman painter, is commissioned by the Venetian republic to commemorate the Battle of Lepanto. But her stark realism, rather than a celebration of victory, gets her condemned as an enemy of the state. Then, as now, female power is cause for consternation.
Now playing at the Atlantic Stage 2, Scenes' lines sound surprisingly modern, as if playwright Howard Baker is making a cosmic point. Galactia's art is considered strong and forceful until the critics learn she's a woman; then the same artistry is dubbed "coarse."
Galactia, beautifully rendered by Jan Maxwell, is sexually assertive, arrogant and passionate about painting. She wins the sought-after assignment, producing a 1,000-square-foot masterpiece, and is given a clear mandate from the Doge (Alex Draper), who wants to trumpet the nobility of war, and the supercilious Cardinal ((Timothy Deenihan), who declares, "I despise artists, and that's why I'm perfectly qualified to sit on this committee!"
The painter, based on the spirited artist Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1652), promises to fashion an inspiring work, seeing painting as a divine mission - to reveal truth. Scenes, which addresses the tricky issue of art as propaganda, is riveting. Galactia's obsession with work, almost to the exclusion of all else, save her lover Carpeta (David Barlow), is contagious.
The authorities, however, are not impressed and to teach her humility, they chuck her into prison. Even in the darkness, this monomaniacal genius rails. As a moral rebuke to corrupt authority, Scenes is potent stuff. But the real artistry is Maxwell's, aided by a strong supporting cast, including the critic (Patricia Buckley), who negotiates her release, and students from Middlebury College. Scenes is part of the Potomac Theatre Project, a summer repertory that specializes in political work.
Baker introduces low comedy - a veteran with an arrow in his head - and some over-the-top screeds about art, but it doesn't detract from his message, which rings true.
So do the themes in Christopher Durang's dark, autobiographical comedy The Marriage of Bette and Boo at the Laura Pels Theater. Director Walter Bobbie described it to Playbill as a "hilarious tragedy," and he's right. First mounted in 1985 at the Public, Bette and Boo follow the sad, sorry marriage between a woman obsessed with babies and a man obsessed with booze. And long before the word "dysfunctional" entered the vernacular, Durang had it nailed.
The play, economically staged against a bright red background, is a series of 33 fast-paced scenes. Bette (Kate Jennings Grant) and Boo (Christopher Evan Welch) marry after a brief acquaintance, resulting in a years of unhappiness. Their marriage, like all but one of their children, is stillborn. Both actors skillfully calibrate the singularity of disappointment. They are joined by crazy relatives and an indifferent priest; all play out their own brand of insanity before young Skippy (Charles Socrides). He's joined by a first-rate cast, including Victoria Clark, John Glover and Julie Hagerty, who are pitch-perfect.
Durang renders his family's troubles in absurdist style, but the heartache is real. That he can find comedy in moments of pain and sorrow, and slam the church's insipid pieties to boot, makes for moving theater. Bette and Boo is a reminder that marriage is for grown-ups.