Ben Bard Players, founded and directed by Barak Bard, is a local theater company functioning under the umbrella of the Bar-Kayma Association, which supports local artists and cultural initiatives. The company’s current production, A Picasso, is a one-act play by award-winning playwright Jeffrey Hatcher that opens a window onto a less familiar corner of World War II history.
Set in 1941 Paris, the play portrays a fictional encounter between legendary Spanish painter Pablo Picasso (Howard Metz) and a certain Fräulein Fischer (portrayed when I attended by Miriam Metzinger; Gillian Kay alternates in the role). Fischer, a sophisticated cultural attaché of the German occupation government, seeks a favor that Picasso is extremely reluctant to grant. He must outwit her or lose the battle for his art.
Although this scenario is the product of the playwright’s imagination, it is grounded in historical events. The Third Reich categorized the modern art produced by Picasso and his contemporaries as “degenerate.” In 1937, thousands of modern artworks by German and foreign artists (including French painter Jean Metzinger – any relation to our actress Miriam?) were confiscated from German museums.
The Nazis held “Degenerate Art Exhibitions” in order to mock these works. They were deliberately displayed askew or crowded together, and were accompanied by derogatory explanations by Hitler and Goebbels. Ironically, these exhibitions ended up attracting far more visitors than the official Nazi-approved “German Great Art Exhibition” in Berlin. Some of these “degenerate” works were sold to fund the regime; the rest were burned in the courtyard of the Berlin fire department.
What is the plot of A Picasso?
In A Picasso, Fräulein Fischer is charged with obtaining some modern artworks for a “private exhibition,” which is actually a mass burning. The collection would, of course, be incomplete without a piece by the foremost artist of the time, so the Gestapo commissioned Fischer to procure “a Picasso.” This leads to her meeting with the famed artist and the ensuing fraught conversation that nonetheless has its tender aspects. With the terrifying shadow of the Gestapo hovering in the background, the two engage in a dance of manipulation and maneuvering, interspersed with moments of vulnerability and intimacy.
We learn about their pasts and how Fischer’s life has been transformed by Picasso’s work. The two have something in common: Both characters have betrayed moral standards to further their own goals. This makes them very human, but also somewhat unlikeable. I did not feel much compassion for them, not even for little Pablito Ruiz (Picasso’s name in childhood) who, it turns out, was something of a monster.
AS I mentioned in last week’s review of Tuesdays with Morrie, also by Hatcher (in conjunction with Mitch Albom), the playwright has a penchant for two-person plays – which sharpen the focus but place a heavy burden on the actors. Metz and Metzinger, veterans of Jerusalem’s English-speaking theater scene, memorized reams of text and delivered it in the form of witty and fast-paced dialogue. While their dynamic was engaging, I would have liked to sense their chemistry more fully.
After a bit of a slow start, the play gained momentum, maintaining my interest as to where it would go next and who would ultimately triumph. A sprinkling of humor also added some spice, especially since much of it was sardonic. The aesthetic choice of brown hues for the set and the actors was inspired, underscoring the drabness of a world in which unconventional art is suppressed.
The drama intensified in the second half of the show, especially when touching on Picasso’s most famous painting, Guernica. This was his protest against the horrors of war, and though he vigorously tries to deny its political nature (“The worst art in the world is political… I don’t lend my name to causes”), we don’t believe him for a moment.
The ending contained a clever twist, but I felt it missed an opportunity for a more poignant and profound conclusion. It left me feeling a little empty, like the framed prop paintings ranged along the back wall of the stage.
The play raises some noteworthy questions that are also relevant to today’s reality: Should art be apolitical? Can art influence politics and war? What is worth sacrificing in order to preserve art? Unsurprisingly, there were also several Jewish connections. Some of the “degenerate” artists were Jews, and Picasso’s art dealers included Paul Rosenberg and others. “Every few weeks, a pair of Germans show up to see if Jews are hiding in my kiln!” Picasso quips at one point.
I went home feeling that I had learned something valuable about WW II history, art, and Picasso. To maximize the experience of the drama, I suggest that playgoers read up beforehand about Picasso’s life, his Guernica, and the Nazi attitude toward “degenerate art.”
Note: The play contains some adult themes and coarse language.