The Pitman Painters by Lee Hall is, for most of its first act, an invigorating
dramatization of the premise that art is classless, and can be for—and by—anyone
with the passion to investigate it. Based on a true story, it starts in a
church basement room in English mining country, mid 1930s, where a small group
of mine workers (Christopher Connel, Michael
Hodgson, Brian Lonsdale, Deka
Walmsley and David Whitaker) congregate, having sent out for an art
appreciation teacher. When he (Ian Kelley) arrives, he tries at first to teach his standard survey course, but
finds quickly that they don’t at all relate to his references or observations.
They want to know what art is and what it means. Somehow he has to impart to them that it’s hugely
personal and not quantifiable in an absolute sense. And he eventually hits upon
the notion of having them create their own art by way of understanding. And they do. Soon to
become a unique and famous collective of working class artists with unique styles
and an equally unique working class perspective that the art world embraces.
The
process of students and teacher acclimating to each other, the gradual dawn of
understanding in the pupil’s eyes and hearts, makes for a winning and wonderful
narrative. Once the turning point of their renown has been reached, though, the
story doesn’t really have anywhere else to go, because it’s proven its point
and fulfilled its thematic promise; thus, its second act, which tries raises
issues of group good vs. individual profit, lower class fitting into art
society & etc. feels like an effortful attempt to keep the drama alive via
ancillary events that, despite what may be the historical continuation, simply
aren’t as important or meaningful. In fact, I’m not sure I’ver ever seen a play
with quite such a “split personality” before, in which the first act fairly
sings and the second marks time and, at its worst, even drags.
But
the British cast, imported with the play and production from the West End,
which also includes Lisa McGrillis and Phillippa
Wilson, is an outstanding one; and the
direction of Max Roberts is
solid and clear. And given all that, the play must be said yea. For just as art
need not be restricted to limited exposure, a genuine work of art need not be “completely
right.” A play especially can live, breathe and find its way. For now it seems
sufficient that The Pitman Painters is good enough…