Reviews

Review: The Light and the Dark Is a Fascinating, Talky Play About Artemisia Gentileschi

Kate Hamill’s drama about one of the art world’s underappreciated masters runs at 59E59 Theaters.

Rachel Graham

Rachel Graham

| Off-Broadway |

November 18, 2024

The Light and Dark at Primary Stages
Kate Hamill in her play The Light and The Dark at Primary Stages
(© James Leynse)

Images of strong, powerful, and often violent women proliferate in Primary Stage’s production of The Light and the Dark (The Life and Times of Artemisia Gentileschi) at 59E59 Theaters. Those visions of bloody revenge on men come from Artemisia Gentileschi, who defied Italian society to become a major female artist of the 1600s. The Light and the Dark champions her life and accomplishments in this largely successful production.

Artemisia Gentileschi (Kate Hamill, also the writer) was named after Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and a butcher of men. “A curiously-pagan name, for a nice Catholic girl,” she notes, perhaps signaling that she is destined for a similarly unique fate. Artemisia’s mother dies a year after bestowing this name, leaving her father to raise her. Successful enough that he makes his living as a painter but not gifted enough to be considered a master, Orazio (Wynn Harmon) takes his daughter with him to guild meetings and appraisals — but only because he sees her as an extension of himself. Like the insular group of all-male painters he surrounds himself with, he doesn’t believe Artemisia could have talent and agency.

But Artemisia is a spitfire who, at least to those around her, always learns the wrong lessons for a 17th-century girl. When she is sent away to a nunnery, she rebels until she is kicked out, citing Saint Margaret fighting a dragon as her inspiration. These are funny scenes, but with choices that make her seem much younger, Hamill doesn’t quite nail Artemisia as tween. Luckily the teenage Artemisia is a natural fit. She is so determined to paint that she convinces her father to let him train in his studio. He agrees, likely thinking it will come to nothing. Harmon’s Orazio is steady, doting on his daughter while paternalistically undermining her.

As Artemisia comes of age in a studio filled with men, she begins to attract unwanted attention, which comes in the form of Agostino (Matthew Saldívar), the studio’s golden student. He takes every opportunity to cut down Artemisia by offering “help,” the calling card of a mansplainer. Saldívar brings a lot to the role, balancing charm, ego, and violence. What happens between them from there is predictable, but that’s only because it’s something women have always experienced.

Those scenes ring truer than ever right now, depicting men who tolerate a talented woman in their midst — as long as she doesn’t rise too high. Artemisia experiences some of the worst outcomes possible: sexual assault and a forced marriage, both unsurprising and nightmarish.

We learn much of this through Artemisia’s direct address to the audience, keeping in the forefront the idea that this is her story. The opener where Artemisia explains how the art world works feels a little too much like a history lesson, but many other scenes work beautifully. Artemisia’s first nude painting class swings from the low of shame from male harassment to the high of seemingly divine inspiration, creating true rapture. Joey Parsons, as the model Maria, shines here, as well as in several other well-defined roles. Later, when Artemisia must go on trial to prove she was raped, her internal processing makes the scene even more harrowing.

Jade King Carroll’s direction is seamless, as is the realistic artist’s-garret lighting (by Seth Reiser) and the detailed art-studio set (by Brittany Vasta). Kylee Loera’s projections allow the audience to see Artemisia’s paintings (I gasped at the beauty of Gentileschi’s Madonna and Child ) and assess their superiority over the works of many of the male artists of her time, including Orazio’s and her father’s.

Still, I left wanting more. The play ends with a searing address to the audience expounding how Artemisia painted her way out of depression, a loveless marriage, and, in some ways, the patriarchy itself — something I would have loved to see dramatized. Hamill’s performance here is extraordinary, but there’s no subtlety, partly because it’s in direct address. Though she crafts a structurally balanced narrative out of Gentileschi’s long and messy life, failing to dramatize Artemisia’s ultimate success shifts the balance of light and dark too far into shadow.

Despite some imperfections, The Light and the Dark brings a lesser-recognized artist to life in vivid, arresting detail. More stories like this one of female resistance (“not I but we”) are necessary now, and this one is well-told.

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