By GREGORY WEINKAUF Special to the Daily Press
Perceptions of the life and work of Vincent Van Gogh vary widely, from the masterful melodrama of films (”Lust for Life,” “Vincent and Theo”) to dreamy folk-songs (“Vincent” by Don McLean) to affectionate pop-song hilarity (“Vincent Van Gogh” by Jonathan Richman, featuring the lines: “He loved life so bad; His paintings had twice the color other paintings had!”) However, to experience the complexity of Van Gogh’s art and relationships on an intimate stage is a rare treat indeed — a treat available at the Miles Memorial Playhouse in Santa Monica.
The play is “Vincent,” by Leonard Nimoy (yes, that Leonard Nimoy), which the actor-director based on Phillip Stephens’ play “Van Gogh,” transforming it into his own one-man show in the late 1970s. While there is no guarantee of a Spock sighting, those attending the play at the Miles will be afforded a stunning view into the lives of brothers Theodorus and Vincent Van Gogh, both performed with terrific gusto by Sam Lovett. In presence and appearance, the actor presents such an authentic-feeling representation that within moments the audience slips into a collective reverie upon one of the world’s greatest — and most misunderstood — artists.
The play begins as eulogy, in Paris, August, 1890, with Theo taking the podium to lament the premature passing of his late, ostensibly mad-genius brother. From the get-go, the clichés surrounding the visionary painter are shattered, and soon the many scintillating flashbacks reveal a robust life of visionary highs and devastating lows. In candid conversation with Lovett after the first performance, the actor explained: “A lot of people have these very basic presumptions about Van Gogh — you know, ‘he cut off his ear’ and ‘he was crazy’ and all that — but there is much more to the story!” Indeed, after one receives the initial jolt of Lovett’s uncanny resemblance to the artist, the story that unfolds is as illuminating and visionary as Vincent’s own intense and tragic tale.
The play covers most of Vincent’s adult life, with Theo acting as a sort of narrator while Vincent’s hundreds of real-life letters to his brother provide much of the dialogue (it’s only one actor, yes — but definitely dialogue). Spanning from Vincent’s decision — at the age of 27 — to become an artist, though his many struggles until his very awkward suicide at 37, the array of issues (passion, inspiration, addiction, self-sacrifice bordering on masochism) and locations (his native Netherlands, Brussels, The Hague, Paris, Saint-Rémy, Auvers-sur-Oise) packs into a decade more than many pack into a lifetime. Also of particular dramatic note are Vincent’s early years of near-total self-deprivation, working as a missionary in a poverty-stricken mining colony in Belgium, and, later, the devastating deterioration of his friendship with Paul Gauguin — fellow artist, arguing partner extraordinaire, and, by this telling, apparently a very bad influence.
Do note, although “Vincent” is quite entertaining, it would be impossible to approach its subject without courting alcoholism, religious fervor, psychological enablement (Theo tirelessly paid for Vincent’s “process”), whoring, disease and terrible spiritual confusion. To hear Lovett (as Theo) begging of his brother, “For god’s sake, when will you learn to love yourself?” is powerful on its own; but coupled with Lovett (as Vincent) declaring, “I am a stranger on the Earth!” is doubly moving.
Which leads us to Lovett’s performance. Awesome. For one man dressed more or less like David Bowie on his last tour to hold the attention of an audience for 75 minutes on the subject of a weird dead artist guy is one thing — but to make the performance a one-man symphony is quite another. From the whispers of a frequently crushed soul to the bombast of Vincent’s credo of “Life! Beauty! God! One must love!” Lovett treads a high wire in high style. What could have dissolved into a schizoid mess instead achieves a powerful elegance.
And once the visuals kick in, about two thirds of the way through, the climax — with its attendant questioning of the definition of madness — is an aesthetic and intellectual feast.
Much credit is due to director Cynthia Parks, who clearly understands the challenge of representing two distinct but intricately related characters via a single actor.
Rather than resorting to costume changes or fancy tricks, she guides the action via subtle shifts in light, and adjustments of Lovett’s energy. Not once is the line between the brothers vague, but simultaneously, the immensity of their shared vision (Theo died just months after Vincent) becomes a psychological dual portrait that will ensure hearty conversation and debate long after the curtain call.
You know the works: “The Potato Eaters,” “The Starry Night,” all those sunflowers, etc. Now the Theatre for a Small Space presents an ideal opportunity to understand the man. Nimoy’s play, directed and performed here with grace and skill, proves captivating in its subject, and staggering in its implications.
“Vincent” will be presented for the last time tonight at 8 p.m. at Theatre for a Small Space at the Miles Memorial Playhouse.
For information, call (310) 393-3018 or visit www.theatreforasmallspace.com.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on February 9, 2008. Read the original PDF.