A Weekend with Pablo Picasso
Writer/performer Herbert Siguenza keeps it light and laugh-y at the outset: you want an intimate session with an artistic colossus? How about we start with him in the bathtub? Very intimate! It's a good thing, because while the script is liberally peppered with Picasso the Performer's self-amused commentary on work, women, art, children, etc., the story is heavy-hearted: the Soviets have decimated Hungary, and the communist Picasso must reckon with the fact that the fascists aren't the only ones deserving of a modern nightmare like his anguished Guernica. He's not about to repeat himself, but neither can he keep silent and still adhere to the vision of himself as an artist that he established after losing a high-stakes bet with God. Fortunately, he has obligation to help with his inspiration: a wealthy client has asked for six paintings and three vases by Monday morning, and while he insists that is not a factory, he very much believes in both work and success. The show is scattershot but never slack, serious but never somber — and it makes first-rate use of the theater's projectors, especially in the sequence tracing one painting's evolution from curious child to anguished artist. Siguenza gives us a man who, like Whitman, is large enough to contain multitudes; viz. his vacillating attitude about his power over a painting vs. its power over him during the act of creation. He is also on his best behavior here — a rascally great-uncle instead of a brilliant monster — and so he remains a reliably entertaining host.