Painting Churches

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

For one fleeting moment, forget Miners Alley Playhouse’s production of Tina Howe’s play Painting Churches is a generous, loving tribute by producer/director Rick Bernstein to his Father, Bernie M. Bernstein. Forget for one fleeting moment, Painting Churches zeroes in on one of today’s most dreaded diseases, Alzheimer’s.

Paige L. Larson (standing) Roger Simon and Deborah Persoff in Painting Churches at Miners Alley Playhouse

The truth is: neither statement is possible.

For those who face the possibility of slowly, painfully losing the sense of identity and memory, for those who live with the agony of exhaustive care giving, for those who have been touched by the heartbreak of the unimaginable, silent, invisible thief that robs one of the most precious commodities humanity owns: memories, identity, self-worth, purpose, for those who want to comprehend because they need to comprehend, this awesome production should not be missed by anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Painting Churches wraps itself in conflict, confusion, desperation, painful decision making, and loving frustration giving Alzheimer’s a name, place, and date in the lives of three people one will not soon forget, or even want to forget.

Under the gripping direction of Bernstein, the stellar cast of Deborah Persoff, Roger L. Simon and Paige L. Larsen will knock your socks off, tie them in bows, wrap them in red velvet, then hands them to you with a gracious royal gesture taking your breath away.

Painting Churches recognizes and gives credence to the biting frustration tearing at the most patient, the unexplainable off the wall acts of protection only the principal care giver understands and does not have the energy to explain. Painting Churches bows to the most complex raw emotions giving them permission to show their unbecoming grimaces. And then says “It’s OK.” It’s OK to be honest with devastation that wants a place to go, but doesnt have a map.

Gardner Church (Simon) was a Pulitzer Prize winning poet, a gentle spirit with the soul of an artist who wrote, lectured and taught with finesse. He and his wife, Fannie (Persoff) enjoyed the luxury of a good life, living in a beautiful town house on Beacon Hill just outside of Boston. Now they are in the throes of having to down size to move to their Cape Cod cottage. The decision of what to take with them and what to discard lies in the hands of Fannie, who sees their flashy world crumbling at her feet. With Alzheimer’s nibbling at his memory, Gardner must ask again and again why they are moving.

In desperation and exhaustion, Fanny has requested their only daughter, Margaret, (Larsen) a budding artist in her own right, to come help with the move. Consumed with the development of her career, Mags sees the opportunity to paint her parents’ portrait.

Simon gives the performance of his life of a once great man living in the bewildered shuffling body hell-bent-for-leather to write a book on poetry, forgetting to number the pages, jumping from one subject to another. Bernstein led Simon into a dark scary place where some go and can’t find their back. With rumpled hair, and frightened anger, Simon delivers heartbreak with soul.

Persoff reflects the lines of narcissism, the wanting to be pampered, and the cruel reality that she has been reduced to custodian of greatness gone awry. Irritated, brittle, humor sliced to the bone, Fannie finds no comfort in being overwhelmed by the painful packing and taking care of the shell of the man she dearly loves and remembers. Prattling around in her robe and her new red hat she bought at a thrift store for $.98, Fannie worries about her looks, the lines on her face, her image, the little things that become big things. Snapping from breaking point brittleness to knowing just how to spark a memory out of Gardner to bring love and laughter of other times, Persoff is magnificent with honest heart-wrenching emotions clutched on her shoulder.

Mags (Larsen) hasn’t been around much, doesnŐt think her parents appreciate her talent and her successes. She aches for their recognition. She aches for their Blessing. She wants to be heard, loved and appreciated. What she finds is a demanding mother, a disassociated father, and uncooperative time frame. Sitting for a portrait is the last thing Fannie and Gardner want to contend with. And when they do consider it, they dive head first into silly laughter. Mags finds it convenient to ignore her mother’s concerns over her father. Her artist’s temperament doesn’t have room to identify that their silliness finds a path to a wispy memory more precious than life itself. Larsen bends Mags into a kaleidoscope of successful daughter, successful painter, adult child, and mature adult tethered to bewilderment, need and want.

In the fog, in the upside down torn apart emotions, in the cruel reality, they find their way. Somewhere in the clouds there is a meeting of minds. Mags finds her portrait of her parents in her memories, in the dark, of what she sees and understands, what they abhor and what they admire, and it’s OK. They are OK.

Set designer Richard Pegg faced an unwieldy challenge beyond depicting the luxurious living room of the Bean Hill town house. He needed the reflection of clouds, fog and light. A bay window would do the trick, but there wasn’t room for a bay window. He produced a reversed bay window that at first seemed out of place. A flat straight window would have looked better, but Bernstein was right. They needed the fog, the clouds and the shimmering light to reflect the lives of these three characters reflected by these three artistic actors who all went willingly to a dark scary place and returned with a distinguished heartfelt story to tell.

Miss this show, and I guarantee you there will come a time you wish you hadn’t. It lights a path of brilliant concise writing and awesome execution that few have been willing or able to travel. Through the clouds and fog, there is a light. I concede, the reversed bay window works in more ways than one.