Art about the power of art has to deal with the tricky task of being inspiring without being overly worthy; of conveying a higher feeling without being pompous or patronising. Writer Lee Hall has done it before with Billy Elliot and he proves that that feat wasn’t a one off with the masterful Pitmen Painters.
The play touches on the class system, creativity, education and culture with such lightness of touch, sincerity of heart and, vitally, a sense of humour, that instead of feeling battered over the head with ‘Big Themes’ you simply (or not so simply) care about the personal stories of a cast of characters, all played to perfection, who have aspirations of not just bettering themselves, but of bettering society.
The members of the Workers Educational Association have been taking evening classes after their day at the coalface. According to Harry, the most overtly political, Marx-quoting pitman (who’s not actually a pitman, but a dentist) they couldn’t find an Economics teacher so thought they’d give art appreciation a go instead. Robert Lyon, a tutor from a local art school, soon realises that lecturing the men on the High Renaissance masters isn’t going to inspire any sort of feeling and that a true appreciation of art will only come from creating it. Remarkably a true story (the real artwork is projected on screens above the actors’ heads as it occurs in the plot) despite their lack of formal education the Pitmen Painters’ output attracts the attention of a prominent art collector and they become highly lauded in the art world.
The remarkable thing the play achieves is to become part of its own subject. The pitmen had their passions roused for art, and for the possibility of change both personal and political via art, by making their own and immersing themselves in each other’s work. As a member of the audience you cannot help but be caught up in that passion, in that desire to do something, to create, to make something out of nothing, and in so doing to strive to make some sense of life. But tied up in this hope is sadness, as we know that in the radically shifting social and political landscape post WWII, the new world that they have such hopes for is not going to be the place of equal opportunities and fairness that they dream of. And maybe the aspirations for betterment given to the audience will only last until they get home and put on the TV or check FaceBook. But at least those feelings are there, albeit fleetingly, and that’s got to be worth something. – Deborah Sims
