Returning Home, Somewhat Changed
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New York could sometimes use a little nonjudgmental love and forgiveness. So the upcoming representations of the New Testament parable of the prodigal son are especially welcome. Yesterday, the Museum of Biblical Art opened “The Art of Forgiveness: Images of the Prodigal Son,” featuring 56 sculptures, prints, textiles, and other media by artists including Rembrandt, Jules Pascin, and Duane Michals. Then in January, New York City Ballet’s winter repertory season will include a revival of George Balanchine’s ballet “The Prodigal Son,” first staged in 1929 for Serge Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, and last seen locally in 2004.
The parable is taken from the Gospel of Luke. In it, Jesus relates the story of a young man who asks his father for his future inheritance, then squanders the money on “riotous living” and is eventually obliged to labor as a swineherd. The youth finally returns home in piteous condition, whereupon his father welcomes him ardently, even barbecuing a “fatted calf” to celebrate. Over the centuries, this tale of unconditional love has been interpreted by writers, painters, and filmmakers — with emphasis placed on such various points of the story that the parable can become almost lost in translation. The prodigal son is a parable that is interpreted with an artistic approach akin to Emily Dickinson’s famous dictum; “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.”
In his semi-autobiographical “Notebook of Malte Laurids Brigge” (1910) writer Rainer Maria Rilke, (1875–1926) argues that the story of the prodigal son is about a young man “who did not want to be loved,” and who therefore rejects suffocating family affection in order to express his own personality: “Shall he stay and pretend to live the sort of life they ascribe to him, and grow to resemble them in his whole appearance?” By fleeing family smothering, Rilke’s prodigal son obtains special powers: “I believe that the strength of his transformation consisted in his no longer being the son of anyone in particular. This, in the end, is the strength of all young people who have gone away.”
An equally sophisticated and astute analysis, “The Prodigal Son’s Return” (1907) by André Gide (1869–1951) questions whether a father’s house, representing conformity to moral standards, is suitable for every child. Gide’s prodigal son returns home, not because he regrets his actions, but because he is poor and hungry. Compared to such probing, innovative writings, the Museum of Biblical Art’s “Art of Forgiveness: Images of the Prodigal Son” is homespun and traditionalist. It is drawn from a collection of more than 120 images of the prodigal son donated by church organist Jerry Evenrud to Minnesota’s Luther Seminary.
“Art of Forgiveness” focuses mainly on ponderous moderns, such as painter Thomas Hart Benton and engraver Fritz Eichenberg. But it also shows the range of treatment, from Rembrant’s oil on canvas to a contemporary reworking by Texas-based artist Mary McCleary, whose mixed media collage sets the parable at a Texas barbecue. The work includes small, disembodied plastic bugeyes pasted liberally around the domestic scene.
Also on view is American photographer Duane Michals’s series of five gelatin silver photographs from 1982. In one photograph, the aging and semi-clad Michals himself poses in an apartment, leaning away from a young man who is nude except for a dress shirt. Mr. Michals’s work often explores gay themes, and indeed the parable of the prodigal son has particularly interested gay writers and artists.
A number of foreign films with gay subject matter also allude to the Gospel parable, like 1992’s “The Prodigal Son” from Finland, directed by Veikko Aaltonen, and 1995’s “The Prodigal Son” from the Netherlands, directed by Chris W. Mitchell, both about young male prostitutes. Australian director Tony Radevski’s “TheProdigal Son” (2006) is a documentary about how Macedonian émigrés in Australia struggle to accept their gay son.
Still, the most acutely dramatic staging of the parable remains the choreographer George Balanchine’s ballet “The Prodigal Son,” set to music by Serge Prokofiev. At just over a half-hour in performance, the ballet offers a whirlwind of moods, especially in Mikhail Baryshnikov’s muscular 1978 performance of the title role, available on DVD from Nonesuch. As if following the rough-hewn brushstrokes of French painter Georges Rouault, whose 1929 designs for scenery and costumes are still used for the ballet, Balanchine created a blocky, monumental assemblage of dramatic gestures and poses. These include the young man being tempted by an alluring Siren, beaten and robbed by his drinking companions, and climbing up into his all-enveloping father’s arms after being forgiven. The title role of Balanchine’s prodigal son was memorably danced during the choreographer’s lifetime by Edward Villella, who entitled his memoirs “Prodigal Son: Dancing for Balanchine in a World of Pain and Magic.”
It may not resemble the Biblical version, but then again, few representations of the story do.