Exhausted Paint: The Death of Van Gogh is an uncomfortable journey into the mind of an artist grappling with mental illness that you’ll likely be relieved to leave.
Many depictions of Van Gogh in modern media are sympathetic. Think the kindly man in Doctor Who, or readings of him as a misunderstood artist. Drew Stroud’s version is far from that: an angry, confused man who doesn’t seek to draw the audience into his orbit but rather resolutely stands apart.
Excellent use of set design pushes the narrative forward, with different scenes selected quite literally at the random spin of a wheel. The audience feels almost part of the show, with Stroud occasionally speaking directly to them, with an intensity that will keep you on the edge of your seat.
That same intensity can make it hard to empathise. The Van Gogh you meet almost feels as though he expects your admiration, with a restless energy that is hard to connect with. Yet, as the play is loosely based on Van Gogh’s actual letters, perhaps Exhausted Paint: The Death of Van Gogh is the most realistic portrayal of a starving, troubled artist we’ve seen so far.
There are, admittedly, some lighter moments that make him seem warmer, but they are few and far between. Perhaps a few more of them would have helped you want to stay in Van Gogh’s presence longer. There are glimmers of human connection: listening to monologues on his passion for art and his love of his brother are bright spots in an otherwise dark exploration of his mind. That darkness is occasionally lifted by truly artful poetic writing, delivered with searing heat.
While Exhausted Paint: The Death of Van Gogh is not a comfortable experience, it certainly feels authentic. You meet a man desperate to be loved – but you likely won’t leave the room loving him, rough edges and all.
