I don’t think I’d consider Yasmina Reza’s Art a masterpiece, though after seeing the sharp new Broadway production of the play starring Bobby Cannavale, James Corden and Neil Patrick Harris I’d probably think twice about expressing such an opinion in the company of these characters.
What Art is is an always sturdy play, sometimes a quite fine one, with a reputation that’s only grown in the years since its 1990s premieres in Paris, London and on Broadway. A sleek, modernist little dagger of a play that uses, effectively, the subject of art – more specifically, the subject of our opinions about art – to delve into (eviscerate, really) the bonds and frailties of friendship. You want to know just how strong the ties that bind really aren’t? Trying telling your best friend what you think about the ridiculous painting that he’s just shelled out $300,000 for. Best of luck.
Set in modern-day Paris (as is customary for English language productions of this play, no attempt is made at l’accent français), the three-character Art begins with one of those characters, Marc (Cannavale, initially seeming an odd choice for this pompous, persnickety character but proving himself soon enough), directly addressing the audience.
“My friend Serge has bought a painting. It’s a canvas about five feet by four: white. The background is white and if you screw up your eyes, you can make out some fine white diagonal lines. Serge is one of my oldest friends. He’s done very well for himself, he’s a dermatologist and he’s really into art.On Monday, I went over to see the painting; Serge had actually got hold of it on Saturday, but he’d been lusting after it for several months. This white painting with white lines.”
If you can’t read derision and contempt in those lines, you would when you hear the fine Cannavale deliver them.
Now let’s hear from Serge (Harris).
“My friend Marc’s an intelligent enough guy. I’ve always valued our relationship, he has a good job, he’s an aeronautical engineer, but he’s one of those new-style intellectuals, who are not only enemies of modernism, but seem to take some sort of incomprehensible pride in running it down … In recent years these nostalgia-merchants have become quite breathtakingly arrogant.”
Derision and contempt, check.
The dynamic between Marc and Serge is what’s up for examination in Art, as is the role their third friend, Yvan (Cordon) will play in the friendship triumvirate. While Marc is the self-identified top dog and mentor who believes his pals should follow his every lead (which, in years past, they probably did) and Serge bristles under the heavy hand of anyone who might threaten his ever-increasing intellectual independence, Yvan is, well, the comic relief of the gang. He’s a bit of a slob, no where near the level of his friends either professionally or personally, and his lifelong third-man-out position has left him forever the passive-aggressive milquetoast peacekeeper.
As the three friends initially meet in pairs to chat and gossip, mostly about the absurdly expensive purchase Serge has made, Marc and Serge open up to Yvan about how insulted they feel about the other’s recent behaviors. Yvan plays both sides of the fence.
The big showdown is coming, though, when all three friends will arrive at Serge’s apartment (David Rockwell’s set design of stark, modernist furniture barely changes from one apartment to the next, the only difference being the choice of painting that decorates a wall in each man’s home – a tacky dog portrait for Yvan, a very traditionalist landscape for Marc and, for Serge, well, it’s white.)
As the get-together becomes a showdown, secrets are revealed, old hurts (and some new doozies) are expressed. Marc is vicious in his opinion about the painting because to him it’s not just a painting, its evidence that his best friend has moved on in the world, has left him behind in some cruel way. Serge hates that Marc still sees him as the intellectually unformed sponge he might have been 25 years ago. Yvan just wants his old buddies back, happy and fun and close.
Reza’s play is nothing if not schematic – the three characters are, more or less, placeholders for particular viewpoints on the subjects at hand. We never really know why these three disparate men became friends all those years ago. Was Serge any less pretentious? Was Marc less blustering and domineering? Was Yvan any less Jello?
But such questions aren’t really Reza’s point here. She is at her best – and certainly Art is at its best – when using the painting and the various interpretations it inspires as a McGuffin, an excuse to tease out the gripes and grudges and resentments that can fester for years in even the best friendships. Watch the way Marc seizes on Serge’s hoity-toity use of the word “deconstruction,” unpacking the sort of hidden insults, real or imagined, that only the closest of friends can detect in the most offhand comment. Start pulling at those loose threads and an entire sweater – or a 25-year friendship – can be left in a discarded heap.
Playing out on Rockwell’s perfectly appointed set (and with Jen Schriever’s stark but sympathetic lighting design), Art is played to a fare-thee-well by the three stars. The gruff Cannavale smirks and simmers, lending Marc an edginess that seems capable of turning vicious any moment. His Marc is dangerous, and we know it.
Harris, as the affected but needy Serge, is terrific, his comic chops balanced perfectly by a real feel for the hurt feelings and resentments Marc inspires.
And then there’s Corden, an actor who has faced no shortage of brickbats over the years but who here absolutely steals the show – no small feat with these co-stars. Art drags a bit at the beginning – always has – but goes into hyperdrive with Corden’s scene-stealing rant about the horrors of a day spent planning a possibly ill-begotten wedding. He doesn’t give his friends so much as a split second to respond, instead forging through minutes of raving like a lunatic – an incredibly funny lunatic – and bringing the audience to a massive round of mid-play applause. We’re pretty much on his side for the rest of the show. (At the reviewed performance, a wall panel meant to swivel to expose several paintings froze mid-swivel; Corden deadpanned, “Not that’s an expensive work of art.”)
Director Scott Ellis seems to know when to let his talented cast enjoy themselves, and if the pacing in the first half-hour or so feels a bit sluggish, well, that’s mostly on the playwright. The play’s conceits – about modern art, about interpersonal resentments, about something that might nowadays be called toxic masculinity – just don’t seem as novel as they might once have. As Art‘s three buddies set up their impending conflict, we know exactly where they’re heading. This production eventually rewards our patience, even if we sometimes wish for quicker brushstrokes.
Title: ArtVenue: Broadway’s Music Box TheaterWritten By: Yasmina Reza, translated by Christopher HamptonDirected By: Scott EllisCast: Bobby Cannavale, James Corden, Neil Patrick HarrisRunning Time: 1 hr 30 min (no intermission)
The post ‘Art’ Broadway Review: Bobby Cannavale, Neil Patrick Harris And James Corden Paint A Brutal Portrait Of Friendship appeared first on Deadline.
