Australians of a certain generation know all about the fractious debate surrounding the worth of abstract contemporary art. There was a national conniption when the Whitlam government cleared the then-record-breaking $1.3 million purchase of Jackson Pollock’s ‘Blue Poles’ for the National Gallery of Australia in 1973.
Two years later, after a double dissolution election, Governor-General John Kerr notoriously dismissed the Whitlam government on November 11, 1975.
The vanquished Prime Minister took an immortal swipe at his political executioner on the steps of Old Government House: “Well may we say, ‘God save the Queen,’ because nothing will save the Governor-General.”
With ‘Blue Poles’ now valued at around $350 million, you might say that Whitlam had the last laugh on that front. But the spiritual battle for the arts continues apace, with some of Australia’s most vital institutions subject to savage budget cuts that endanger their very existence and the cultural wealth of our nation.
This raging debate around artistic worth is captured on a much more intimate scale in French playwright Yasmina Reza’s 1994 work, Art. Translated by Christopher Hampton, it receives a rollicking Australian production at the Comedy Theatre directed by Prima Facie’s Lee Lewis.
What’s Art all about?
Art is a ferociously funny chamber piece in which three so-called best mates come to metaphorical blows over a plain white painting.
Only it’s not plain white, according to Damon Herriman’s arty farty Serge, who prides himself on understanding the nuance of shades and shapes subtly contained within his astonishingly expensive acquisition.
Perhaps if his leather-jacketed buddy, Marc, played with a ranging flap by fellow esteemed star of stage and screen Richard Roxburgh, could muster more good humour about what he sees as a foolish purchase, their differing perspectives would be smoothed over like the canvas appears to be.
But that wouldn’t be much of a play, would it?
Instead, a private viewing at Serge’s minimalist apartment sends Marc into what at first appears to be an inexplicable rage. Is he genuinely concerned that Serge is off his rocker? Or is there more to appearances? As the pair pick at one another’s egotistical scabs, the show rapidly becomes far more about class consciousness than it is art.
Stuck in the middle of this ivory tower spin on ‘Blue Poles’, the far more sweet-natured Yvan was looking forward to this catch-up as an escape from his own meltdown over his impending nuptials and the family clash threatening to upend it.
As played by a Toby Schmitz, a playwright himself, Yvan’s flabbergasted. Vainly attempting to calm things down, he ducks and dives as Marc and Serge’s spiralling tit-for-tat spits ricocheting bullets in every direction, including at himself as collateral damage. Pretty soon, the three begin to wonder what any of them had in common.
Sounds fun/fractious?
Art sure is. Reza’s razor-sharp satire not only swipes at the uncomfortable tug of war between creativity and commerce, but also the inability of too many men to talk cool, calm and collectedly about their innermost feelings and how the actions of others might affect them adversely.
There’s an element of unhinged farce to their increasingly frantic sparring that will have audience members torn between rip-roaring guffaws and toenail-curling anxiety gasps in such a way that will thoroughly discombobulate your fight or flight instinct.
At the top of their game and gamely corralled by Lewis, Roxburgh and Herriman are like circling tigers, ready to rip one another’s two-faced faces off. It’s a vicious delight to watch them prowl around set and costume designer Charles Davis’s artfully paired back Parisian-style Australian apartment set. Serge’s pleated pant suits in portrait-matching shades of white tells us everything we need to know about how he really feels about Marc’s slouchier look.
As finely paired as the pugilistic Roxburgh and Herriman are, a work of art in chaotic motion that Lewis wisely lets speak for itself, it’s Schmitz who steals the show. His switch from tracksuit-sporting goofball to increasingly off-the-wall mania soars thanks to his spectacular delivery of Reza’s high-wire monologues.
Hooting and hollering, the opening night audience could not get enough of Schmitz’s spot-on navigation of both the play’s brightest and most broken-hearted beats, with all three together something beautiful to behold, whether you can see those diagonal white lines or not.
Who will love Art?
Well, that’s an existential provocation, whatever you make of ‘Blue Poles’ or canvases at the entirely opposite end of the ‘busy’ scale. For what it’s worth, I think if art speaks to your soul, then it’s priceless.
Oh. Wait.
You mean specifically Art, Reza’s play starring Roxburgh, Herriman and Schmitz?
In that case, anyone who loves seeing three impeccably gifted actors tearing strips off one another in a punch-drunk 90-minutes. More than simply all white, it’s a colourful riot that’s not to be missed – like those are they or aren’t they actually there stripes on Serge’s pride of joy, much maligned by Marc.
'Art' is on now at the Comedy Theatre until May 17, 2026. For more information and to book tickets, head to the website.
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