'Art'Roslyn Packer Theatre 7:00 pm
"You paid a hundred and sixty thousand euros for this shit?" Marc asks his old friend Serge at the start of Lee Lewis’s restaging of the 1994 satire by French writer Yasmina Reza, Art. It feels sort of meta to be reviewing and speaking to a show whose literal tagline is “Everyone’s a critic. Especially your friends.” But, here we are.
Art has been having its own sort of renaissance on world stages, with the most recent revivals featuring three well-known male celebrities to draw in crowds. In London, it was Rufus Sewell, Paul Ritter and Tim Key, while on Broadway it was Neil Patrick Harris, James Corden and Bobby Cannavale. Australian audiences have been gifted with three long-time friends and collaborators Richard Roxburgh (Rake, The Correspondent), Damon Herriman (Justified, Together), and Toby Schmitz (Boy Swallows Universe, Gaslight). It’s a massive drawcard for audiences to have three actors of this calibre together on stage in a play about the worth of art and what holds together a friendship. And it’s one that has been proving to be working, if the “House Full” sign that’s been sitting outside Sydney Theatre Company’s Roslyn Packer Theatre during previews is anything to go by.
What type of show is Art?
Marc (Roxburgh) is filled with “some indefinable unease” by his friend Serge’s (Herriman) most recent extravagant spend on a painting that essentially appears to be a blank, white canvas. It’s the recurring gag, the somewhat theatrical McGuffin to Reza’s satiric exploration of male friendship and the subjectification of art itself.
The strong opinion from Marc surrounding this “art” that Serge has spent a small fortune on very quickly unravels into a rather explosive, potentially friendship-ending argument that burns through Marc, Serge and their placating, peacemaker friend, Yvan (Schmitz).
Art is, first and foremost, a comedy. Once I sifted through the crowd’s odd pantomime-esque jeering and laughing as though watching a sitcom, I was caught in the current of Reza’s profoundly timely script.
Who are the cast and creatives of Art?
Charles Davis’s set and costume design echoes the sentiments of the canvas at the play’s centre. There is a stark whiteness at play, with decadent architraves and fine, sharp-cornered furniture. Roxburgh’s all-black costuming opposes Herriman’s white-tied attire, while Schmitz sports a variety of 90’s-logo-plastered t-shirts. Paul Jackson’s lighting design separates the trio’s monologues to carve out asides, with blues and creams isolating the energy from each character. There’s a simplicity at play here, with the focus very much being entirely on the script and the actors.
Lewis’s direction ensures that the three men walk an even tightrope of power and play throughout the piece. Roxburgh’s abrasive and quick-to-anger Marc holds steadfast in the space, his flabbergasted expressions surrounding the white canvas being a gag that pays in dividends; he sees its mere existence as a personal insult. Roxburgh reminds us why he’s one of the Australian greats of the stage; he makes the work look effortless. Though one can’t help but think that we’re watching a Rake-adjacent characterisation of Roxburgh here (but hey, if it ain’t broke…).
After a ten-year hiatus from the stage, Herriman slips back into the space with ease. His status-seeking Serge somewhat echoes Marc in this battle between two solitary figures, but there’s a defineable essence to Serge, one that encapsulates the desire to be seen as one with their own taste, despite what his friends think.
Standing apart from both however, is Schmitz’s Yvan. Awkward, submissive and erratic, Schmitz brings a defineable characterisation to Yvan with all the little Schmitz quirks that those who’ve seen him repeatedly on stage will recognise. Schmitz’s elongated monologues and regurgitating frustrations of his marriage woes are an absolute crowdpleaser.
Why is Art a 3-star production?
With translation by British playwright Christopher Hampton, there are a lot of British-isms in here that – in the trio’s Australian accents – don’t quite sit right. Art benefits from being within a fixed time space in the 90s, meaning that the men have to actually talk to each other to get through their problems, rather than being distracted by technology. But Art suffers from its fixed place. It would have benefitted – not just the piece, but the audience – if more work had been done adapting it for the audiences it’s now playing to.
The first quarter of Art is disjointed, as we jump from duologues between different pairings of the three characters. It’s when all three are together that the magic happens. Schmitz’s chaotically joyful monologue collects energy like a theatrical battery that powers the rest of the piece to fly effortlessly.
Who will like Art?
Art gives the audience what they want – three identifiable Australian actors of stage and screen who have developed their craft over years in the industry, doing a touring satirical comedy together. The script is great, the actors are great, the entertainment is great.
It may not play as nicely for those with a palate for surreal, diversifying styles of art, but it’s most definitely putting bums on seats. It reaches for its substance and, outside the laughs, it scrapes together the essence of Reza’s original text. But you can’t help but ask, do we need it right now?
I guess after all is said and done, if you argue in the foyer afterwards about the worthiness of Art as a piece of art… isn’t that the whole point?
Art is on now until March 8 at Roslyn Packer Theatre. Book tickets over here.
