[The following review contains mild spoilers for ART by Yasmina Reza]
I should probably begin with some witticism about how ART belies its surface-level simplicity to provide an incredibly searching insight into the depths of the human psyche. But, alas, I think Marc (Rufus Shutter) would say I’m imagining things. Serge (Jem Hunter) would, of course, denounce my inability to comprehend the piece in the first place. Yvan (Ronav Jain), meanwhile, might say he thought he saw my point, but, in the end, would probably defer to the others’ judgements.
These are, incredibly crudely put, the three friends’ responses to Serge’s decision to buy an archetypal piece of modern art – white canvas with white lines on a white background – for the sum of 200,000 (pre-Eurozone) francs. But my witticism would be wrong in any case: directors Theo Joly and Oli Spooner’s staging of Yasmina Reza’s ART is both brilliantly entertaining and layered with accessible nuance.
The Burton Taylor is, appropriately enough, decked in white for the occasion, its bare walls allowing for a simple swap of the central painting to indicate a move from one character’s house to another’s. Our seats, meanwhile, are arranged in thrust formation around the stage, giving the actors a little more space to play with, in comparison to other shows. One of the side tables was right up next to my seat – the olives were genuine; the brandy (hopefully) not. Yvan and Marc both spend time sitting right in line with the audience, although this did instigate the occasional game of head tennis as the focus switched from one character to another.
The interaction between characters and audience is accompanied by repeated flashes of jazz and colour-coded lighting (courtesy of Joly and Spooner as sound designers, and lighting designer Felix Gibbons), which herald an internal monologue from one of the trio. All three characters are genuinely entertaining in these moments; Yvan’s scatterbrained entrance, on the hunt for a felt-tip pen lid, was a particular highlight. During Marc and Serge’s squabbles, meanwhile, the two take turns immediately retracting what they’ve just said, with the musical motifs providing little bursts of comedic relief.
Throughout, the dialogue is incredibly fun and exceptionally witty (even if, at times, it was delivered a little too quickly to follow). Yet it carries a far harsher edge than what we might associate with the similar flamboyance of writers such as Wilde, with Shutter especially delivering his lines with a stony-faced bluntness. What Serge triggers, in buying his treasured painting, is not just a discussion on the merits of the modern philosophy. Rather, it becomes a symbol of the relationship he and Marc had, and, in Marc’s eyes, its sudden betrayal. The egos on display during the bitterest fights are enormous, but it is to Rufus Shutter and Jem Hunter’s credit that this in no way overwhelms our perception of their characters. The play remains frustratingly and tantalisingly ambivalent on the central issue of who has wronged whom. Both characters elicit great sympathy, but also, somehow simultaneously, provoke bewildering estrangement. Yvan’s attempts to act as peace broker, meanwhile, only manage to unify Marc and Serge in one thing – their ridicule of what they see as his inherent cowardice. Everyone, at one point or another, is accused of losing their sense of humour.
It is shocking just how far each character is prepared to go to argue their case. Deeply personal insults are hurled around with abandon, and moments of vulnerability are as likely to be met with mocking as with understanding. The characters’ (ex-)partners attract significant blame for their various failings, giving the debate an uncomfortably misogynistic bent at times. But ultimately, what we’re left with is a picture of male friendship which revolves around their pride – around the desire to be acknowledged as superior. Indeed, for Marc, the defining feature of friendship is that you consider your friends better than everyone else. A worthy sentiment, perhaps, but one which Marc, seeing himself as the rightful arbiter of the group’s taste, never seems to apply in his friendship to Serge.
The range of emotion on display during these discussions, debates, arguments, diatribes is impressive. To say it again, all three actors do an exceptional job. At times, they indulge in the caricatures they could be: Serge, the trendy intellectual; Yvan, the self-doubting joker; Marc, the suave realist. But we never lose sight of their subtleties. The play’s climax, after arguments devolve into physical violence, is both beautifully tender and suggestive. The three seem to break through to one another in an affecting conversation next to the dining table; but Marc and Serge’s final responses suggest neither has quite moved on.
As to the painting, it just sits there. It is examined, moved, discussed, priced, debated over, but never resolved. It would be perhaps too cliché to say that the extent of the emotion it creates justifies its 200,000-franc value. Its white surface with white lines is, however, an incredibly revealing one. Over one and a half hours of erudite discussions and biting insults, what it draws out is a picture of three friends almost tearing themselves apart, desperately trying to figure out just what it is that keeps them together. Joly and Spooner’s excellently-staged production certainly gives us plenty of fuel for interpretation on that front.
[ART, staged by Grinning Spoon Productions, is running at the Burton Taylor Studio Tues 3rd-Sat 7th June 2025].