Art
The eternal question when it comes to cultural artifacts is that oft-parodied, sometimes snide inquiry: "Yeah--but is it art?"
Yasmina Reza’s 1994 play Art gets straight to the heart of the matter. Originally in French, but translated by Christopher Hampton, the play concerns a recent, expensive acquisition by modern art aficionado Serge (Dave Perkinson). Serge’s best friend, Marc (Ted Clement), has no time for such extravagances; to him, the 200,000 francs that Serge has paid (obviously, this all takes place before the European Union countries established a common currency) is a complete waste.
Then again, when one considers the source, this response is not surprising. Marc himself is unapologetic about his lack of cultural refinement: "As you know, culture is something I absolutely piss on," Marc sniffs at one juncture. The fact that Marc has begun resorting to homeopathic remedies tells us something about him: for one thing, his humors are out of balance. For another, anything too overt or too nuanced is liable to irritate him. For Marc, things are straightforward, or should be: to his and Serge’s mutual friend Yvan Dan Grund), Marc pays the backhanded compliment, "Apart from being disastrously open-minded, you’re quite sane." If Art had been written in this century, and in this country, Marc would stay abreast of current events by tuning in to Fox News.
Serge, on the other hand, is equally put off by Marc’s insistence on seeing things in absolutes. Serge is stung by Marc’s "vile, pretentious laugh," but there’s a thin-skinned reactivity to Serge’s displeasure, too: when he looks at the canvas, does he see innate beauty? Or does he see the profit he’ll make if he ever sells the piece?
Meaning is found in different things by different people, of course, and who’s to say that money isn’t a form of aesthetics to those who treat art like a commodity? Artistic merit may be a matter of taste, meaning may be a matter of personal interpretation, and value may boil down to the peculiar psychology of the market, but each of these things at least offers a basis from which to build a world view. Yvan, however, is without opinion or genuine worldview; at least, that’s how Marc and Serge view him. "Yvan is tolerant because he couldn’t care less," the acerbic Marc notes, and he’s pretty much nailed it. That raises the question: why do Marc and Serge seek to make Ivan the arbiter of their dispute over whether the expensive painting is actually a work of art?
Yvan is easily swayed by the opinions of his friends. What Ivan does care about, though, and what neither Serge nor Marc can sway him on, is the subject of Yvan’s upcoming wedding to a young woman who--not unlike Ivan--is something of a drama queen. Yvan’s own tics and anxieties make him something of a clown, but his renditions of the domestic dramas surrounding his nuptials only enhance his emotional excesses. As the disagreement between Serge and Marc grows more heated, their drama, too, impacts Yvan, driving him closer and closer to hysteria.
The play is a wry and wrenching examination of high-minded debate devolving into ideologies that are then stripped down to personal grudges: slights and resentments come to light as Serge and Marc continue their argument (which is increasingly fueled by booze). Reza’s script acts like a coroner’s scalpel, tracing pathologies of politics and culture within the context of the men’s disagreement. In the Counter Productions Theatre Company’s staging of Art, directed by Saori Kaneko and continuing through June 20 at the Piano Factory, the play is etched as finely as a miniature portrait: the voices of each character are clear and distinct, and though the play makes use of asides and monologues there’s never any confusion as to what’s going on thanks to Ryan Kasle’s creative lighting, which changes to accommodate departures from the play’s main narrative.
Most of the play takes place in Serge’s apartment, in which the disputed canvas holds place of pride. The decor, overseen by set designer Jess Schneider, is spare and judicious; there are shelves with serious-looking books and bibelots, and there’s a well-stocked bar. There are also triangular seats scattered around: something of a pun, one suspects, given the prevalence of geometry, and triangles in particular, in the art of painting.
The making of marks is a prevalent theme here: the painting in question, a white canvas with white lines running across it, summarizes pristine surfaces that call out for preservation to some, and for de-virginizing to others. Serge and Marc, friends for a decade and a half, struggle to make their impressions upon one another; Marc, in particular, is disappointed to realize that the pattens of thought he believed he was impressing upon Serge are fading. Yvan is depicted as a living tabula rasa, easily colored in and just as easily blanked out again, but his lack of strong opinion is only one diagnostic: just as crucial is his new career in the exciting world of stationery, where a premium is placed upon that which is without blemish (and upon a receptivity to markings).
There is a place where all points of view might converge, however; it’s with a surprise and a sense of pleasure that Art arrives at that place. But then again, why shouldn’t it? Bringing us to a place of fresh interpretation and insight is, after all, the function of Art itself.
Art continues through June 20 at The Factory Theater, located at 791 Tremont Street in Boston. Tickets cost $15 and may be purchased at the door; June 10 and June 17 are "Pay what you can" Thursdays.
Performance schedule: Thursdays-Saturdays at 8:00 p.m.; Sunday, June 20, at 2:00 p.m.
