Thanks to Julian Olf, I know why the “Art” he’s so wonderfully directed for Banyan differs some from what I previously knew in French and English in Paris and in English in the U.S. It seems I just attended a newer American--not British-English--adaptation that places action and accents here. Such alchemy turned a philosophical comedy into satirical farce, drawing laughs galore but less afterthought about values except how entertaining an exploration of them can be.
Serge has invited his old friend Marc to see the painting he’s proudly acquired for 200,000 grand (not francs) by a hot French artist. It’s a white rectangle with a few white lines. Marc disgustingly calls it shit and tries to get Serge to laugh about it and his taste--so different from that usually displayed under Marc’s influence.
Yvan (pronounced “Ivan” here) tries with each to be friendly, to accommodate each point of view and get the two reconciled. They turn on him just as he needs their friendship to settle his nerves. (It’s not that they don’t listen; the actors’ concentration is a sustained marvel.) In a frenzied monologue Larry Alexander’s Yvan brings down the house with his typically New York Jewish comedic frenzy over his mother and to-be mother-in-law taking over every detail of his impending wedding. Added to that: his hatred of his new job in sales, given him by a relative of his intended.
In a way, Yvan becomes the pivot for an uneasy reconciliation between Gary Marachek’s harsh but commanding Marc and Don Walker’s newly assertive, self-satisfied Serge. But will they get over the resentments and different values they’ve revealed? Will they be able to keep up the pretenses that, instead of truth and honesty, kept all of their friendships going?
A potent reason for the play’s popularity is its focus on modern art itself and on its commercial values. The white painting exemplifies deconstructive art (“erasure” of the traditional), just as “Art” deconstructs the friendship among three men. Serge does value his painting as a commodity but mainly because he sees something in it. Marc sees white, worth zero. Yvan sees an object that has negative meaning to each of the others, akin to the way they’ve viewed him. The play’s present version skims more lightly over these points than its predecessors.
Reza’s structure includes direct address to the audience, monologues, dyadic and three-way conversations and actions, sans traditional acts and scenes. Chris McVicker’s basically neutral set with sliding panels instead of doors uses only a traditional painting on Marc’s wall to cleverly distinguish his apartment from Serge’s. Their clothing, designed by Cristy Owen, is as American as the bourbon they drink.
Nick Jones effectively lights talks to the audience from a darkened downstage but all glows in the interiors, with special attention to illuminating Serge’s painting at the finish. Dorian Boyd’s sound design blends in, properly not calling undue attention to itself in a play that emphasizes seeing.
I can’t think of a better value than a ticket to get out of Sarasota’s early summer heat to see Banyan’s so-cool “Art”.
