This image released by Polk & Co. shows James Corden, from left, Neil Patrick Harris and Bobby Cannavale during a performance of “Art” at the Music Box Theatre in New York. (Matthew Murphy/Polk & Co. via AP)
This image released by Polk & Co. shows Neil Patrick Harris, left, and James Corden during a performance of “Art” at the Music Box Theatre in New York. (Matthew Murphy/Polk & Co. via AP)
This image released by Polk & Co. shows Bobby Cannavale during a performance of “Art” at the Music Box Theatre in New York. (Matthew Murphy/Polk & Co. via AP)
This image released by Polk & Co. shows James Corden during a performance of “Art” at the Music Box Theatre in New York. (Matthew Murphy/Polk & Co. via AP)
A critical assessment of the merits of a subject, such as art, film, music, television, food and literature. Reviews are based on the writer鈥檚 informed/expert opinion.
Bobby Cannavale, James Corden and Neil Patrick Harris revel in the power of ‘Art’
For evidence of how high inflation has gotten, look no further than Broadway. The fancy painting at the heart of the play 鈥淎rt鈥 cost the equivalent of $40,000 in 1998. In a crackling new revival, it’s a hefty $300,000.
This image released by Polk & Co. shows James Corden, from left, Neil Patrick Harris and Bobby Cannavale during a performance of “Art” at the Music Box Theatre in New York. (Matthew Murphy/Polk & Co. via AP)
For evidence of how high inflation has gotten, look no further than Broadway. The fancy painting at the heart of the play 鈥淎rt鈥 cost the equivalent of $40,000 in 1998. In a crackling new revival, it’s a hefty $300,000.
The painting in question is a 4-by-5-foot white-on-white work with white lines. puts it at the center of an escalating fight between three male, middle-aged friends that exposes their fault lines, leading to a night in which each are ripped apart by the others and putting a 25-year friendship in jeopardy.
If $300,000 sounds like a ridiculous price for a monothematic canvas, you’ll side with Marc, played with pitch-perfect exasperation by If the painting speaks to you, you’ll be with Serge, a flinty, slightly full-of-himself If you just want to hang out and not talk about the painting any more, you’ll identify with hapless Yvan.
ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW
Under Scott Ellis’ tight and enthralling direction and with three perfectly cast actors who seem to be having a ball at the Music Box Theatre, 鈥淎rt鈥 frequently erupts in laughter but still has plenty to say about friendship, power dynamics and how we get on each others’ nerves. The 90-minute play opened Tuesday night.
This is the first time 鈥淎rt,鈥 translated from the original French by Christopher Hampton and which won the Tony Award for best play in 1998 starring Victor Garber and Alfred Molina, has returned to Broadway, and it feels nothing like an antique. Designer David Rockwell puts the latest three lads in an elegant gray, spare living room that reeks of chilly luxury but also has little personality.
Marc believes that Serge 鈥 by buying the Modernist painting against the express aesthetic rules followed by Marc 鈥 is indicating that he has stepped out of Marc鈥檚 shadow. It is for him nothing less than a betrayal. Serge finds a new intolerance and inflexibility in his friend and a hostility to things new. They both lobby Yvan to be on their side, and when he vacillates, he is declared a spineless amoeba.
鈥淚t鈥檚 just a picture, we don鈥檛 have to get bogged down with it, life鈥檚 too short,鈥 says Yvan at one point. But it鈥檚 precisely because life is short that even small things matter.
Cannavale’s Marc is prone to outbursts and patting his friend’s shoulders, less out of affection than an expression of dominance. Harris’ Serge goes from needy to flinty to icy, and Corden fills his Yvan with the comedian’s gift for physical comedy, literally plunging into a sofa to search for something or looking sheepish as he buttons a jacket.
A highlight is a hysterical scene in which the three men, still festering their grievances, silently eat olives and drop the pits in a bowl with a loud ting. And Corden triggers a mid-show ovation after nailing a 900-word monster of a monologue that smacks of Mark Rylance doing something similar in the same theater in 鈥淟a B锚te.鈥
鈥淎rt鈥 has never been a discussion about Modern art, despite its title. The white painting is merely the playwright’s way to get at microaggressions and competition among friends, and how seemingly small things 鈥 like the way one waves away cigarette smoke or the tone of a suggestion 鈥 can fester in the other.
Sure, inflation has hit Broadway tickets, too, but this 鈥淎rt鈥 is a howl. Bring a friend.
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