Art

It feels like only yesterday that Yasmin Reza’s play about a painting last came to Norwich, but it's actually been six years since Nigel Havers revived his role as Serge, in a starry cast that also featured Denis Lawson and Stephen Tompkinson. This latest production is hardly filled with unknowns, but it’s surely fair to say Sean Walsh, Chris Harper and Aden Gillett are less well known. It's therefore a testament to their skill as actors, rather than stars, that this production surpasses the previous one in almost every regard.

The central strength of this performance is the relationship between Serge, who has bought a seemingly blank canvas and Marc, who is perplexed by the purchase. Gillette manages to capture the fury we reserve for friends that have let themselves down, clumsily offensive in his attempt to understand the inexplicable. Harper's performance is a tad undercooked, lacking the passion that would surely drive his extravagant commitment to art, but it's an interesting interpretation of a character on which, after all, the drama pivots. Sean Walsh is perhaps the most surprising, given that he is best known as a stand-up comedian. As hapless Yvan, trapped between his two warring pals and an imminent (and probably inadvisable) marriage, he manages to invest the broadest of comedy with a believable humanity. His portrait of a man bewildered by his friends petty squabbling, not least when he has more substantial problems of his own, was both vigorous and authentic, deservedly winning the biggest laughs, and spontaneous applause for a bravado central speech that was as tragic as it was humorous.

Since Art was first performed Tracy Emin has left her bed unmade, Tilda Swinton has slept in a glass box and Martin Creed has switched a light on and off. An all-white painting seems oddly quaint by comparison, begging the question whether the play has dated. It’s worth remembering that, notwithstanding the translation, Art is still about three Frenchmen, with French names, living in Paris around the corner from the Pompidou centre. At the time, Reza and translator Christopher Hampton quickly agreed that “three Englishmen would never behave in the way the characters do” so how close does this Angelized version compare to the original? Does that even matter or has the English version become a thing in its own right?

Hard for me to tell, but in the spirit of rigorous investigative journalism I invited a professional French/English translator along with me - I promise I'm not making this up - who tells me Hampton adhered very closely to the French text. The effect, however, of matching the original word for word, very much changed the tone. A three hander - one grumpy, one foolish, one everyman - is apparently a staple of light French comedy theatre, a slot into which Art comfortably fits. The heighted language, the acerbic conflict and the mischievous subtext are arguably a product of the translation, its deeper resonance almost an accident born out of the conversion process, rather than inherently embedded in the text. She noticed jokes falling flat because a literal translation loses the implicit gag. A mild repost out of the mouth of a Frenchman had become a vicious barb when said by an Englishman. The constant bickering the stuff of everyday discourse for the French, rather than the seismic disruption that it would mean to an Englishman. In the nutshell, merde means something very different to the French. Translating it to shit honours the letter, but not the spirit of the original, delivering a resonance for an English audience that would bewilder the French.

It's a fascinating theory and one I can only step back and marvel at. Whether the play I saw truly mirrors the authors intent or instead has morphed into an something altogether more interesting is moot, but I can say this outing zipped along with an energy and invention noticeably lacking in the version I previously saw, heightening the central theme that Serge, Marc and Yvan have been friends for so long, they can’t remember why. Tired and dismissive of each other, the painting exposes fault lines that throw everything into doubt, and how easily friendship can unravel. If your friend does or says something entirely alien to your way of thinking, are they the same person you once knew, and if not, are you really friends anymore? Given the acrimony of Brexit, covid vaccination and even the recent Lucy Letby controversy, far from feeling dated, the play feels surprisingly relevant – an exemplar of what happens when we lose the ability to disagree civilly, instead content to take lumps out of family and friends with little regard for the consequential fallout.

That said, scratch beneath the cantankerous surface of these silly, vain men, and the abiding message is one of caring. Marc is furious with Serge only because he doesn’t want him to be so foolish. Serge is angry with Marc only because he wants his friend to be more empathic. Both of them are mad at Yvan because he is sleepwalking into a disastrous marriage. What binds them (a point they repeatedly question) is a desire to think better of each other, and by implication be better men. As the final scene made explicit, it's friendship, not the painting, that really matters, and what the play is really about.