by Yasmina Reza
Directed by Morris Panych
A CanStage Production at the Bluma Appel Theatre
March 15-April 10, 2010

   Yasmina Reza’s phenomenal comedy of manners is an established international hit, not only because it afford three exceptionally good roles to actors or because of its deadly satiric points scored against the bourgeoisie, but because it proves that contemporary French intellectual comedy can be as scintillating and as potent as any farce or high comedy by Moliere or Anouilh. I know this is a considerable claim for what is essentially a three-man drawing-room debate about art, and one that originated in France—a country that ranks seriousness higher than laughter—but Art defies common sense “rules” of theatre and wins big. Morris Panych, that uneven, unpredictable genius, does almost everything right in his production, and his cast (Peter Donaldson, Evan Buliung, and Colin Mochrie) seems born to play their roles. The performance is approximately 80 minutes long without intermission, but never outlasts its welcome.

   Reza’s craft is solid. Though she uses three male characters, she uses a single drawing room set that, through slight changes of décor and lighting, alters ever so slightly according to the personalities and tastes of the host characters. Designer Ken MacDonald has opted for a gray palette rather than a white one, enhancing the possibility of making bold visual effects with a single prop that can stand out noticeably against the gray. And Andrea Lundy’s lighting is subtle, as is her wont, while grainy black and white projections mark changes of scene and venue, offering wild rides through Paris and close-ups of each friend as he turns up at his host’s front door. This, by the way, is the only repeated device that grows tedious. The rest is pure, inspired joy. Perhaps, “joy” is not the right word? But what single word could express the sheer wit, exuberance, acidity, and cleverness of this play that has a brilliant English translation by Christopher Hampton and that is performed with exceptional craft by actors who find jokes on commas and periods, let alone exclamations and colons.

   It is a work of dubious art that sets the play on its comic course. Serge, a dermatologist, has purchased an abstract painting by Atrios at a formidable price, but it is this painting—nothing but hardly perceptible white diagonal lines on a totally white background—that outrages Marc, his aeronautic engineer friend, and causes their friendship to explode in sometimes bitter quarrels, even though the third friend, Yvan, who is tolerant because he really couldn’t care less and is boring himself to death in textiles and stationery, tries to keep the peace. But what begins as a satire on the pretentiousness of modern art and its patrons and the resentments of Philistines grows into a very effective interrogation of friendship and values.

   Many famous actors have played these three roles, and while our Canadian trio is less famous than some of those, each is a brilliant comedian whose brilliance shines all the more for being at the service of the play. Peter Donaldson, one of the most reliable and accomplished veterans of the Stratford Festival, has sharpened his craft. He often reminds me of the late William Hutt, not only because he manages to combine dignity with almost apoplectic hysteria but because he knows how to play a line or a moment without ever making his technique trump characterization. His Marc is categorically aggressive not because he resents Serge’s money or social status, but because he pisses on culture and regards Serge’s acquisition as a phony connoisseurship. Colin Mochrie makes a perfect foil to Donaldson. His Serge is a big, gentle fellow whose monastic seriousness about the Atrios is truly funny, but who is quite capable of venting his own passion. And rounding off the trio is Evan Buliung, who is quickly proving himself as a master of farce with performances in Shakespeare, Caryl Churchill, and now this play. His Yvan is a great sweet reconciler who goes to pieces from the tensions with his friends and from other domestic tensions growing out of his impending wedding. To watch and listen to Buliung’s long, hilarious monologue on his fiancée and two stepmothers is to experience comic genius. Buliung takes the speech at breakneck speed without ever blurring the language or distinctions of characters. He embroiders the role superbly with a comic earache and crying jags that crystallize the apocalypse reached because of a painted white canvas.

   These three superb actors turn the Cartesian into hysterical comedy, and one that is an art about art.      

photo: Cylla von Tiedemann

pic (L-R): Colin Mochrie (Serge), Evan Buliung (Yvan), Peter Donaldson (Marc)



Go Back to: Stage Reviews