Art, the play, is like the piece of art at the heart of the plot. Each beholderÆs reaction will be different, and you can see in it whatever you want to. Some theatergoers will find a serious examination of male friendship, others will find a well-calculated piece of entertainment. Three 40-something men have been close friends for years. When one of them, Serge, brings home an expensive white-on-white abstract painting, one of his pals is horrified and even personally offended that his friend would waste money on something so vacuous. The third man equivocates and tries to mediate, angering both of his pals. There's a cute surprise ending.
Though the play is French, its relevance is universal as it explores the obligations and the limits of friendship. Very little Gallic flavor comes through in this English translation performed in American accents, but the men talk about the painting's cost in francs. Why not change it to dollars?
A more essential question is: what is the bond that holds these three together? They seem so different; why did it take until now for the men to recognize their differences? The author doesn't explore this. But isn't it true that many of us have old friendships that endure mainly because of nostalgia?
The play is directed clearly and crisply by Bernard Havard. Ben Lipitz is endearing as the nebbishy Yvan, who has a show-stopping speech that sounds like a Dennis Miller rant; Robert Ari is fine as the offended Marc, but Carl Schurr fails to bring out a warm side of the condescending Serge.
