Richard Roxburgh, Damon Herriman and Toby Schmitz bring Yasmina Reza’s Art to Melbourne’s Comedy Theatre, a sharp, actor-driven study of friendship that ultimately values human connection over aesthetic debate.
by Paul Cashmere
The current Australian production of Art has arrived at the Comedy Theatre in Melbourne with a formidable trio at its centre, Richard Roxburgh, Damon Herriman and Toby Schmitz. Directed by Lee Lewis, the 90-minute play, written by Yasmina Reza and translated by Christopher Hampton, continues its national tour following a Sydney season, now landing in Melbourne with considerable audience anticipation.
At its simplest, Art revolves around a painting, a large, expensive canvas that appears almost entirely white. That purchase, made by Serge, triggers a rupture between three long-time friends. Marc is outraged, Yvan attempts diplomacy, and what begins as an argument about taste quickly escalates into something more personal. The premise is intentionally slight, almost deliberately so, functioning less as narrative engine and more as catalyst.
That is where the production finds its strength. The painting is never really the story. The relationships are.
The significance of this staging lies in its focus on male friendship, an area theatre has historically approached with either sentimentality or caricature. Here, the dynamics feel grounded. The arguments are petty, the grievances familiar, the insecurities recognisable. For audiences, the appeal extends beyond the theatrical, it taps into broader cultural conversations about communication, ego and emotional literacy among men.
Roxburgh’s Marc is tightly wound, intellectually rigid and increasingly volatile. He carries a physical tension that mirrors the character’s psychological state, his posture and delivery calibrated to convey both authority and fragility. Herriman’s Serge operates from a different register, composed, self-assured, yet quietly defensive. His performance carefully balances confidence with vulnerability, particularly as the criticism mounts. Schmitz’s Yvan provides the emotional centre, a man caught between loyalties, attempting to mediate but ultimately revealing his own anxieties. His extended monologue regarding his impending wedding is one of the production’s most effective sequences, both comedic and revealing.
Together, the three actors form a cohesive ensemble. Their timing is precise, their rhythm consistent, and their familiarity with one another is evident in the ease with which they move through Reza’s dialogue. There is a generosity in their performances, each allowing space for the others, which reinforces the authenticity of the relationships being portrayed.
Technically, the production is restrained. The set design reflects a modern, minimalist aesthetic, echoing the painting itself, while lighting and sound remain supportive rather than intrusive. The focus remains firmly on the actors and the text. Lewis’s direction maintains a brisk pace, ensuring the comedy lands effectively, although this momentum occasionally limits deeper exploration of the play’s more philosophical undertones.
Historically, Art has maintained a strong presence on international stages since its 1994 debut in Paris. Its longevity can be attributed to its accessibility and its adaptability across cultures. High-profile productions in London and on Broadway have consistently drawn audiences, often anchored by well-known actors. This Australian iteration follows that tradition, leveraging the profile of its cast while staying faithful to the original structure.
In a broader context, the play’s continued relevance speaks to an enduring fascination with the subjectivity of art and the fragility of personal relationships. While the art world has evolved significantly since the 1990s, the central question, what do we value, and why, remains pertinent. However, in this production, that philosophical inquiry takes a back seat to the interpersonal drama.
There are limitations. The central conflict, a friendship strained over a painting, can feel thin, particularly for contemporary audiences accustomed to more layered narratives. At times, the script gestures towards deeper themes without fully interrogating them. The rapid progression from humour to resolution also compresses the emotional arc, leaving certain tensions only partially resolved.
Yet, those shortcomings are mitigated by the performances. Roxburgh, Herriman and Schmitz elevate the material, ensuring that even when the premise wavers, the emotional truth remains intact. Their chemistry transforms the play from a conceptual exercise into a character-driven experience.
Ultimately, Art succeeds not because of its exploration of modern art, but because of its examination of friendship. The disagreements, however exaggerated, lead to a reaffirmation of connection. Differences persist, but they are outweighed by shared history and mutual understanding.
As the Melbourne season continues, the production stands as a reminder that theatre, at its most effective, relies not on spectacle but on human interaction. In this case, three actors, one room, and a single painting are enough.
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