There’s too much of the same in ‘Art’

There's so much talent in Atlas Theatre's "Art" that you may find yourself surprised at what a slight production it is. I felt as if I'd just spent 80 minutes trapped in an elevator listening to three men bitch at each other.

Yasmina Reza's 1998 Tony-winning play gives us a delightfully simple premise: A man has bought a piece of modern art for $200,000, and it appears to be nothing more than a white canvas. Was he defrauded or do his friends not appreciate the nature of art? And are these guys really friends? If so, why?

The script is full of witty observations clothed in brutal bursts of humor. The trio go at each other like only good friends can, and their scalding insults invite self-examination.

All three are gifted. But they don't match up as equal-footed friends. We don't believe they have 15 years of comradeship behind them. And since this is supposed to be about relationships, their lack of any is a serious problem.

Chris Mayse communicates the cynical, seen-it-all attitude of Marc. He has a John Lithgow-type of masculine authority with a line that makes you want to watch him.

But here, he looks about double the age of the other two boyish looking actors, and his mature look results in his coming across as very petty, maybe even pathological, in his toying with the two youthful men.

There's something stale about his work -- as if he's repeating a performance he gave long ago with others. Mayse makes a mistake in directing himself. He never quite seems to be involved with the two other actors.

Scott Johnson plays Yvan, a spineless, geeky Huck Finn. His performance is all calculated whines. As an actor, Johnson is too self-aware.

However, Greg Gaskill as Serge, the enthusiastic lover of modern art, creates a humorous portrayal of an artiste gone haywire. Gaskill's been acting locally for more than a decade, and he's become a very natural, unaffected performer.

What does the show in is Mayse's failure, as director, to find the levels in the material. He creates some great rhythms, but once the bickering starts, there's too much of the same. You keep wanting to shout out, "Could we move on, please?"

There's no set to speak of, mostly just black, unadorned flats that fail to create any kind of physical or psychological environment.

This is Atlas' first local production, and I have a hunch they have good things in store. But we'll have to wait a little longer.

Anthony Del Valle can be reached at DelValle@aol.com. You can write him c/o Las Vegas Review-Journal, P.O. Box 70, Las Vegas, NV 89125.