Bold claim: Art isn’t just another play about a sparring trio—it’s a sharp, funny, and revealing examination of how friendship holds up under pressure. But here’s where it gets controversial: what you think about a friend’s taste in art might reveal more about you than about the artwork itself.
Richard Roxburgh, Damon Herriman, and Toby Schmitz headline a freshly translated Australian production of Yasmina Reza’s 1994 satire. The script, trained on wit and friction, follows Marc’s growing unease at Serge’s extravagant purchase: a nearly blank white painting that looks, to some, like little more than a dare to trust one’s eyes. The tension erupts into a blistering, potential friendship ending feud with their mutual friend Yvan caught in the crossfire.
This isn’t just a revival. Art has recently graced Broadway with Neil Patrick Harris, James Corden, and Bobby Cannavale, and London's West End with Rufus Sewell, Paul Ritter, and Tim Key. The Australian staging, directed by Lee Lewis and translated by Christopher Hampton, casts Roxburgh as the abrasive Marc, Herriman as the status-driven Serge, and Schmitz as the more reticent Yvan. Roxburgh frames the piece as “a beautifully wrought interrogation of what happens when somebody changes,” highlighting how a single act can disrupt the power balance within a friendship.
For Herriman, the project was a long-awaited return to the stage after a decade away, while Schmitz has carried a lifelong desire to inhabit Art since reading it in the late 1990s at the National Institute of Dramatic Arts (NIDA). He recalls the moment when a group of peers passed around a worn photocopy of the script, dreaming of performing it—though they knew they were too young to stage it at the time. He describes Art as part of a 90s wave of plays in which intelligent men clash, but notes this work endures because it feels more special and humane. At its core, he says, it’s about friendship and a cautious, ongoing interrogation of what that means.
The onstage chemistry rests on decades of real-world camaraderie among the trio. Roxburgh and Schmitz last shared the stage in The Present, Andrew Upton’s Chekhov adaptation, which opened in Sydney in 2015 and later toured to New York in 2017. Herriman’s recent resume includes a detective role in the first season of Rake, a series Roxburgh co-created. He even stood in for Schmitz in a touring Henrik Ibsen production while Schmitz worked on Black Sails. That shared history builds a foundation of trust that helps when the characters trade sharp barbs.
Schmitz emphasizes that trust is essential in any acting collaboration, from soap operas to masterpieces. It gives performers the license to let their characters wound each other without breaking the spell. Herriman adds that long-standing friendships hinge on humor, honesty, and the ability to sit in silence without awkwardness. Roxburgh agrees but cheekily notes that honest feedback from friends is best delivered after some time has passed—ideally a year or a decade later—to truly reflect on the experience.
Art also invites a personal relationship with art itself. Roxburgh, who initially doubted American abstract painter Mark Rothko, revisits the artist’s work and discovers that what seems like simple color blocks can reveal a tapestry of hues and emotions upon closer look. In the play, the characters debate their preferred art forms—Serge’s provocative abstraction, Marc’s figurative landscapes, and Yvan’s, well, a “daub”—to illustrate how taste is as telling as taste itself.
Herriman notes a humorous rule in his own collecting: if you can be friends with an artist, you’ll likely buy their work. Schmitz, who has invested in contemporary pieces and even dreamt of owning a Norman Rockwell or amassing a rare comic collection, imagines using wealth to back emerging artists and fund exhibitions—an idea he finds appealing in practice as well as in theory.
The play’s resonance extends beyond aesthetics to a wider social moment. There’s a growing conversation about a so-called male loneliness epidemic, with studies noting higher isolation among men in midlife. Schmitz acknowledges the timeliness of Art’s themes but emphasizes that the play remains relevant across eras: loneliness among men isn’t a new phenomenon, merely more visible in today’s digital age. Roxburgh, meanwhile, points to technology’s impact on friendship, noting that the pre-smartphone era required direct, face-to-face conversation, which in turn shaped how characters in Art wrestle with their diverging needs and grievances.
As the trio confronts their own fault lines, they’re compelled to navigate emotional trenches that threaten to engulf them. Yet the play insists that the value of a friendship—its resilience, honesty, and willingness to work through discomfort—ultimately compels them to repair what’s been strained. That message, Roxburgh suggests, speaks to our shared human tendency to protect meaningful relationships, even when they are messy or painful.
Art runs at Roslyn Packer Theatre in Sydney through March 8, after which it will tour Brisbane, Melbourne, and Adelaide. The production invites audiences to reflect on how they judge art, friendship, and the boundaries of discomfort—and it dares you to ask yourself how you’d respond when a friend’s choices shift the dynamics of your most cherished relationships.
Would you side with Marc or with Serge? How would you redefine friendship when a single act forces you to reconsider trust, loyalty, and honesty? Share your take in the comments.
