David Sinaiko, Woody Harper, and Benoît Monin Photo by David Boyll

Art concerns three friends, Serge (Benoît Monin), Marc (David Sinaiko), and Yvan (Woody Harper), who find their 15-year friendship rocked to its core when Serge, a dermatologist, drops 200,000 euros on an all-white painting. Marc, an engineer with more than a touch of pomposity about him, is gobsmacked that his friend has spent such a sum on what he calls "a piece of shit." To which Serge responds, "By whose standard is it shit?" Yvan, alerted to the purchase before seeing it ("Guess how much he paid," Marc asks. "Guess."), plays a sort of peacemaker, being a bit of a milquetoast, first telling Marc, "If it makes him happy–he can afford it," and then waffling about the worth of the painting at first viewing, finding neither offensive nor particularly inspiring.

The play is structured as a series of independent scenes, yet under Emilie Whelan's sure-handed direction, everything flows as smoothly as the trio of friends' interactions don't. In Reza's original text, several of the scenes are written as asides to the audience, when each character confides in us the feelings they (rarely) leave unspoken. To indicate this, Whelan has the cast deliver these lines when the tech crew open their mics so that these thoughts are amplified. (In the delightfully intimate confines of the Ashby Stage and with these experienced actors, amplification is generally unnecessary.)

As time passes, Marc's anguish at his friends' foolishness–Serge has lost "every ounce of discernment through sheer snobbery" and Yvan is "dazzled by what he thinks is culture"–never lets up, and with Yvan stressed over his upcoming marriage to a woman whose father is his new boss, things reach a boiling point that leads to actual physical combat. (Brandon DiPaola created the fight choreography.) Sticking to his principles, Marc claims that "the older I get, the more offensive I hope to become."

i>I first saw Art on Broadway with the original cast of Alan Alda, Victor Garber, and Alfred Molina, but this production seems to more accurately embrace the tension and inherent humor of the play. That production was more intellectualized and "head"-based, while Shotgun Players has aimed straight for the heart. And, like a shotgun wielded at close range, this results in an incredibly explosive impact. But, dear intellectually minded types, there is still plenty to think about here. In one scene, the trio argue over what constitutes a genuine laugh, and they might as well be talking about what makes genuine art, and briefly discuss whether Seneca's "On The Happy Life" can be considered "modern."

This Art succeeds on a technical level, as well, with a gorgeous set design (by Randy Wong-Westbrooke) nicely lit (especially in the closing moments) by Gabriel Rodriguez and punctuated by Ray Archie's sound design.

Despite the explosive anger and revelation of harsh truths, this is not a dark show; rather, Whelan and her cast have mined every bit of humor and emotion with which Reza has imbued her play. There are dozens of small moments that will catch you off guard, as well as remind you that if you play close attention you will be richly rewarded for your investment. Watch how the cast slump in Serge's silver metallic bean bag chair (or struggle to extricate themselves from the same), or the way Serge clumsily repairs anything that breaks in his apartment with a surfeit of scotch tape, or how Yvan daintily ejects an olive pit into a bowl held by Serge.

The cast is nothing short of stunning here. Sinaiko's face is incredibly expressive, with eyes that widen in shock so completely you fear they might pop out of their sockets. Benoît plays Serge with a delightfully effective air of superiority: even when he is standing still, there is something about his posture that reminds you he clearly thinks he is the alpha in this pack of snarling (or, in Yvan's case, submissive) dogs. Harper's Yvan seems to lose an inch or two of height over the course of the play, so beaten down is he by his friends and by the (unseen) confrontations with his mother and fiancée. And his limp, greasy hair reinforces the idea that Yvan may think even less of himself than his friends do. As a trio, their timing and their emphases are never less than spot-on, and the 105-minute running time seems to fly by.

So, bring both your head and your heart to Berkeley and Shotgun Players will touch both.

Art runs through April 12, 2025, at Shotgun Players, Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby Avenue, Berkeley CA. Performances are Wednesdays and Thursdays at 7:00pm, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00pm and Sundays at 2:00pm. Tickets are $23-$80 (with discounts for those under 25, and those with financial hardships). For tickets and information, please visit www.shotgunplayers.org.