Shattered Friendships: “Paul and Émile” at WHAT

We begin in Paris, a street at night, mysterious. Alone on the street is novelist and essayist Émile Zola (Abe Goldfarb), musing about Pascal’s “bet” on the existence of the afterlife. But there is no time to dwell, as Zola himself is somehow transported…

… to an atelier that would be the envy of any visual artist: floor-to-ceiling windows with a sweeping view of the mountains—of Mont Ste.-Victoire in particular—and plenty of workspace. In fact, playwright Kai Maristed was inspired by an actual atelier in Aix-en-Provence: that of post-Impressionist painter Paul Cézanne (Todd Schofield).

And so that’s where she brings the audience in the world première of Paul and Émile, now playing at the Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater and directed by Sasha Brätt: the story of an encounter between two old friends who haven’t spoken in sixteen years, and who yet still feel a yearning for their lost connection. Cézanne was, says Zola, the “dearest friend of my youth,” but the artist is naturally surprised when the former friend shows up in his still-sleepy town of Aix and seems to want to make… Amends?

In fact, it’s a little unclear at first why exactly he’s there. The two share some wine and conversations that range from the role of outcasts in society to God and death; from the meaning of art to the question of truth; from shared memories to later, lonelier experiences. Their conversations onstage are very similar to the real-life long, rambling schoolboy letters Zola and Cézanne wrote to each other, sharing their innermost thoughts, fears, and desires and sustaining their bond.

It’s not until the last third of the play that they begin to clearly articulate what divided them. Zola’s first successful novel modeled a fictional character, a struggling artist receiving rejection after rejection, on Cézanne. The character eventually suicides… and Cézanne never spoke to Zola again.

Until, apparently, now. And while Zola maintains that his fictional character is not, in fact, Cézanne—“you never were in that novel!”—it seems clear that  there is still some competition and animus between the two. Even when Cézanne appears accepting of Zola’s protestations, Zola seems to still want to circle the jugular. The audience can feel the completely relatable jealousies of these competitive artists as a tension that’s almost palpable.

They are distracted in their verbal sparring by the presence of Cézanne’s maid, known only as Mam’selle (Anna Marie Sell), whose background and life story adds grist to the mill of their discussions, particularly of religion: as Cézanne has become more socially isolated, he’s also turned more toward the Church, while Zola— his musings on Pascal notwithstanding—evidences a more urbane skepticism.

The scene design, as mentioned, is perfect, as we’ve come to expect from Christopher Ostrom. The portrayal of Mont Ste.-Victoire in changing light gives visual staging to the crystallization of Cézanne’s vision. As the men’s conversations return sporadically to his art, the mountain is replaced by painting after painting, and in these moments one is struck afresh by the artist’s vision… you may wish to go back after the play and look him up again. And while you’re there, go re-read J’accuse to be reminded of l’affaire Dreyfus referred to in the play: Zola’s was a stand of utter courage and may go a ways toward understanding this character as other than simply the Cézanne antagonist in this piece. And it’s a reminder of our own times of the encroachment of politics even in artistic lives.

There is a thoroughly satisfying twist at the end of the play that I won’t ruin by describing it here; it’s a lovely “oh I didn’t see that coming” moment. Enjoy!

Review by Jeannette de Beauvoir

Photo images by Michael Karchmer & Michael Kerouac