What is art? This is a question museum curators, theater critics and NYU undergraduates alike grapple with endlessly. The short answer: No one knows for sure, and especially not the team behind the Broadway revival of Yasmina Reza’s “Art.”

The premise is simple. Serge (Neil Patrick Harris) purchases an all-white painting for a whopping $300,000. Marc (Bobby Cannavale) is horrified by the fortune his friend has spent on what he believes to be nothing more than a blank canvas, while Yvan (James Corden) is stuck in the middle of their artistic disagreement. 

Very little of the 100-minute run time extends beyond this central argument. Serge repeatedly insists that the painting is not actually white, but gray with hints of red. Yvan attempts to appease his friend by saying he can see some yellow hues. Marc calls Yvan a “spineless amoeba,” and Serge counters that Marc has lost his sense of humor. It becomes clear that the play is really about the relationships between friends who are unable to recognize each other’s perspectives as they get older. Unfortunately, this production lost that memo.

A successful production of “Art” depends on whether the actors can convincingly portray their characters as friends — a task that Harris, Corden and Cannavale fail. While the characters fight tooth and nail to save their friendship, the actors interact as if they had met for the first time that morning. Even when Marc takes a pen and threatens to deface Serge’s purchase at the play’s climax, the stakes are unremarkable. A hush falls over the stage and the lights dim to manufacture some dramatic tension for the moment, but the actors merely stand with inattentive and bored expressions. The audience is given no reason to care if they will overcome their differences as friends.

“Art” is a witty satire that comments on the social conventions each character lives by. The need of these upper middle-class men to show off their assets, whether that be a painting or a degree, reveals just how petty their friendship-ending dispute truly is. 

All three actors are able to land the play’s comedic beats, and the audience is overly generous with their laughter as a result. Corden’s lines get the most laughs, but not without enormous effort on his part — each line and gesture is meticulously crafted. When Corden is physically in the middle of the other actors’ argument, he dramatically spins around like a tornado to face each man as if he were cast in a farce and not a dramedy. It alleviates the tension in the moment, but does not serve as particularly engaging, or genuine, storytelling. 

Similarly, director Scott Ellis’ direction leaves each moment so overly choreographed that there is no room for spontaneity, perhaps overcompensating for the lack of chemistry between the actors. The production would have the same impact if the actors sat on three separate chairs with scripts in hand. If a play is like a tennis match — with the ball bouncing back and forth between the actors with every line — this game is stuck at a single tempo. Five minutes of talking about the painting, followed by a minute of jokes, then two minutes of philosophical debate and repeat. Nothing is unexpected, and nothing is particularly interesting. 

David Rockwell’s set design is about as interesting as the white canvas the play centers around. Three empty walls, three modern sofas, two doors and some tables decorate the stage, while Linda Cho’s costume design dresses the actors in 50 shades of navy. Even Kid Harpoon’s transition music — whose generic synthesizers make it sound like a corporate training video soundtrack — is inoffensive and plain.

The biggest obstacle holding “Art” back is how overwhelmingly polite it is. Everyone is careful not to step on anyone’s metaphorical or physical toes. The actors stay within a three-foot radius of one another at all times, never once encroaching on another’s personal space. This makes the show feel like a philosophical discussion instead of the verbal brawl it’s written as. There’s no vitriol, so none of their words hurt like they’re meant to. When Marc delivers a barrage of vicious insults about Serge’s character, it reads as almost nice. It’s impossible to worry about these characters and their friendship because there’s no sense of risk.

So far, everyone who’s attempted to define art has come up short of a satisfying answer. But if art is anything, it’s risky, bold and intentional. This revival just isn’t. 

Contact Chantal Mann at [email protected].