Yasmina Reza: ironic and ruthless on the grand stage of life

When I saw "Art" on Broadway, I was immediately struck by the exquisite quality of the writing and the sharp psychological insight with which the characters were portrayed – played, in the American production, by Alan Alda, Victor Garber and Alfred Molina. However, what struck me most about the production – which was awarded a Tony Award after having won every possible prize in the thirty adaptations staged worldwide – was the courage with which Yasmina Reza exposed the most phoney aspects of the contemporary art world: the debate that arises in the face of a completely blank canvas captured the superficiality and opportunism of an insular and deeply snobbish milieu that cloaks itself in intellectual pretension, when in reality it is often made up of men and women who seem to be the embodiment of the cynic, as defined by Oscar Wilde: ‘a person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing’.

Yasmina Reza is keen to emphasise that her play primarily depicts the breakdown of friendships, yet it is impossible to ignore that powerful provocation characterised by an admirable intellectual freedom which she has demonstrated in all her works and public statements. The fragility of human relationships also lies at the heart of "The God of Carnage", from which Roman Polanski adapted the film "Carnage": yet another unsparing play that unflinchingly exposes the hypocrisy underpinning seemingly solid relationships, ultimately influencing and distorting them. This is one of the recurring themes in her plays and her intellectual reflections, in which she stands out for her ability to question her own convictions. It is a virtue she has also demonstrated recently when she spoke at the “Conversazioni a Capri”, where she recounted how she had fought to prevent Pedro Almodóvar’s “Tutto su mia madre” from winning the Palme d’Or at Cannes, finding an ally on the jury in its president, David Cronenberg. The Spanish filmmaker ended up winning only the Best Director award, whilst the Palme d’Or went to "Rosetta" by the Dardenne brothers – a film of undoubted quality – and the Special Jury Prize to "L’Humanité" by Bruno Dumont, a film not quite of the same calibre, though it did also win the acting awards. Today, Yasmina Reza believes she made an error of judgement, driven by impulsiveness, and perhaps even by prejudice. She was born in Paris to a Hungarian Jewish violinist and an Iranian Jew born in Moscow, who was deported to the Drancy concentration camp during the Nazi occupation. Her father was an engineer, but also a businessman and an amateur pianist, and these eclectic influences certainly played a part in her upbringing and the development of her artistic career: she has been an actress, and in addition to plays, she writes sophisticated novels, memoirs in the form of chronicles, and even screenplays for the cinema. When you get to know her, what immediately stands out is the affability of an approach characterised by irony and self-deprecation, which goes hand in hand with the admirable meticulousness with which she attends to every detail of her artistic work: she entrusted Ena Marchi, the translator of her works, with the Italian version of the conversation you are about to read, which took place via written questions.

When I began, as I always do, by asking about his earliest memory, and received the reply “the dark corridor of the flat where we used to live”, I wondered whether that darkness represented a source of fear, or more simply the mysterious and unfathomable nature of every stage of growing up. It therefore seemed natural to follow up by asking what the greatest challenge he had faced in his life had been.

“I’m not sure I see things in terms of a challenge,” she replied. “I’ve never felt as though I were competing with myself. But if you’re referring to the fear of doing something, I remember agreeing to take part in a performance where I had to play pieces by Éric Satie on the piano. I’m a very modest pianist and I would never have believed myself capable of performing in front of an audience.”

“Never. It was never a conscious decision. I started out as an actress and one day I had the idea of writing a play in which none of the characters were my age. It was an act of emancipation from the passivity inherent in the role of an actress. My experience of the theatre proved extremely useful. For the writing, of course, but also in choosing the cast who would bring it to life. I knew full well that an unsuitable production and a group of unsuitable actors can destroy a play.”

“A rescue”.

“It may well be that I am not familiar with him. I believe that, unfortunately, there are many talented authors who have remained obscure.”

“Certainly. It would be a real disaster if we were only allowed to like people of impeccable character. An artist either strikes a chord with me, or doesn’t, solely on the basis of their work. Their private life is of very little concern to me. I am opposed to this kind of tribunal that condemns or approves artists on the basis of moral criteria external to their work. And besides, who are these judges?”

“I wouldn’t use that term, which I find relative. And I don’t believe at all that one can speak of the morality of a work. Instead, I am sensitive to a form of morality on the part of the artist in their work, in whatever field, something to do with rigour, the absence of complacency and of falsification.”

“I rarely reread. I’m afraid to reread. Over time, we all change, and so do works of literature. It’s a mysterious phenomenon. No less so than that of discovery and wonder. It concerns the books we read as children. I adore Dostoevsky. He remains a great writer, but "Crime and Punishment" is no longer a book for me today. I’m very fond of Balzac, but "Father Goriot", which I re-read recently, disappointed me. I re-watched a film I’d once adored: "Husbands", by Cassavetes. I can’t explain why, but it bored me.”

“Yes. I cannot recall them all at the moment, but I would like to mention those by Mario Vargas Llosa, which I used to find difficult to get into but now find marvellous.”

“Marguerite Duras for a particular aspect of her style: having introduced silence into literature. I hadn’t found it anywhere else. A play by Botho Strauss – "The Trilogy of Reunion" – made a great impression on me and broadened my horizons. And I think I’ve been influenced by Bertolt Brecht. It’s interesting that the writers who teach us something aren’t necessarily our favourites.”

“I don’t think so at all. No. The power of writing is universal and does not differ according to gender. I’d like to take this opportunity to say that there are many female writers whom I find exceptional”.

“No, I don’t think so. Literature itself creates imagery. Of course, it’s possible that certain literary styles are influenced by film editing, but literature draws on all sorts of sources. And that can only enrich it.”

“For me, there are no boundaries. I’m often asked this question, but I fail to see the point of it. Everything you mention is part of literature. Some subjects lend themselves to the short form or to the theatre. Just as the novel or the investigative piece stem from similar processes. What matters is the eye – that is, one’s worldview and style.”

“Yes, I often start with an image, a scene that I see. A scene, mind you, that is rarely the starting point. And I build a plot around it. I never start with a character, let alone a topic.”

“Not about art. About friendship, certainly. About the ambivalence of words and human relationships. But I find it embarrassing to be forced to give definitions.”

“Yes. He had originally contacted me about this. But I preferred the play to be staged in international theatres. At the time, my plays were performed almost exclusively in France and Germany.”

“There’s no question of me answering on his behalf. And I really don’t like this era in which everyone expresses their opinion and feels entitled to pass judgement. I’ve known Roman for thirty-five years. We met when he suggested I adapt Kafka’s "The Metamorphosis" for the theatre, in which he played Gregor Samsa. He’s a brilliant actor and, above all, has become a dear friend.”

“I avoid political or sociological analysis. If I have anything to say on such matters, I do so through my work, from my own perspective – which, I repeat, is a disconcerting and contradictory one. Any public statement outside the context of my work strikes me as futile and lacking in legitimacy.”

“Ha ha ha! Do you seriously think I’m going to give you a personal answer to this question? The characters I’ve brought to life ask themselves this all the time.”