Art Goes Bananas

Comedy Tonight

“Comedian” by Maurizio Cattelan.

Poor artists and art collectors. Accused of buffoonery once limited to Larry, Curley and assorted politicians, no one seems to be rising to their defense. First, the infamous banana. Then, once again into the screech of disgust at an “all-white” painting. Well I have some thoughts.

All sorts of miscellaneous mockery was leveled at those involved in a recent auction of Maurizio Cattelan's “Comedian,” a real banana duct-taped to a wall. Initially estimated to garner $1.5 million at a recent auction, it actually sold for $6.1 million (to a cryptocurrency tycoon, of course). After news of the sale attracted the attention of befuddled news anchors and late night comedians, it further made headlines when the buyer of the piece offered to buy 100,000 bananas from the 74-year-old Bangladeshi fruit vendor who sold it to Cattelan. At $25,000 on a $6.1 million tab, that’s a “tip” of 0.4 percent.

“Comedian” has a storied history. Cattelan first created an edition of three in 2019, two of which were sold for $120,000 each, the other donated to the Guggenheim Museum. While one of them was on display at Art Basel in Miami, it was untaped, peeled and eaten by a Georgian performance artist, who told the press, “I am a hungry artist, and I am hungry for new interactions.” A student chowed down on the piece at a museum exhibit in 2023—he was hungry, too, but in a real, “I-skipped-breakfast” sort of way.

Robert Ryman’s General 52” x 52”

A week later, news of another painting at auction garnered a chorus of chortles and “hmmmm”s. Robert Ryman’s General 52″ x 52″ (1970) went on the block in Germany, selling for just under $1.4 million. Describing the work, the popular press used terms like “'Pure White,'" “seemingly blank,” and “barren.” (The New York Post filed the story in a section called “Weird But True.”)

The snarky outrage a typical “my kid could paint that” response to the shock of the new. But despite the similar outcries, there ain’t a lot in common between the white square and the yellow banana. Cattelan is a provocateur. In the fraught year of 2016, he built and displayed a solid gold toilet and called it America. (When President Trump asked the Guggenheim to lend him a Van Gogh painting, it offered the Cattelan toilet instead. Trump refused.) HIM (2001) is a life-size wax replica of Adolf Hitler kneeling in prayer. L.O.V.E., known in Milan as Il Dito (Italian for “the finger,” 2010) is a 36-foot-high marble statue of a hand flipping the bird. Cattelan deals in clashing iconography and unsettled meaning: a symbol of evil in a pose of penitence, a rash gesture monumentalized. With Comedian, he creates “art” that is fated to rot and decay and asks that it live alongside objects reputed to be “timeless.”

Ryman’s work, on the other hand, is retractive rather than expansive. Instead of engaging with the world and its meanings, it shuts them out and brings focus to a solitary thing itself. He eliminates image, symbol and color and helps us look at what is left: texture, material, dimensions. Of course, you can’t see that when you cruise past a JPEG image on your daily jaunt through cyberspace. But seek out a Ryman painting in person. He was a fairly prolific artist whose work is likely to be found at a museum near you. Look closely. Look long.

All this, perhaps, is tangential—or irrelevant—in the world of the art market. Or maybe not. Paying millions for a banana might just add to the goulash of clashing meaning of Cattelan’s piece. Or—more likely—it might just be a millionaire’s lark, a chance for an endorphin hit beyond the latest crypto-cash-out. And certainly a way to claim a 15-minute chunk of Warhol-ish fame in the media marketplace.

The Perfect Couple

Liev Schrieber and Nicole Kidman in The Perfect Couple.

Ah, yes—rich people behaving badly. (See also, White Lotus, Succession, Industry, Dallas, or, or course, the latest newspaper headlines.) And now, we have the Garrison-WInbury family. Liev Schreiber is Tag, the perpetually stoned pater familias. Nicole Kidman is Greer, fastidious wife and superstar crime novelist. On the eve of their son’s wedding, the maid of honor is turns up dead on the beach of their Nantucket estate. Jenna Lamia and Susanne Bier’s ingeniously constructed whodunnit (based on the novel by Elin Hilderbrand) will keep you guessing through all the twists and turns. But along the way, you’re privy to a cornucopia of family dysfunction, all put into relief by the deadpan, working-stiff police detective who is on the case (Donna Lynne Champlin).

Director Bier loves to linger soap-opera-style on scene-ending close ups and suspended soundtrack chords before we flash back to see what really happened. And there are plenty of mysterious tête-à-têtes seen from afar. Not to mention plenty of scandal. Not quite the campy thrill of whodunnits like Knives Out, it’s still the video-binge equivalent of a great beach read.

Pericles

The Royal Shakespeare Company in Pericles.

Forget about crashing helicopters, flying witches or ear-splitting rock anthems. The Royal Shakespeare Company came to the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre last month to show again that great theater is really just about two planks and a passion (as the old saying goes). In its version of the infrequently staged Pericles, the RSC brought this epic fairy tale to life with ease and erudition. The company of 15 actors played over 45 roles in a globe-trotting story that lands in a half-dozen different locations around the Mediterranean. At the outset, Pericles (Zach Wyatt) discovers a dirty little secret about the powerful and vengeful king of Antioch, and the game—and chase—is on.

He skedaddles, looking for protection. Along the way, he finds love. Loses love. Finds love again. There are burials and births at sea, washed up coffins, royals enslaved and set free. All, of course, ends happily.

Director Tamara Harvey, with a nod to the traditions of the great Globe itself, uses simple stagecraft and a wealth of imagination to set the scenes. Sculptural choreography suggests the pomp of the court, tragic shipwrecks come to life with a few ropes and some frenetic movement. Varied colors of costume accessories let us know if we are in Pentapolis or Mytilene.

The language, of course, is glorious. This is not Shakespeare’s finest play—in fact, it was probably co-written with a sketchy innkeeper named George Wilkins—but the language is delivered with ease, precision, and ear for musical detail.

This was the RSC’s first trip to the U.S. in years, and Chicago was its only stop. Perhaps the recent appointment of Edward Hall, son of the RSC’s founder, Sir Peter Hall, has something to do with that. Thank goodness for British nepotism.

Da Vinci

There are plenty of marvels to be found in the four-hour documentary, Leonardo Da Vinci, now streaming on PBS. His restless curiosity explored what seems like every facet of 15th-century life, from human anatomy to the physics of flight to theories of color to weapons of war. Ken Burns and company’s superb documentary describes Leonardo’s life with a sure narrative and detailed analysis by historians and biographers. It sent me scampering to the library in search of the notebooks to explore more.

But the documentary is as marvelous as its subject, thanks to the beautiful cinematography (Buddy Squires) and editing (K.A. Miille and Woody Richman). Using split screen to depict Leonardo’s rendering of the world, we see his anatomical sketches alongside chiaroscuro films of real bodies in motion; ultra-slow-motion footage of birds in flight beside his sketches and speculations about human aviation. A portrait of a great artist that’s a work of art in itself.

Die Nacht

We all know what the holidays bring. Laughter, joy, color, tidings of good cheer. All that stuff. Serenity? Not so much. In that spirit, I offer a few minutes of respite that might help you breathe deep and perhaps appreciate the beauty of a gentle snow fall. Here’s a lovely arrangement of Franz Schubert’s song, Die Nacht. Originally written for voice and piano, lyrics are a rather bleak example of German Romanticism (“Now all the sweet bonds are torn asunder/ no heart now cherishes me/ in this wasteland, in this desolate solitude”), so best to simply enjoy the lush melody, here arranged for guitar and cello by the performers, Anja Lechner and Pablo Márquez.

Have a good week.