Theatre in Review: 300 Paintings (Vineyard Theatre)Sam Kissajukian is a sly, understated presence who knows how to land a laugh when you least expect it. Taking the stage at the Vineyard, he marvels at the terra cotta-colored trapezoid painted on the floor just for him. (Like most comedy club performers, the term "production values" means nothing to him.) Then again, as a visitor from Sydney, he adds that the shape may demarcate his "legal working boundary;" stepping outside it to get a sip of water, he informs he is now on break. He tells an amusing story about a sadistic schoolteacher who told him that he would never earn a gold star because he "could never be a good boy." Taking revenge, he bought up all the gold stars available locally, creating a black market and selling them to fellow students eager for self-affirmation. And who will argue with his characterization of stand-up comedy as "a collaboration with drunk people?" Given his Zen calm and knack for throwing away lines, he's a bit like an Aussie Mike Birbiglia, and you'd never know that he narrowly avoided a psychotic break. The narrative of 300 Paintings traces what happens when Kissajukian, bored and unfulfilled with working standup, decides to become a visual artist. (In a fake-it-til-you-make-it gesture, he begins his new career by donning a beret.) Living alone in a Sydney warehouse that once housed a bakery -- although he doesn't say so, the events of this piece coincide with the COVID pandemic -- he begins turning out dozens of paintings in marathon sessions. Inspired by Leonardo da Vinci, he calls himself an inventor, churning out a new idea every day for a month. One of them, a pallet made of bamboo rather than wood, looks commercially promising. But by the time anyone shows interest in it, a couple of days have gone by, and he has left it behind, moving on to new concepts. Did I mention that Kissajukian is bipolar? At this point, he hasn't admitted it to himself, but the signs are increasingly there. The most amusing passage in 300 Paintings follows him as he connects, digitally, with venture capitalists, trying (and sometimes succeeding) to get them interested in pitches so convoluted they defy description. As he acknowledges, he gets so adept at slinging nonsense that investors happily trust him with seed money, if only because they don't know what he is talking about and are frightened of missing out on something big. His masterpiece is a business designed to market and sell nothing. When exposed as a failure, it is to be repackaged as a devastating critique of capitalism. It comes with a digital museum filled with artworks that are impossible to buy. He gets a pretty good wad of cash for that one. As fun as this is, Kissajukian is riding for a fall, for manic episodes never last. (By this point, his painting output is staggering, and I'm not even counting the tiny replicas he makes of them in yet another bizarre, ill-starred commercial venture.) By the end of his manic cycle, he is physically harming himself in the obsessive pursuit of his art. When the crash comes, it is spectacular. With the help of therapy and the right drugs, Kissajukian emerges from the darkness only to find himself being taken seriously as a painter. Exhibitions follow and a certain amount of fame, although, to be sure, he is careful not to take himself too seriously. One of the biggest laughs in the second half of 300 Paintings is a projection showing a collage of newspaper spreads featuring him wearing that damn beret striking artist poses out of a bad Hollywood film. Ultimately, however, he decides to merge his two skills in this piece, a personal testimony spiked with jokes and provocative artwork. Oona Curley is the only credited designer -- she is listed as scenic/lighting specialist -- and 300 Paintings, a hit at fringe festivals in Sydney and Edinburgh, is a modest effort even for the Vineyard, a little venue that has birthed some mighty big plays. Still, it's an audience-pleaser, and theatergoers looking for a civilized, low-key evening of laughs won't be disappointed. As a bonus, many of Kissajukian's paintings -- many of which are quite striking -- are on display in the theatre's public spaces. For the price of a single ticket, you get a theatre piece, an exhibit, and a chance to chat up the artist. What could be bad? --David Barbour 
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