Eugene Ionesco’s Rhinoceros, a political parable on totalitarianism, appeasement and mindless conformity, is a famous example of the Theatre of the Absurd.
In a small provincial town in France, the people are turning into rhinoceroses. Finally, only one man, called Berenger, retains his humanity.
Ionesco could be writing about the Vichy government and the French’s reaction to the Nazis when they were invaded in World War II; but he was, in fact, inspired by the rising fascism in the 1930’s in Romania, the country of his birth.
“It seemed to me,” he said, “that everyone had become fascist, all the members of my family, my colleagues, my closest friends. Suddenly it was up to me to resist, little me. I was no hero but I could not renounce my humanity..”
Rhinoceros was a big success in Paris in 1960 when it was directed and acted by Jean-Louis Barrault. It came to the Royal Court the same year and was directed by Orson Welles and acted by Laurence Olivier and an all-star cast.
65 years on, translated and directed by Omar Elerian, the staging takes precedence over the text. It’s a fun production which doesn’t serve Ionesco well. The interest is always in how the play is being performed physically and how sounds are being created rather than in what is actually happening in the community.
The horror and trauma are not taken seriously. The cast in their white coats look like scientists in a laboratory. They are caricatures. Paul Hunter is the narrator, and it is he who organises the audience participation. Joshua McGuire is always lively; but once transformed into a rhino and given an unitard, he merely looks like a deep-sea diver. Anoushka Lucas sings a song in Italian for no good reason.
One of the major disappointments is that we never see a rhinoceros. We hear them. The rumbling created by the cast themselves on stage is very effective; but giving the audience kazoos and asking them to trumpet cheapens their impact totally.
The most dramatic, the most poignant, and at the same time the wittiest moment, comes right at the end, when Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù, who is cast as Berenger, repeats again and again, louder and louder, that he will never surrender. His cri de coeur continues whilst the rest of the cast ignore him completely and take their curtain call.
Ionesco was all the rage in the 1950s and 1960’s. It would be good to see his one-acters: The Bald Prima Donna and The Lesson.
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