Review: RHINOCEROS, Almeida Theatre

This ought to be a theatrical Rorschach test. One by one, inhabitants of a provincial town transform inexplicably into Rhinoceroses. The last man, misanthropic drunkard Beranger, is left pondering human existence while the rest of the world stampedes. A parable for the rise of fascism in his native Romania, we can read any ‘ism’ down the decades into Ionesco’s absurd comedy about the magnetism of the herd. Ironic then that Omar Elerian’s solipsistic new production is afraid to let its audience think for themselves. 

His brand of maximalist metatheatre greedily hogs the limelight, a crusade to deconstruct Rhinoceros within an inch of its life. The ensemble leap over the fourth wall to provide a running commentary on the artifice of the performance. Stage directions are narrated out loud, an onstage foley studio produces live sound effects, and there’s a live camera and projection. All achingly desperate to let you know how clever it all is.

Narcissistic naval gazing is a form that ought to fit function. Ostermeier’s The Seagull at the Barbican, can get away with it. It’s a play about actors, artifice and art. But for a play with serious political undertones ought it to send its audience shaking out into the street with existential angst? It doesn’t cohere at all. No matter how much bathetic silliness you hurl at it.

Instead, it reeks of pseudish smugness and has little oxygen left for its politics to breathe. There’s an incongruous dig at Elon Musk, that feels it was added yesterday. One character berates them all for believing fake news before espousing conspiratorial ramblings. Other buzz phrases are name dropped without dexterity: “small boats” and “anti-vax.”

Rarely do the playfulness and politics stand toe to toe. As the town becomes swarmed, the audience, armed with kazoos, are summoned to simulate a stomping swarm of rhinos cloaking Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù’s befuddled Beranger in a wall of noise. His waspish monologue lamenting the hopelessness of struggle in the face of overwhelming odds slices though childish plastic drone. It echoes loudly in the age of the permacrisis and is a diamond moment in the two and a half hours of rough. As is Joshua McGuire’s transformation scene - choreographed with swirling balletic elegance and pounding terror, each muscle knotted with clownish intensity.

So yes, some directorial choices thrown at the wall do stick. With streamlining Ionesco and Elerian can waltz together in unison, rather than the latter darting off literally in his own direction.

My interpretation of Rhinoceros for 2025: the rhinoceroses are theatre directors, one by one transforming into Avant Garde-ists whose continental inspired anti-theatre relentlessly prioritises style over substance.

Rhinoceros plays at the Almeida Theatre until 26 April