[This review contains spoilers]
If you live online like I do, you’ve surely seen calls from activists asking users to consider the kind of person they might have been during some of the world’s most harrowing crises — like slavery followed by the Jim Crow era in the U.S. or the Holocaust in Germany and greater Europe. Meant to disrupt mob mentality and to appeal to one’s better angels, these questions are posed today because many feel the U.S. is on a fast track toward another major humanistic nightmare. Bleakly and surprisingly humorously, these same questions are posed and explored in American Repertory Theater’s production of Rhinoceros by Eugene Ionesco, translated by Derek Prouse.
Brilliantly directed by Diane Paulus (Artistic Director of American Repertory Theater), Rhinoceros follows a group of townspeople, particularly Berenger, Daisy, and Jean, as one by one, the population of their small town is transformed into rhinoceroses. The town drunkard, Berenger, is among the first to witness this oddity and sound the alarm. As Berenger attempts to rally his neighbors against transforming, the play takes a harsh, brutal, and critical look at what we lose in our fantasization and normalization of the brutal and inhumane. Written in 1959 by Ionesco, who lived through the rise of the far-right fascist Iron Guard in Romania, this absurdist play centers on themes of mass conformity, totalitarianism, and fascism.
As a sucker for scenic design, I loved Riccardo Hernandez’s set. Featuring a church, a market, and a bar—none taller than eight feet—the compact scale brilliantly served the play’s absurdity, sharpening the focus on the exaggerated dialogue. A curtain mimicking textured rhinoceros skin backdropped the space, a choice that was unabashedly on the nose, wonderfully campy, and a constant reminder of the play’s core threat staring right back at us. As the narrative shifted to a newspaper office, bedrooms, and the town square, Hernandez’s dynamic multi-use design kept the thematic focus front and center. Crucially, the scene transitions were executed with rare poise and vitality, which gave moments of shifting perspective greater emphasis.
One of the production’s most fascinating dynamics is the interplay between Paul Giamatti as Jean and John Turturro as Berenger. Where Jean is uptight, polished, and overly proud, Berenger is an apathetic, disheveled drunkard struggling to keep his life together. The pair act as perfect foils, yet Giamatti and Turturro grounded their dynamic in genuine affection, rendering their friendship entirely believable. As their community succumbs to transformation, Jean’s is the most captivating to watch. Giamatti delivers an immersive monologue embracing primal power, sexual liberation, and raw aggression—the alluring traits drawing him toward the herd. His physical metamorphosis was downright hilarious yet shockingly brutish, heightened by Paulus’ staging and Anita Yavich’s costume design, which cleverly dressed Giamatti in tones and textures that mirrored the beast’s “greenish” hide.
What Ionesco does so brilliantly is turn the “town drunkard” trope on its head, positioning Berenger as the most grounded human in the room despite his messy appearance. Ionesco explores this disconnect across multiple axes, spanning class, education, and social status. John Turturro’s Berenger is anxious, gritty, and deeply vulnerable. Paradoxically, this very anxiety seems to insulate him from the herd mentality—though it cannot shield him from heartbreak when his love interest, Daisy, played with thrilling, high-energy charm by Tatiana Maslany, succumbs to transformation as well. Their Act II scene was my favorite of the night, with Turturro balancing paranoia, skepticism, and a desperate longing for affection with effortless precision. It’s an exceptionally moving portrayal centered on the ache of loss and the persistent need for connection (cue the Barbara Streisand song).
As the town descends into chaos, the supporting cast truly shines. Harriett D. Foy is hilarious as a distraught pet owner whose house cat meets a tragic end; Kristine Nielsen delivers a sweet-and-sour riot of a performance as Mrs. Boeuf; and Clay Singer hits all the right notes as a nerdy know-it-all skeptic who eventually joins the herd. Together, they bring an infectious energy that lets Ionesco and Paulus’ absurdist vision breathe. This ensemble dynamic especially shines in the office scene, where Berenger and Daisy try in vain to convince their colleagues of the pending threat. Rather than trusting first-hand testimony, their coworkers debate the reality of the crisis from every pedantic angle—a frustrating dynamic that mirrors modern day discourse around human rights and social justice issues. True to life, their capitalistic boss, Mr. Papillon, an aptly cruel Peter Francis James, insists that work must continue regardless, driving home the production’s glaring parallels to our own sociopolitical climate.
The production’s technical elements supported the absurdity beautifully, particularly Fitz Patton’s stellar sound design and Markus Maurette’s special effects. As the stampedes surged, Patton’s soundscape, paired with the ensemble’s tight choreography (Jill Johnson, Movement Advisor), tracked dynamically across the theater, panning from left to right to create an immersive, tactile threat. Since no live rhinoceroses were featured (sorry to break it to ya), heavy plumes of smoke were deployed to signify destruction, hitting the mark with precision. My only critique on the effect side was a desire for falling debris to accompany the smoke near the climax. Furthermore, while the massive horn and eye reveal at the end of Act II felt wonderfully Orwellian in scale, I found myself wishing the giant eye had blinked, glowed, or even shifted focus. While these small details didn’t hinder the play’s emotional conclusion, they could have leaned even further into its surrealist roots.
At a time when Republicans seem focused on destroying humanity at home and abroad (while building ballrooms and adorning DC in gold), Democrats are attempting to derail any real hope for left-leaning progress within their own party, all while our government appears totally detached from human suffering. Ionesco’s work serves as a piercing mirror for our nation and how close we are to our own transformation if we continue to choose profits over people. ART’s Rhinoceros is an absurd, harrowing triumph that answers why this show and why now with resounding urgency, and proves that Ionesco’s work still has profound lessons to impart. In the face of the unthinkable, the apathetic, and easy capitulation, we must hold fast to empathy, fight for human dignity, and resist every force attempting to strip away our humanity.
Rhinoceros is playing at American Repertory Theater in Cambridge Massachusetts through September 27th.