If you’ve heard only one statement about Eugène Ionesco, it probably includes the word “absurdist.” In the three one-act plays of Ionesco, Not Ionesco, presented by Molasses Tank Productions at the Charlestown Working Theater, absurdity abounds: absurd situations, absurd dialogue, an absurd climax replete with shouting, dancing, singing, running in circles, and physical combat. So are they funny plays? Yes, and no. You will laugh; that much is virtually assured. You may also furrow your brow. Ionesco turns things inside out, trying to jar the audience into seeing what hides beneath the familiar surfaces of everyday small talk, family and business relationships, or scholarly phrases of theatre critics. In doing so, he creates ludicrous theatre that makes viewers laugh, yes, but also leaves them pondering, disoriented.
Ionesco stated in his book Notes and Counter Notes: Writings on the Theatre that the action of pure theatre is akin to the action of a sporting match”live antagonism, dynamic conflict, the motiveless clash of opposing wills.” Therefore, expect not from Ionesco a typical drama with beginning, middle, and happy or tragic end! Each of the rarely performed plays chosen by director Steve Rotolo (who is also Molasses Tank’s artistic director) has its own flavor of dynamic conflict. “Improvisation (or, The Shepherd’s Chameleon)” shows Ionesco himself battling a chorus of critics; in “Salutations,” three gentlemen engage in an exchange of words at breakneck speed while onlookers judge; and in “The Picture,” a businessman cruelly dominates both his crippled sister and a young artist.
John Morton, Jason Beals, and Lara B. Krepps as the three critics (all called Bartholomeus) are right on time with their condescending lines, speaking in quick succession or shouting over one another or switching to sudden unison. With the exception of the broom-chasing melee, when I could no longer discern any of the lines, all three are sharp and clear, with good physical timing. Walker plays Ionesco as nervous and defensive, looking as if he doesn’t fit in his chair, legs skewed awkwardly. He rises to the comic moments, looking appropriately brainwashed and dancing about like a puppet. But he seems a bit too addled and surprisingly mild (there’s a Mister Rogers feel about his cardigan sweater) when he finally has his moment in the spotlight. Whether through directorial interpretation or the playwright’s actual intent to emphasize his plight as a victim of arbitrary and fatuous criticism, Ionesco comes off as weaker than one would expect.
In the quick and lively “Salutations,” Beals, Morton, and Walker dominate the stage, firing a volley of non-sequiturs in response to an everyday question. “Gentlemen, how are things going?” it starts, innocently enough. “Nicely, and you?” “Warmly, and you?” they respond, and then “agnostically,” “amphibiously,” “melancholily,” and so on. They mimic standing subway passengers; they circle the stage furiously with cell phones. This linguistic lark parodies the hollowness of everyday social chitchat and also makes fun of itself, with Krepps and Martin playing spectators who peek in through windows and provide opposing commentary on the merits of the gentlemen’s exchange. The women in the cast don’t get much of an opportunity here, but the men rise to the considerable challenge of memorization and rapid-fire delivery. And the car-horn version of the tune “New York, New York” is simply hilarious.
Beals plays the demanding businessman role with unflagging energy and verbal dexterity, switching nimbly from fierce and almost vicious declarations to a light, primly spoken “Well anyway, we’ll see.” His expressive hands are always in motiontapping, clasping, pounding, pointing, tinkering, and gesturing with the toys. In the conversation with the artist he flashes a great big cold-as-ice grin and a raised-eyebrows-and-squinting-eyes look of utter condescension. Later he turns exuberant and giddy (“I’m in flower!”), talking lovingly to the painting and dancing euphorically.
“The Picture” could easily be done with total silliness, but this production instead has a complexion of seriousness, allowing the businessman to show hints of real passion and vulnerability, and Alice to display a range of emotions. It shows the ugly power differential between controlling man and dependent woman and between rich man and poor artist. The mysterious painting itself, bathed in a rosy glow, is made to seem magic, as if it really could transform a mean and bitter hearteven though we never see an image on the canvas.
The design and technical choices are effective throughout the three plays, especially for “The Picture.” The toys on the businessman’s desk are cleverbrilliant, reallyand the decision to hang the translucent “canvas” in front, so that the audience looks through it, works beautifully. Lighting designer Jay Dubois succeeds in achieving a radiant glow around the painting and a sharp flash of light for a gunshot.
All of these plays were written approximately 50 years ago, but Ionesco’s works don’t appear at all irrelevanttheir fundamental messages are not explicitly tied to the era of their creation. They reveal no preoccupation with 1950s French society or politics, but ratheras good theatre shouldwith the perpetual human condition. And these are not comedies in the classic style, where disarray gives way to happy order at the end, nor are they traditional tragedies, where great heroes are brought low. Rather, in Ionesco’s plays each moment is comic and tragic at the same time. We may notice only the surface absurdity at first, but the heart-wrenching seeps through in due time. As Ionesco put it, “We laugh so as not to cry.”