'Rhinoceros' charges with new energy

In this heated political season, few people would likely respond to change with the puzzled indifference shown by the characters of Eugene Ionesco's absurdist classic "Rhinoceros." "Of all things," they cluck, as brutal dogma, in the form of a rhinoceros, hurtles through the outdoor cafes.

THEATER REVIEW

RHINOCEROS

PLAYWRIGHT: Eugene Ionesco

WHERE: Capitol Hill Arts Center, 1621 12th Ave.

WHEN: Through Nov. 14

TICKETS: $15-$18, $50 gala on Nov. 6; 206-325-6500 or www.brownpapertickets.com.

In the hands of director John Farrage, this thinly veiled allegory on the seductions of fascism charges forcefully with passion, vitality and comic bustle. These archetypes of bourgeois life -- the merchant, the worker, the bureaucrat, the intellectual -- chatter over and past each other, arguing the inconsequential rather than confront the plain issue before them, that people are turning into horned beasts.

Wayne Rawley gives an absorbing turn as the puzzled everyman, Berenger, a rumpled lummox who struggles to come to terms with his disaffectedness. Rawley's Berenger is a lost soul, rudderless and dependent on the fortitude of others. He confines his husky body to small gestures, tugging childlike at his dapper comrade's crisply ironed suit, or gazing longingly at his glass of brandy.

His fastidious friend Jean (James Cowan) chides Berenger for his slovenliness, his escape to alcohol and his lack of romantic confidence. Life swirls about them in the meantime, with all focused on their own narrow concerns, the grocer solicitous of the housewife's trade, the philosopher arguing syllogism at the next table.

At Berenger's work, a government ministry, the sudden appearance of rhinoceroses is debated, denied and challenged, until the wife of a missing co-worker (Karen Gruber, in a sultry fit of steaminess) succumbs to her husband's new form.

It's the second act that truly delivers, as Cowan's Jean performs his slow, wrenching transformation. One can almost see his hide stiffen as he turns more cantankerous and obstinate, hunching, snorting and giving himself over to the new shape that will consume the world.

Like his contemporaries Becket and Genet, Ionesco's wildness of circumstance is a gut-kicking device to illustrate some of the most introspective questions rampant in the midcentury aftermath of fascism. Long acknowledged as an allegory of descent into totalitarianism, Ionesco's themes are deeply rooted in French existentialism, especially the anguish of individual choice.

Never a subtle story, Farrage has exploited its talk-heavy nature with tight choreography of the cross-purposed dialogues, giving this otherwise cerebral work a relentless, visceral energy. It nourishes this cast, including Aimee Bruneau as the proper and imperturbable Daisy and Frank Lawler as the tolerant, liberal Dudard. Basil Harris' logician is as buttoned-down as a country minister, with his plasticine, dish-eyed face giving his tangled arguments a touch of the carnival.

In some respects, the work feels its age, as when the Marxist (Rebecca Goldberg) blames the illusion on capitalist masters. The translation, too, is a stiff one the cast struggles to overcome. Yet in this divided time, when our beliefs have become passionate and rigid, this dark, comic play feels grimly due.

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