TOTS hosts a play for the masses (literally)

By John Lyle Belden

“Well, of all things!” A 1959 French play by a celebrated Romanian absurdist about the destructive but seductive effects of mass conformity finds resonance in Indianapolis, U.S.A., in 2017.

No Holds Bard and Catalyst Repertory present Eugene Ionesco’s “Rhinoceros” on the Second Stage of Theatre on the Square through Aug. 13. The play is set in a near future in which most animals are extinct and most color is gone – frowned upon, even – but the people deal with it in a very orderly black-and-white world in which logic can be argued to the point that facts can mean anything.

Slovenly, drunken Berenger (Zachariah Stonerock) doesn’t fit in. And worse, he has gotten into an argument with his only friend, proud, self-sure Jean (Tristan Ross). But suddenly, a rhinoceros comes charging up the street. Did everyone see what they just saw? Of course not. There are no zoos, there are no circuses, there are no rhinoceroses. Then, a rhinoceros comes charging down the street in the other direction. Thus the question becomes: Is it the same rhinoceros? And are one or both African or Asian? This latter point, and the counting of horns, naturally becomes the most vital issue.

The next day, Berenger comes in late to work, but Daisy (Abbie Wright), who he is sweet on, covers for him with the boss, Mr. Papillon (Josh Ramsey), who, in turn, is upset with Duduard (Tim Fox) and Botard (John Mortell) not getting to work as they argue whether the rhinoceros sighting was real. Duduard has seen the beasts and is more accepting of events; while Botard did not, assumes its a hoax, and if anything did happen, it was part of a grand conspiracy by dark forces. Then Mrs. Beof (Denise Jaeckel) arrives, saying she can’t find her husband, and she’s being pursued by a rhino – when the animal destroys part of the building, she discovers the beast is her husband, somehow transformed.

After this, nearly everyone starts changing into rhinoceroses. As you do.

Stonerock garners our sympathies as the individualist everyman – misunderstood, put down and unsure of what he wants and how to get it. He, and we through him, are never on solid ground as the more sober he gets, the more mad the world becomes.

His castmates deal well with the play’s broadly-drawn characters. Wright embodies the contradicting impulses of dependence and independence women have dealt with in the nearly 50 years of this play’s existence, showing her own strength regardless. Fox is appropriately glib, Mortell brightly brusque. Jaeckel throws herself into her role. Ross, who also directs, takes charge on stage as well; and Ramsey is sharp as ever, including his turn as a “professional logician” who tortures language into submission. The cast is ably rounded out by David Mosedale and Sarah Holland Froehlke – who extracts a lot of laughs from a dead cat.

The script’s length, adapted from three acts to two, and pacing can drag at times, but it’s all worth seeing the eventual “rhinoceros parade.” While this a comedy, with plenty of hilarious situations and comic turns of phrase, beneath the mirth is the hint of something strong and violent that can trample to ruin anything in its path.

Good thing it’s only a play, eh?

Join the herd at TOTS, 627 Massachusetts Ave., call 317-685-8687 or get info and tickets at tots.org/rhinoceros/.

It’s like this thing that never happened, totally happened, at Mud Creek

By John Lyle Belden

We know two things for certain: First, Albert Einstein and Pablo Picasso were alive and in Europe during the first years of the 20th century, and second, comic legend Steve Martin has an exceptional wit and entertaining flair for the absurd.

These things considered, it was inevitable – in a Martinesque world much like our own – that Einstein would meet “Picasso at the Lapin Agile,” in the play by Mr. Martin now on stage at Mud Creek Players through May 6.

When you arrive at the old barn – which hasn’t seen livestock in ages, but they call it that anyway – at 9740 E. 86th St., Indy, you will receive a program, and looking within, you will notice two things: First, that the director, Kelly Keller, is quite handsome. Perhaps it is Photoshop, perhaps moisturizer. Second, you will see the characters listed in order of appearance. This is important, as characters must appear in order for a play to happen. They should also arrive in order, but note that this is Paris and people like Einstein are forever altering history.

You will also notice the barman, barmaid, a local drunk who really should get his prostate checked and others engaged in interesting clever conversations on art and genius. Perhaps this is a European thing. And Picasso does show up, redeeming the apparent premise of the play, to learn the most important aspect of his career – that he should sign his drawings.

We also meet the greatest inventive mind of the 20th century, Charles Davernow Schmendiman. This alone should have you calling the box office.

By this point in the review you should notice two things: First, that I do like doing that “two things” thing, and second, that I’m not very good at being consistent.

I must warn you that when this comic drama of a dramatic comedy concludes, you will discover that the ladies and gentlemen are not who they have presented themselves to be. Einstein turns out to be Justin Lyon, a local actor, though he is quite convincing, and even shows us “the hair.” Likewise, Picasso was nicely impersonated by Brad Root, who, it turns out, does not have a single piece hanging in the Louvre. Zach Haloski should be commended for his striking resemblance to Schmendiman. We are also cleverly deceived by Eric Matter, Collin Moore, Monya Wolf, Savannah Jay, Robert C. Boston Jr., Susan Hill and Lexi Odle. It would be best not to mention that Brock Francis appears in this production, as it is a surprise. Fortunately, despite this allegedly being a barn, there were no pitchforks or torches, so the audience was very forgiving of the illusion portrayed on the stage – on the contrary, they quite enjoyed it.

For a pleasant evening of highly meaningful nonsense, call 317-290-5343 or visit www.mudcreekplayers.org.