“Rhinoceros” at Yale Rep
Robert Schneider in New Haven, Connecticut
★★★★☆
24 March 2026
With Rhinoceros (1959), Eugene Ionesco etched the portrait of a society beset by relativism and generalized doubt; tempted by the shortcuts of racism and cynicism; fortified by belief systems in which believers have either too much or too little faith; nourished by a superabundance of misinformation; citing data; proclaiming the supremacy of logic, or science, or law while trashing all three. For dessert, this company devours the seed grain of language itself: “it depends what you mean by ‘a cat.’”
Photo credit: Carol Rosegg.
In this desert of faith, the great, grey pachyderm of the title becomes far more attractive. He doesn’t speak. His size, strength and constant activity impress everyone. He is especially admired for his energy, the most morally-neutral of virtues. Best of all, he’s impervious to feeling; he’ll trample a cat or an elementary school with no sign of remorse. He’s not bothered by inconvenient facts or epistemological considerations or anything resembling guilt. His bulky simplicity is perceived as wisdom. He moves fast and breaks things.
Director Liz Diamond proposed her production of Rhinoceros two years ago. So, the play and public life in America have been racing toward a rendezvous on the Yale Rep stage for 24 months. Now that it’s here, the marketing department presents it as “a tragi-comic cri de cœur”. I think it’s more than that; it’s a necessary play of our times. And it’s being done a lot, notably in north London last year.
Ionesco claimed the idea came from Denis de Rougemont’s memoir of the Nuremberg Rallies of 1938. De Rougemont nearly succumbed to the mass enthusiasm around him, but something from the “deepest reaches of his being” held him back. He maintained his humanity when every circumstance trumpeted the advantages of beastliness.
In the play, everyone eventually turns into a rhinoceros—except Berenger (the ever-graceful Reg Rodgers), a man steeped in doubt, self-criticism and alcohol. Why is he exempt? He’s not better than the others; he’s probably worse. His tics, his stammering, his mannerisms aren’t endearing, but they are profoundly human. His seediness protects him. Berenger is rammed with humanity; not even the totalitarian temptation can crush it out. The tenderness he feels for a young typist named Daisy (Elizabeth Stahlmann) also sets him apart. Rhinoceroses are gregarious, but they cannot love.
Photo credit: Carol Rosegg.
He has a sententious friend, Gene (Philip Taratula) who demands that he reform, that he dress better, work harder and give up drinking. In the funhouse mirror of the play, friends are not friendly and lofty goals are hazards. Gene’s transformation into a pachyderm is the one we see up close and personal. This production breaks with stage tradition by using costumes (by Tricie Bergmann) and makeup (by the Wig Associates) to further the transformation. Act by act even the stagehands acquire headpieces that signal their conversion to rhinocerism.
When Berenger and Daisy finally get together and everyone else has gone grey and beastly, he tells her they can be the new Adam and Eve who might regenerate humanity. Daisy, however, doesn’t want children. She finally gives in and conforms to the new pachyderm normality.
So why doesn’t Berenger do the same? In the original text, he goes to get his rifle from the closet. At the end of the play we see him holding the weapon and promising he’ll never capitulate; he’ll resist to the end. Why?
He doesn’t much admire humanity, his own or anyone else’s. He admits that the beasts have style—and even a certain charm. He tries to imitate their roars but fails. Like de Rougemont in Nuremberg, however, something from within prevents him from changing. He has a sense of what is good, something that drives him toward decency. His friends and colleagues, the townspeople who succumbed, they had the same drive; they were decent people whose innate morality was simply overtaken by the flash of the great, grey beasts. If you read it this way, Rhinoceros is Ionesco’s most optimistic play. There’s hope for us—even when we find ourselves reduced to a minority of one.
Derek Prouse’s 1960 translation took the rifle from Berenger’s hands. Frank Galati’s 2018 adaptation (used in this production) further trims about 40 minutes of verbiage; the French admire their language more than we do ours. Xi (Zoey) Lin provides splendid original music and sonic support.
Overall, the production achieves an impressive balance of “funny” and “dark.” It is clear that the rhinoceroses are not a metaphor or a collective delusion, they are horribly real, but just how literal should the production be in depicting them? The original film of Godzilla (1954) had a similar choice to make: we see giant footprints, panicked livestock and frightened villagers long before we get a glimpse of the monster himself. It’s almost a disappointment when the man in the rubber suit finally appears.
Liz Diamond is retiring as Head of Directing at Yale. This is her final production in that capacity. We will miss her.
