IONESCO/DINNER AT THE SMITHS
Riverside Studios
★★★★
“a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life”
To attempt to out-absurd the absurdity of Eugène Ionesco strikes one as an absurd challenge to undertake. Writer and director Marianne Badrichani fearlessly takes on the task with her production of “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” and succeeds brilliantly, not only by paying homage to the playwright’s unique blend of surrealism and notions of the ‘anti play’, but by making it instantly accessible. The ‘Theatre of the Absurd’ can often be considered a touch niche, but Badrichani’s interpretation can be enjoyed by anybody who, A) likes a good night out at the theatre and B) is up for a good laugh. The latter, in fact, should come as a trigger warning – it will have you in stitches (I saw the show just a week after open surgery, and was laughing so hard in places that I feared my still-fresh stitches would come undone).
Co-adapted by Bradrichani, with Edith Vernes, “Ionesco/Dinner at the Smiths’” draws from interviews with Ionesco, and a few of his plays, most notably “The Bald Soprano”. In addition, we are treated to original conversations, musings, debates, arguments, theories, poetry and movement that seamlessly blend into Ionesco’s own writing; rhythmically and ideologically. The result is a deliciously served celebration of the strangeness of ordinary life and the limitations of language that, I am sure, Ionesco would be absurdly proud of. Be prepared to have your sense of reality and logic completely undermined. There is, after all, a written proviso in the programme stating that a doctor is in service in case of existential crisis.
The premise is set up before we enter the space. A willowy butler (Suzy Kohane) meets and greets us, inviting us into the home of Mr and Mrs Smith. Kohane is the epitome of cool, but with torrents of eccentricities sloshing around beneath the surface. Having been handed a glass of wine, we are led to our seats around a long dinner table. At opposite ends are Mr Smith (Sean Rees) and Mrs Smith (Lucy Russell). They talk nonsense. Of course they do. There are enough dramatic pauses, though, for us to take in and appreciate the attention to detail in our surroundings. Lydie Drouillet’s set has more than a touch of René Magritte. The upturned sconces of the candelabras, apples instead of candles, a backwards clock on the wall. There are even visual references to Ionesco’s other works.
But so far, we are still in ‘The Bald Soprano’ territory. The Smiths’ guests arrive – Mr and Mrs Martin (David Mildon and Edith Vernes respectively). They are dressed identically to their hosts. They arrive late and, ignoring the Smiths at first, launch straight into a private conversation as though they are strangers to each other. Bit by bit they flirtatiously discover coincidences and similarities, until they eventually recognise they are, in fact, married. The ensuing dialogue between the four of them spirals deeper into hilarity and banality. Each actor delivers their lines with impeccable timing and pitch, and every gesture, tic and expression is spot on. There is more than a hint of Monty Python (who, of course, were profoundly influenced by Ionesco) as logic breaks down further and linguistic convention is sent up higher and higher.
There is still time for a serious word or two, however. Slipping out of his jacket, Rees intermittently switches from Mr Smith into playing Ionesco himself, interviewed by his fellow cast members. These are short bursts, yet full of concise insight into Ionesco’s modus operandi and, with significant poignancy, his views on the ‘contagion’ of fascism. That is a whole other story, but in a few short lines, sentiments are clearly outlined.
Then it’s back to the party. The menu continues to dish up further courses of wordplay, wit and mindboggling silliness. We are invited to momentarily wear blindfolds and just listen instead – while other senses are also catered to. A fire chief arrives (Mildon at his most bonkers), disappointed at the lack of a fire to tackle. Nevertheless, a fire-themed poem is recited as consolation. A song is sung, and a few more twisted truisms and anti-aphorisms punctuate the proceedings. All the while our grins our getting wider, yet beneath the humour we are still aware of the odd pertinent message burrowing its way into our consciousness.
The show ends where it started – sort of – giving the impression of a cycle. The temptation is to remain in our seats to see if it all starts over. I could quite happily watch it again (under my surgical team’s orders though… I would rather the side-splitting comedy remain a figure of speech, not a literal medical emergency). It would be absurd to turn down an invitation to Dinner at the Smiths.
IONESCO/DINNER AT THE SMITHS
Riverside Studios
Reviewed on 25th April 2026
by Jonathan Evans
Photography by Lidia Crisafulli
