Life is a lottery

It all starts off normally enough. An office worker in a small firm has struck lucky on the lottery, and has now left his mundane employment. He returns for a last lunch with his erstwhile colleagues, who alternately grovel and sneer.

The Character, as the man is known, buys a flat with his winnings and reserves himself a daily table at his local bistro. One day, however, his meal is rudely interrupted by civil war. Armed insurgents burst in and all the elegantly attired diners massacre each other. Yes, it is bienvenu encore une fois to the mad, mad world of Eugène Ionesco.

The works of the Franco-Romanian playwright, one of the leading lights of the Theatre of the Absurd, get increasingly few outings these days, so it is full marks to the plucky Courtyard Theatre for staging one of his late and lesser-known pieces (Ce Formidable Bordel in the original).

Fears that this may not be the biggest box-office draw were confirmed on press night, when the 21 actors outnumbered the audience by more than two to one. But those who were there emerged entertained, provoked and more than a little confused.

The Character (played with granite-faced lack of emotion by Mian Rahman) is Ionesco's version of an Everyman. He becomes a near-silent sounding board for the hopes and fears of his neighbours and strangely determined girlfriend Agnes (Lainy Scott). Later, his grip on time and reality begins to slip, so he takes to his armchair, Canute-like in the face of the irresistible tide of both personal and national history.

Director Massimo Marinoni keeps the whole set-up neatly under control, even though some blurred projected graphics and strange spotlit mimes don't help matters. The acting is uneven, but the evening's star turn comes from Niamh Dyar as The Concierge, who brings The Character his daily meals and remains resolutely cheerful in the face of the daily problems of uneaten breakfasts and genocide. But it is man's lot, Ionesco ultimately seems to be saying, to feel helpless.

Until 30 March. Box office: 020 7833 0876.

Oh, What A Bloody Circus!

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