Rhinoceros

Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh

Until April 7

Richard III

Perth Theatre

Run ended

THE Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh's production of Eugene Ionesco's modernist classic Rhinoceros was the toast of last year's Edinburgh International Festival. Directed by Murat Daltaban of DOT Theatre of Istanbul, in a clever, crisp, new adaptation by leading Scots dramatist Zinnie Harris, its revival is very welcome indeed.

The Franco-Romanian playwright Ionesco is, for my money, the writer most correctly associated with the "theatre of the absurd". In this 1959 drama, the unlikely hero Berenger (played with appropriately wide-eyed incomprehension by Robert Jack) clings stubbornly to his humanity as the other denizens of his small, French town transform one-by-one into the eponymous horned mammals.

To be effective dramatically, this avant-garde otherworld requires a total and consistent vision on the part of the director. It must present a place which is, paradoxically, both ludicrously alien from our society, yet sinisterly redolent of it.

That this production is so congruous, both in terms of aesthetics and atmosphere, is testament to Daltaban's brilliance. It also speaks to the perfect harmony of the directorial concept with the contributions of designer Tom Piper (a deliciously silly, colourful dreamland) and composer Oguz Kaplangi (who sits on-stage, generating the live aspects of both the marvellous, Turkish-infused musical score and the soundscape).

The moment in which Steven McNicoll's Jean (Berenger's hitherto erudite, defiantly human friend) transforms into a rhino, his bath becoming a primordial swamp, is extraordinarily and unexpectedly terrifying. This capacity to identify the absurd-yet- frightening essence of human society (be it existential or political) is at the heart of Ionesco's genius. It is also the key to the success of this splendidly conceived, excellently performed production.

Lu Kemp's staging of Shakespeare's Richard III, by contrast, bristles with nice ideas and strong performances, but never quite achieves a consistent aesthetic. The characterisation of Richard himself is smart: Joseph Arkley plays down his character's famous "deformity", all the better to concentrate on his nascent capitalist belief in power, not through heredity, but by means of unscrupulous guile.

As Arkley's "bastard" prince lies and threatens his way to the throne (often pausing, comically, to acknowledge to us, the audience, the burgeoning success of his deviousness), he is the sun around which revolves a fine supporting cast. Alison Peebles, for example, is regally disappointed as Richard's mother, the Duchess of York, and there are strong performances from Meg Fraser (Queen Elizabeth), Martin McCormick (King Edward) and Michael Moreland (Richard's slavish conspirator Buckingham).

The weakness lies, not in the performances, but in the visual and aural worlds Kemp, designer Natasha Jenkins and sound designer Stevie Jones have concocted. The piece shifts unedifyingly between modern dress and a more abstract, timeless approach to set and costume.

One can't help but wish the director had opted for the latter. Time and again the contemporary design fails distractingly.

Tom McGovern's Brackenbury (lieutenant of the Tower of London) lacks gravitas, dressed as he is like a gamekeeper on a Highland estate. Worse still, the murderers employed by Richard to kill Clarence (the heir to the throne) appear in tracksuits and trainers, like a pair of stereotypical, young miscreants from the sitcom Still Game.

Finally, it should be said that the week just past was a very sad one for Scottish theatre. On Wednesday, the family and friends of Amanda Gaughan, who has died at the age of just 35, bade farewell to one of the most talented directors working on the Scottish stage. Acclaimed for her productions of such plays as Conor McPherson's The Weir and Ibsen's classic Hedda Gabler (both for the Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh), her passing is a great loss to live drama in Scotland.