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The Herald Scotland

The Union flag is an object of sexual desire, is it? Don't be absurd

Glasgow often plays home to the absurdist. Former Tron Theatre Artistic Director Andy Arnold delighted in Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe – and then dad dances to a T-Rex song. Why? We never found out. Nor were we supposed to. At the same theatre, Martin McCormick's Ma, Pa and the Little Voices featured Karen Dunbar as a heavily pregnant 80-year-old who lives with Pa, in a hi-rise flat in which ornaments are plastered to the wall. Why? We don't know. Dunbar also appeared in the same theatre in Samuel Beckett's Happy Days, playing a woman trapped in a pile of rising dirt that wasn't a metaphor for the state of sketch comedy in Scotland, but a . . . Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe (Image: free) Ah, but that's the point of absurdist theatre. We aren't supposed to understand it. Absurdism is 'a philosophy that explores the inherent meaninglessness of existence and the human search for meaning in a meaningless world.' When Beckett's Waiting for Godot tells of two men sitting waiting for something to happen while talking mince, this meaninglessness is supposed to prompt us into thinking about meaning. (Or is it?) Yet, it only prompted the thought; 'Why didn't I pay attention to the Godot crit that said of the structure; 'A play where nothing happens. Twice.' Keen to understand the intent of absurdist theatre I asked a friend, who's a fan. Is Beckett really telling us to get off our a*** and do something? 'That's for the individual to work out,' he grinned, mischievously. Yes, you can see Beckett's roots in existentialism - god will never arrive – but if he is presenting a world where hope and promise are denied should we stand at the bus stop every morning in the full knowing the McGill's No 38 to Paisley will never arrive? Yet, if absurdist theatre is so lacking in meaning and content, why does it continue to fill halls? My absurdist chum suggested its abstract content is wide in its appeal, exemplified by the luring of variety hall star Max Wall to do Krapp, a performer who also appeared in Crossroads. Oh, come on! Crossroads was entirely more thought provoking. And it didn't feature storylines that ran on an endless loop. (Well, not always.) Read more The popularity however could be down to two reasons; theatre critics are reluctant to say it's simply keech for fear of not being considered clever. Indeed, one wrote excitedly of Ballyturk's 'sheer exuberance' and then claimed, 'The great thing is that it's a play you don't have to understand in order to enjoy.' Very often the critics will accentuate the 'fabulous design', or 'the glorious acting' of the likes of Maxine Peake in Happy Days. (Blatantly ignoring Henry Winkler's contribution.) And while audiences may be baffled by the gibberish, they get to meet in the bar afterwards and proclaim in haughty tones. 'I just love the fact that it makes you think.' Perhaps they should think that abstract theatre is, for the most part, lazy. Yes, Rhinoceros, in which the inhabitants of a French village gradually turn into beasts, is an allegory for French capitulation with the Nazis. But when so much of the dialogue is at best obtuse – and kazoos are used to illustrate the rhinos - it's hard to see beyond the bonkers. Of course, modern absurdist playwrights can claim to be following Camus in believing that the universe ultimately undermines any attempt to create meaning or find purpose. But does featuring illogical dialogue, bizarre situations, and a lack of traditional dramatic structure – and covering a naked man in flour and dancing to Get It On - really explore existential questions about life and the human condition? No. What it does is allow writers to come up with a play in double quick time, have it staged and move onto the next one; don't sit for months developing believable characters, giving them relatable characteristics. Don't bother coming up with a strong narrative and a twist at the end. Don't waste your time writing dialogue that's deliciously clever, wicked or funny. And with a simpatico artistic director behind you can pass it off as having real meaning – because you're underscoring the philosophy that life has none. There's a current argument for absurdist work which suggests it's an ideal way to satirise our modern times, that political discourse in particular has become so meaningless we've come to an acceptance of lies, clowns and a blatant refusal to answer a question. But can we really satirise the mangoheid who runs the White House? Do we need theatrical word splattering to confirm world chaos is ensuing? Can we not simply read the Dow Jones? Fawlty Towers with Prunella Scales as Sybil, John Cleese as Basil, Connie Booth as Polly and Andrew Sachs as Manuel (Image: PA) Sure, Ionesco wished to highlight that the human race in general is illogical, filled with loquaciousness and incapable of cogent analysis. But didn't John Cleese manage that wonderfully in Fawlty Towers? Wasn't frantic futility handled beautifully in Galton and Simpson's Steptoe and Son? And if you're keen to explore nihilism or Sartre's argument that god is dead then go see Glengarry Glen Ross next time around. And forget Happy Days; if you want to hear a woman despair for 90 minutes, stand outside the Forge Bingo Hall in Duke Street at closing time. But here's the main reason why I reject absurdist theatre. When we park our collective backsides in an auditorium, we're all too often treated to moments and minutes of joy, of wondrousness, of despair, grief, love and loss – and laughter. Sadly, absurdist theatre takes us nowhere but perhaps deeper into the confusion in our own heads. Meanwhile, as critic Michael Billington writes, 'Audiences are hungry for information and enlightenment.' Yet having said all that, and realising I've come to the end of this column without an idea for a pithy, clever ending I've suddenly realised I actually do love absurdism - and so can abdicate the need to make sense. So just imagine me singing 'Get it on, bang a gong, get it on . . .' Fleg shows from Sat 26 Apr - Sat 17 May 2025 at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow