Three-Act Plot Analysis

Ionesco, for all his straying from traditional realism, adheres to a pretty standard structure in Rhinoceros. The play takes place in three acts, and it moves forward like you’d expect a three-act play to. So structurally, there’s nothing crazy going on; it’s when you get to the plot and dialogue where things get a little weird.

Basically, this play is like a pizza made from regular dough and cheese, but instead of pepperoni, it’s topped with like Gummi Bears and a hammer.

Act I

When you become the next great playwright or theatre director (which you will, right?), you’re going to spend a lot of time thinking about the opening of a show. And if that’s not your goal, the same sort of thing applies to TV, too.

Basically, you’ve got a couple of options. You can grab the audience right off the bat with a big song and dance, a crazy explosion or some bizarre murder (think CSI). Or you can take some time to set things up and give the audience a little breathing room.

Ionesco goes with choice number two. He spends a lot of Act 1 allowing us to get to know these people we’re dealing with, letting us get a sense that Berenger might be our hero, but that he’s no Superman:

BERENGER: I have got a bit of a hangover, it’s true!

JEAN: It’s the same every Sunday morning—not to mention the other days of the week. (1.1.69-71)

Yup, that’s our guy. A bit of a drunk who can’t seem to quite get things together. He’s always late, he’s always tired, and he’s always thirsty—especially for a nice French wine.

This fellow’s shortcomings might not make him the traditional superhero type, but they do make him a pretty solid “everyman.” He’s a guy a lot of us can relate to. He’s flawed and he knows it, like most of us. He wants to make some changes, but at the same time, he seems pretty content with life.

If you’re really going to delve into things Sherlock Holmes style, though, you need to keep an eye out for a key trait in Berenger that Ionesco hints at in Act 1. Sure, he drinks and he’s never on time and all of that, but there’s something more important that comes out, and if you’re not really paying attention, it could fly right by you:

JEAN: Wear a hat, a tie like this, a well-cut suit, shoes well polished  [As he mentions the various items of clothing he points self-contentedly to his own hat, tie, and shoes.].

Jean’s little speech to Berenger isn’t some sort of Fashion Police moment where he’s calling Berenger out for looking dumpy on the red carpet. This is about Jean trying to get Berenger to look and act like him. And more or less, like everyone else. We can assume from what they say that Jean is a relatively respected man about town, and we can further assume that Jean appears like most other men in his position. Berenger is the odd man out, and Jean wants him to get on board and start behaving like everybody else.

The best plays (and novels, and short stories, and made-for-TV movies) have these tasty little moments. Like the appetizer before a fancy meal. You might spend your time thinking about the meal to come, but if you slow down and enjoy the food in front of you, you’ll like everything that much better.

In other words, what Jean says to Berenger sets up the entire struggle that is about to unfold. Berenger is different, and there are people who think it’s time he stopped being different and just started acting like he “should.” In other words, grab a baguette and a beret like everyone else in small-town France.

Once Ionesco gives us an idea of the setting and some of the characters, he gets the ball rolling—the ten-ton ball of angry African beast, that is. The first rhino shows up. Yikes! And just a few minutes later, rhinoceros number two crashes into town. Once that happens, we’re on this crazy train, and we’re not stopping until Berenger is the only man left on two feet.

Act II

Ionesco’s Act 2, albeit broken into two scenes, fits right in with the traditional idea of what an Act 2 should be. This is when the stakes start to rise and we get better clued in to what our hero is up against.

In other words, if this were a traditional play or a zombie movie, this is when the group of survivors would start to dwindle and the eerie music basically would never stop. And in terms of the Theatre of the Absurd, that means you can expect more philosophical debates and a clearer picture of how ridiculous this struggle we call life actually is.

Act 2 of Rhinoceros lets us in on the secret of what’s actually been going on. No, it wasn’t a Madagascar zoo break, and these rhinos didn’t swim, barge, and horn their way into France out of the wild.

That’s right—these fellas used to be people.

Once Berenger and the others discover this in the office, things start to build pretty quickly. We already know that Berenger’s coworker Mr. Boeuf has transformed, and Ionesco makes it pretty clear that he isn’t going to be the only one:

DAISY: Yes, other rhinoceroses. They’ve been reported all over the town. This morning there were seven, now there are seventeen. (2.1.549-551)

Being as smart as you are, you know it’s time to get out of town. Find an isolated cabin somewhere. Maybe a group of survivors that includes an old guy who seems oddly wise on all subjects and a kid who is clearly the future of the human race.

Berenger and the others aren’t as smart as you, though. They’re going to stick around and see how things shake out. In fact, Mr. Papillon (the boss) expects them to be back in the office later that day. What happened to having a good ole-fashioned rhino day?

Moving on along, Act 2, Scene 2 pushes the story forward in a relatively traditional manner. We know there are rhinoceroses. We know they were once people. And we know Berenger was an acquaintance of a coworker-turned-rhino. But that’s not all. Things are about to get personal.

As you might guess, the whole rhino thing puts one’s life into perspective, so Berenger decides to head over to his buddy Jean’s apartment to apologize for being a bit beef-headed in their café fight earlier on. Unfortunately, things are about to turn into a whole different type of beast. Have you guessed which one?

Upon his arrival, Berenger finds dear Jean sick in bed. Poor thing. Well, at least, he seems sick. But then he starts going on about never having felt better and feeling strong and ready to take on the world. Pretty much all the things you’d expect a guy who is changing into a rhinoceros to say.

The two friends converse, but pretty soon conversation is no longer an option. Rhinos aren’t known for their eloquence in English after all (or French, or, um, human languages). So Jean, whose voice has seemed foreign to Berenger from the moment he walked in, starts making sounds that sound more like “Brrr” than words. Did someone turn on the air conditioning? Um, guess again…

But before we go on a-brr-ing, a sidebar here. This whole “Brrr” thing? It can be a great moment for an actor. It could be comical, a little creepy, terrifying, or totally ridiculous. That’s the joy of acting—you get to make choices. And regardless of what decision you make regarding the transformation when you play a fella like Jean, keep in mind that this scene highlights something that holds major weight with Ionesco and the other Absurdists: the breakdown of language and communication.

So. No longer able or willing to talk to Berenger (he won’t even call him Brr-enger), Jean rampages out of the place and joins the other rhinos. Berenger never believed his friend would be part of all that. The rhinopocalpyse has now hit home for Berenger. He knows it’s something that he will have to confront:

BERENGER: An army of rhinoceroses, surging up the avenue…![…]Where can I get out? Where can I get out? If only they’d keep to the middle of the road! They’re all over the pavement as well. Where can I get out? Where can I get out? (2.2.469-473)

Getting spooky, huh?

Act III

Back in the glorious 1980s, there was a little band called Europe, and they wrote a song called “The Final Countdown.” Then in the even glorious-er early 2000s, it was adopted as the most magical of intro songs for a master of tricks—er, illusions.

Anyway, whether an anthem for basketball games entering the fourth quarter or various end-of-the-world scenarios, it seems only right that it should kick off our discussion of Act 3 of Rhinoceros.

The walls are closing in on Berenger and the other survivors (at this point Daisy and Dudard are still clinging to humanity). The rhinos are literally crashing into the walls of Berenger’s apartment building, and their numbers seem to be growing at an unstoppable rate.

Soon, Dudard sees the appeal of calling it a day and becoming a rhinoceros. He heads for the street and joins the herd.

Berenger and Daisy stand strong (for all of about four minutes). Their love for each other is no match for the rhinoceroses or for all that other stuff that comes with having to live with someone. Daisy can’t look away from the rhinos:

DAISY: Those are the real people. They look happy. They’re content to be what they are. They don’t look insane. They look very natural. They were right to do what they did. (3.1.1133-1135)

Within a minute, she’s calling the rhinoceroses “gods,” and before you can say saw-it-from-a-stampede-away, she’s off with the leather skins. We’ve reached the climax of the play. Berenger’s dreams of repopulating the Earth with the woman he loves are gone. He’s truly on his own now.

There’s only one thing left for Berenger to do: drop a three-page monologue on the audience. Seriously, if you’re the last person on earth, it’s your right to drop into a full-on monologue. Finally no one can cut you off and tell you stop talking. Make sure to include some bold proclamations for extra dramatic effect:

BERENGER: I’ll put up a fight against the lot of them, the whole lot of them! I’m the last man left, and I’m staying that way until the end. I’m not capitulating! (3.1.1294)

Pretty heavy stuff, huh? From likable drunk to the last man left in the world. Quite the journey from a guy who struggled with the idea of having to wear a tie to one who has to take on all of rhinocericized humanity.