The French Theater of the Absurd

by Deborah B. Gaensbauer

Book by Gaensbauer, Deborah B.

137 pages, Hardcover

First published September 1, 1991

Reviews

[Glenn Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

After reading this insightful book along with Jean Genet’s The Maids, an absurdist play I particularly enjoy, I’m inspired to share my microfiction on the topic:

Theater of the Absurd

I hand the ticket-taker my ticket for this evening’s performance in a state of agitation since I lost my wallet on the way to the theater. Lucky for me I was carrying my ticket in a separate envelop in my jacket pocket.

After entering the theater I have to squeeze by a couple of emaciated women wearing dark sunglasses to get to my seat in the back row. The theater is packed, every seat taken; I’m probably the last one to come in.

The lights go down and two actors, a man and a woman, walk out on a sparse stage set – two straight-back chairs and a table. It only takes a few lines to establish the man and woman are husband and wife trying desperately to scratch out a mean, hardscrabble existence.

By the middle of the second act it’s clear things are going nowhere with this play, when the husband trudges off stage and returns a few moments later, all smiles. He claims to have found a lost wallet. His wife is suspicious, thinking he must have stolen the wallet but nevertheless is overjoyed at the good fortune of having at least something. They both sit down at the table and paw through the contents. The husband picks out the social security card and blurts out my name. I’m stunned. It’s my wallet they’ve found.

They both have a good round laugh over my name as does the audience. The husband proceeds to turn my wallet upside down and shake the bills out. This done, he flings my wallet across the stage toward us in the audience. If he tossed it any further it would have reached the front row but as it is, the wallet lands on the edge of the stage. The husband points to the wallet and shouts out my name again and both he and his wife shake with uncontrollable laughter.

Enraged, I bluster my way over the two sets of emaciated legs down the aisle to the stage where I snatch my wallet. The actors cut off their laughter and look at me with mixed confusion and scorn, as if I’m an intrusion in their play, as if my name and my wallet were all part of their act in the first place. I hear a voice in the audience demanding I go back to my seat and stop interrupting the play.

Holding the wallet over my head I announce to the house that this wallet belongs to me. There’s both laughter and boos. The husband walks up to the front of the stage, trying best to keep in character and asks me to please leave. Nothing doing. I hop on stage and make a beeline for my money spread out on the table.

Then suddenly the lights go down and after a moment come back up. I’m flanked by the husband and wife who take a dramatic bow. The audience responds with their applause. The applause continues, grows louder and the actors grip me lightly by the elbows, the husband on my right, the wife on my left, and when they take another bow I give in a take a bow with them.