A wild bit of surrealist experimental theater that must have been amusing and shocking to see first performed. Although not nearly as extreme as Jarry, Apollinaire, Artaud, or Tzara, this kind of gentle absurdity is once again very reminiscent of Beckett coming a generation later, who I think might owe much more to Cocteau than he lets on. (Indeed, the two sources I have consulted – James Knowlson and Katherine Weiss – are either silent on the fact or claim that there is no evidence of Beckett referencing Cocteau’s work at all, although he most certainly was aware of him.) But unlike Beckett, Cocteau’s theater is actually enjoyable – and the dark humor works for me – while being less concerned with staging abstraction.
It represents yet another brilliant retelling of classical myth from Cocteau, in which the farcical qualities of myth itself are cast against the backdrop of the equally absurd tendency of humans to perform their foibles. I am neither a great admirer of mythology nor modern theater (I can enjoy both at times and can take something of value from them, but I find them less engaging than fiction, poetry, or early theater from the ancients through the early modern era); however, Cocteau has merged both in ways that have made me see both with new eyes and sparked an obsession with his work, more so than either myth or avant garde theater.
I wish I could see this performed live. I also think I could direct a stellar version of this play if I ever had the chance to put on a community theater performance, which I don’t think I’ve felt after reading a play that I can remember.