In a radical staging at the Burgtheater’s Kasino, the Belgian Jan Lauwers brings to life this successful 1944 play by the French philosopher Albert Camus: a lively update with a tremendous ensemble. Now here’s something we’ve never seen before: the emperor forcing a woman to do it with a horse. This evening of theatre at the Burgtheater’s Kasino is not for the faint-hearted or delicate souls: Jan Lauwers, very successful internationally with his Needcompany, is undertaking a new attempt to gain a place in repertoire theatre – which this time clearly came more easily to him. Much of this is due to Cornelius Obonya, who makes full use of his prodigious talent and his exceptional qualities as a villain for Albert Camus’ Caligula; and this is even more remarkable because his performances such as that in Cordoba seemed virtually unsurpassable. As you watch this Caligula your hair stands on end and your stomach heaves. Compared to this monster, even Shakespeare’s pale into insignificance. Albert Camus (1913-1960) was born in Algeria to French parents and, before he was killed in a car accident far too young, was able, along with Jean-Paul Sartre, to popularise philosophy in a way whose effects can still be felt today. Both of them became moral authorities far beyond the borders of France and also outside intellectual circles, in a Europe which, after the Second World War, was asking itself in dismay how all this could have happened. What is the essence, what does human existence mean? What does the freedom of mankind consist of? What does it do to people when they get hold of power? Caligula is about all these things, and it was performed regularly after the war. After Hitler, Camus rewrote and focused the play even more sharply. Maria Happel is magnificent as Caesonia After the death of his beloved sister Drusilla, Caligula indulged his freedom to be a tyrant without restraint. The Caligula of history was murdered by the Praetorian Guard, a military unit, after a rule of only four years. With complete composure, the Caligula of the stage devours a schnitzel after all his excesses and simply carries on, when given the chance. ‘People die, and are not happy’ – Lauwers directed the play on the basis of this phrase used by Camus about Caligula. The terror the ruler imposes is reflected in a theatrical terror, which in its turn is symbolic of the terror that prevails in offices and ministries. The buzzing of mobiles, or perhaps of surveillance equipment, is constant, irritating and disquieting. A long table stretches out across the whole length of the Kasino beneath a triangular golden sculpture made up of disks. In Antiquity, throwing a discus was the ultimate test of strength. In this instance, it is mainly shoes and bits of plastic crockery that fly through the air. To start with we see the corpulent Hermann Schiedleder pattering around the table like a nervous master of ceremonies before an important banquet: he plays Helicon, the son of a slave, who has been able to work himself up to the rank of one of Caligula’s foremost courtiers, and as such is subordinate only to Caesonia, Caligula’s motherly friend and mistress, with whom the emperor seeks consolation anew after the death of Drusilla. Both Helicon and Caesonia (a superbly original Maria Happel) have mastered the art of submission down to the smallest detail. They know with anticipatory subservience exactly what their boss wants, create the right mood and see to it that protocol is followed. The aristocrats are somewhat bothered by the fact that the young man they had just put on the throne because of his mildness is turning out to be a monster. In the set by Jan Lauwers, reminiscent of totalitarian architecture, Nicolas Field drums up a modern variant of showy dictator’s music: ‘The Shimmering Beast’, which is also the title of a film about men in the wilderness. Lauwers has condensed the script; instead of almost two dozen actors only eight appear on stage. The musical approach is perfectly suited to theatrical opera, which is here dispatched at high tempo. There is a lot of substance to Camus’ play, but its dramaturgy is rather outmoded and clumsy: the philosophical finesses of this dispute are not always equally easy to follow. The staging makes one forget all the weaknesses of the play. Friend and foe writhe like eels Caligula is initially melancholy: he longs to possess the moon. But only too soon he rushes on to extremes and goes ever further in his cruelties, especially when he sees that there is no sense in stopping anymore because he has already brought too much guilt upon himself. His advisors and friends twist and turn in every direction in increasing despair, but Caligula is always able to beat them down, either rhetorically or literally – Hans Petter Dahl as Scipio (obviously the alter ego of both Camus and Caligula), André Meyer as Cherea, Falk Rockstroh as Lepidus: they rise up and sink down again under the deluge of Caligula’s blows and arguments. Octavia (Anneke Bonnema) has to make the worst sacrifices. After all, at the first night it was the fulminating ‘emperor’ Obonya who received sustained applause.