The theater is not a place for logic. I’ve found myself drawn to it for this very reason. Beyond the mere suspension of disbelief, the art form also offers a brief opportunity to stop attempting to rationalize life. Outside the theater, the hard-to-fathom truths of humanity are often burdensome; inside, however, our brains are given a chance to sit in intentional chaos — and to accept it wholeheartedly.
A human can be a rodent, physical objects can pass through TV screens, language is indirect and an empty flatware factory in New York City can become home to one of the most revered theater companies in the world — The Wooster Group.
The Performing Garage in SoHo, Manhattan is the birthplace of countless experimental theater works. Since the 1970s, the space has been the home of The Wooster Group and their collaborators, one of whom is well-known avant-gardist Richard Foreman of Ontological-Hysteric Theater, who first directed his play “Symphony of Rats” with the Wooster Group in 1988. Today, his piece takes a very different — yet still bizarre — form under the imaginative direction of Elizabeth LeCompte and Kate Valk. First produced in New York in April 2024, this version took the stage at CalArts’ REDCAT in Downtown Los Angeles.
LeCompte has led the company with her evocative artistic vision since its inception. However, The Wooster Group functions as an ensemble of ever-evolving artists, recognized for their practice of self-producing works over long periods of time. Valk, a founding member, has been with the group through it all, including the most iconic moments in Wooster Group history. She recalls a time in the early 2000s when the group received a donation from a nearby fashion warehouse and used it for costumes: “We were cutting up a lot of Prada,” Valk said at Fran & Kate’s Drama Club at Hauser & Wirth in LA this past Sunday.
Valk also reflected on her experience performing in the 1988 iteration of “Symphony of Rats” as one slightly muddled by her artistic naivety at the time. She didn’t get it, she reflects, but it got into her subconscious nonetheless. In 2022, when she and LeCompte asked Foreman if they could reprise the work for a modern audience, he was thrilled. “I hope it’s unrecognizable,” he told them.
“Symphony of Rats” is not a show from which one gains clarity or moral understanding. Instead, audiences should simply let go and appreciate it for what it is: a chaotic, energetic jigsaw puzzle of experimental brilliance. And don’t get it twisted — this is not a meaningless piece of theater (is anything theater really meaningless?). The meaning, however, comes when you are not searching for it. It is inarticulable and abstract.
Only one premise is explicitly handed to us from the first moment of the show: the U.S. president (portrayed brilliantly by Ari Fliakos) is receiving end-of-the-world messages from outer space. Though politics serve as a structural prompt for the ensuing madness, the piece is less adjacent to current affairs than one would expect it to be (except for a brief mention of the bivalent COVID vaccine). There is no specific president being portrayed here, though we can all admit that political figures’ unhinged behaviors have become less jarring since 2016.
Consider, instead, this main character to be all-encompassing — meta, even. Fliakos tells us that the round-table rehearsals for “Symphony of Rats” appeared in his character’s feverish visions. In the same breath, he points to the audience, calling us the president as well. He rambles on, explaining that we all receive messages, through media, ourselves, etc. The question is whether to trust them or not.
Utilizing technology and rigorous precision in every physical action, “Symphony of Rats” is a classic example of the Wooster Group’s theatrical excellence. LeCompte has never shied away from technological advancements, she and Valk reflected to the drama club crowd, from her early directorial days to now, at age 80. While most theater artists of her generation might fear the ever-changing capabilities of technology in the arts, LeCompte has always been one step ahead — even establishing those new capabilities herself. LeCompte recalls that she bought TV screens for the Performing Garage as soon as she could afford them in the 80s.
Onstage at both the Performing Garage and REDCAT, “Symphony of Rats” had at least four independent screens, not to mention the laptops and monitors used by the artists in the show. Despite admittedly spending far too much time looking at screens in my day-to-day life, I never felt unenthused by the tech implementation. The screens, while functional elements of the show, held as much physical creative value as any other set piece on the Rube Goldberg-esque stage.
Upon first glance at the stage, even before the show begins, it is evident that a major visual theme in “Symphony of Rats” is balls. Seriously, this show is full of balls — basketballs and soccer balls sit on posts around the stage like some sort of art installation and a globe-printed Spalding is a frequently utilized prop (perhaps a nod to Spalding Gray, LeCompte’s first collaborator). Even some stuffed fake gonads make an appearance! And while the visual design is innovative, even more impressive is the actors’ ability to navigate these objects and the physical space.
Every movement is precise and loaded with energy. The actors in “Symphony of Rats” could easily be considered athletes. To me, this is why the Wooster Group is so exceptional — they marry chaotic nonsense with artistic rigor. The work is aware of its own absurdity, but the performers take each movement, no matter how small, with utmost seriousness.
In a series of sequences driven by music, “Symphony of Rats” progresses through The President’s mental unraveling. Comparable to a trippy fever dream, odd characters phase in and out of his psyche—including a scientist (the hilarious Jim Fletcher) who slowly transforms into a large rat (complete with unsettling rat claws), a God-like narrator who plays a never-ending game of checkers downstage and two gangly otherworldly men who sing bizarre renditions of Radiohead. Oh, and how could I forget, a glowing, stick-figure orb-woman named Renee who dances across the screens. She is a guiding beacon, created by running LeCompte’s voice through AI to create a discordant high-pitched tone spoken in meter. During one moment of sheer brilliance, Renee’s stick figure projection sits atop a real onstage speaker hanging from the grid.
“Symphony of Rats” resists narrative, as Valk put succinctly. It is abstract poetry personified by physical antics and elements of language from philosophy and psychotherapy. More than anything, this show is a lot of fun. Even the most shocking moments (feces cookies, for example) are met with laughter from the audience. We enter the space to accept the otherwise unacceptable. An audience does not need to comprehend a piece to be affected by it—I giggled and I felt a whole lot of joy!
The Wooster Group has been confusing audiences with their rejection of realism for as long as they’ve existed. And yet, many collaborating artists have succeeded in the mainstream world of Hollywood. Willem Dafoe, a Wooster Group co-founder, got his start in the Performing Garage. Frances McDormand, co-host of Sunday’s drama club, is still closely connected to the company. At Fran & Kate’s Drama Club, LeCompte, McDormand and Valk bantered together like sisters, connected through years of artistry.
As the group heads back to their cozy little garage in New York, I can’t help but hope they return to LA sometime soon. And while the Performing Garage lends a gritty aesthetic reminiscent of the true downtown avant-garde scene, REDCAT’s more traditional setting gave the show a different, yet equally enjoyable, energy. Their next stop with “Symphony of Rats” is Nashville, TN in December.
After leaving the theater, and even while sitting in traffic on the 110, I found myself feeling giddy and untroubled, the same way I felt after watching the show in New York last April. Weird theater can do that — it makes everything seem a little less serious and ideas feel a little more possible. At one point during “Symphony of Rats,” we are asked the vague question: “Is it a place or a state of mind?” Good theater, I think, is a little bit of both.