(1978 Interview)
Carmelo Bene’s Richard III (1978) offers a profound exploration of theatre’s core principles, offering a radical confrontation with the very idea of representation. In this production, Bene delves deep into the nature of the theatrical performance itself, rejecting the conventional comforts of impersonation and identity. He refrains from representing power or embodying a role; instead, he confronts the terrifying and self-consuming nature of language as it both manifests and disintegrates before the audience’s eyes.
In an interview from 1978, Bene explains the unique approach he took to Shakespeare’s Richard III, a work that wrestles with the issue of power, its elusive nature, and its eventual negation. The power present in Shakespeare’s text is conspicuously absent in Bene’s rendition; as he explains, Richard never had power in life, and in this interpretation, Bene denies him that power on stage as well. Instead, Bene transforms Richard into a figure of perpetual revolution—a “war machine,” borrowing from Deleuze’s concept, ever in motion, relentlessly opposing the peaceful equilibrium of the state.
Power as a “War Machine”
When questioned about how Richard III addresses the question of power, Bene asserts that power is not merely absent from his Richard, but it is fundamentally rejected. Power is described not as an external force to be overthrown, but as something to be evaded altogether. Bene explains: “The power is absent from this Richard; he never had it in life, and I don’t give it to him on stage either. He is what Deleuze calls the war machine—constantly in revolt, hating the peace of the state.” This notion echoes a deeper philosophical inquiry: the confrontation with systems of control that seeks neither to conquer nor usurp power, but to annihilate the very concept of stable power itself. Richard, in Bene’s interpretation, becomes a figure who opposes the state’s machine, ultimately growing more monstrous than the state itself—yet alone and defeated, like a dog.
Theatrical Deformity and Private Madness
Bene is also asked to explore Richard’s deformity in relation to his solitude and lack of compassion. Bene sees Richard’s actions on stage as an exhibition of “private madness”—a self-destructive war machine. He suggests that Richard’s madness is not merely a flaw of character but a performative choice, an intentional demolition of the self. The deformity, in this sense, is not just physical but psychological, aligning with Bene’s broader conception of theatre as a means to explore and dramatize the collapse of the self.
The Role of Darkness and Light
In discussing the aesthetic choices of the production, Bene touches on his use of darkness and light. Unlike traditional theatre, where light is used to reveal, Bene uses light to deepen the enigma of the stage. His strategic manipulation of darkness becomes an impermeable wall that traps the audience, refusing to let them “see through” the performance. “I don’t use light to illuminate; I use it to further obscure,” Bene notes, pointing to the almost suffocating atmosphere of the piece. This creates a theatre that resists the natural desire to “understand” or “see” clearly, instead forcing the audience into a state of existential uncertainty.
This use of light, along with Bene’s preference for creating an unyielding, minimalistic environment, forces the viewer into a more visceral, less intellectual engagement with the performance. As he explains, Romeo and Juliet may have been more complex in terms of sound and visual experimentation, but Richard III is something far more severe and implacable. It demands an intense engagement with the present moment, resisting any form of escape through traditional narrative or aesthetic comfort.
The Absence of Representation: “Theatre of ‘Remains'”
Bene argues that traditional theatre, with its reliance on “representation,” has become an empty bourgeois game. For him, the very idea of “representing” or “acting” as an illusionary act is absurd. “It is a bourgeois trick, small-minded even,” Bene asserts. “Theatre is not about ‘representing’ events or characters; it is about the exhibition of theatre itself.” This rejection of representation, however, does not mean that Bene’s work is devoid of structure. He refers to his approach as a “partitura,” or score, in which every element—gesture, sound, light, and language—has been meticulously composed, yet not with the aim to present a story or meaning in the conventional sense. Instead, Bene’s “partitura” is a way of structuring the process of deconstruction itself.
For Bene, theatre is about stripping away accumulated layers of history, experience, and social codes. The “theatre of remains,” as he describes it, is a theatre where the actor enters the stage having already given everything, offering only the “remains” of what they once were. This is not the heroic or dramatic presentation of a character but the ultimate gesture of futility and exhaustion. As Bene suggests, “The actor must enter already spent, already devoid of purpose. Only then is he truly ‘present.’”
A Political and Aesthetic Rejection of Power
While Bene’s theatre refuses to engage directly with any political system, it is, in its essence, an act of rebellion. It is not a revolution in the conventional sense but a rejection of the very structures that perpetuate conflict and power. For Bene, this rejection of power is not merely political but linguistic. In his adaptation of Richard III, the language itself becomes a battleground—a “minor language,” in the Deleuzian sense—one that does not seek to dominate but to resist the totalizing narratives of history and identity.
Bene’s theatre is not about overthrowing kings or politicians. It is about rejecting the narratives that justify power and control. As he states, “It’s not about dethroning the prince, but about confronting language itself.”
In his unique interpretation of Shakespeare’s Richard III, Bene creates a space where the very nature of theatre—of acting, of representation, and of meaning—is questioned, challenged, and ultimately undone. It is a space where power is not wielded, but annihilated; where language does not serve to represent, but to consume itself. It is a performance that leaves no comfort or resolution, offering instead a bleak, yet potent, commentary on the nature of identity, power, and the very act of theatrical representation.
Carmelo Bene’s Richard III is an uncompromising examination of the nature of theatre itself. It challenges the conventions of representation, embracing a more radical, anarchic approach to the theatrical experience. Bene’s rejection of power, both political and performative, invites the audience to confront not just the story of Richard but the very idea of what theatre can be. His work is not merely a performance but a manifesto—one that calls for the dissolution of old narratives and the creation of a new kind of theatre, one that is pure in its negation and unflinching in its self-destruction.
FONT: https://ilmanifesto.it/carmelo-bene-partiture-da-shakespeare
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