Eugen Ionescu sau ochiul colosal care ne privește ironic
Eugen Ionescu Or The Colossal Eye Which Shrewdly Looks Upon Us

Summary/Abstract: Promoter of a new theatre genre, Ionescu, this terrible child, toadied or blasphemed, copied or violently contested, chose as his dangerous toy the profound and captivating human machinery; he dismounted it with cruelty, possessed by an aggressive curiosity, tore it apart lucidly and methodically, then he extorted the engine (that incandescent “why”), and afterwards, compassed with remorse, he reassembled the toy into a totally different shape, that was bearing a resemblance to nothing: the wheels, higgledy-piggledy remounted, backlashed, the direction strived to “nowhere”, everything seemed pointless; and then, the terrible child, already old and tired, had fun laughing and crying and glued a weird, backwards spelled label on the machine, making it hard for the critics to read it (silently, of course, because the old child was cruel and vindictive) and, after much hesitation, they deciphered: human condition

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