The Phoenix Network:
 
 
About  |  Advertise
Adult  |  Moonsigns  |  Band Guide  |  Blogs  |  In Pictures
 
Books  |  Comedy  |  Dance  |  Museum And Gallery  |  Theater

Sympathy for the Devil

By CAROLYN CLAY  |  November 24, 2008

Named for an Old English poem, The Seafarer is set in a dingy house in a moribund suburb of North Dublin, to which James "Sharky" Harkin has returned to care for his newly blinded brother, Richard, whose affliction does not keep him from smelling out a bottle (or stinking out the house). Struggling to stay off the drink, swilling Coke while fussing about the home's subterranean parlor cleaning up empties and worse, Sharky is as much a loser fleeing his latest misadventure as a male Florence Nightingale. And his ward is like something out of Betty Ford's, with slow-witted if good-hearted marital fuck-up Ivan Curry rounding out the dysfunctional family. But bombed, floundering business-as-usual is interrupted when Nicky Giblin, whom Richard has drunkenly invited over for poker despite Nicky's having appropriated Sharky's one-time girlfriend, shows up with a well-dressed stranger who has a high-stakes game in mind. Whether this guy's identity is merely a figment of Sharky's guilty imagination is up to you; to McPherson, he is indeed the Devil, star of a modern morality tale based on the Irish myth of the Hellfire Club, a posh 18th-century entity whose membership saw Beelzebub show up to play cards.

Súgán Theatre Company founder and jack of all things Celtic Carmel O'Reilly directs the SpeakEasy staging of what may be monologue-specialist McPherson's best ensemble work, ably balancing its aimless, unsanitary male infantilism and scrofulous humor with its booze-fueled explosions and bleak hope. Wiry Billy Meleady retains your focus as Sharky, tensely contemplating a number that may be up, despite the flamboyant competition from rubber-faced Larry Coen's hapless Ivan, Bob Colonna's commanding yet quixotic Richard, and Ciaran Crawford's cool yet cowed Nicky. Holding the monologue fort, the imposing if exemplarily pleasant Derry Woodhouse, a suave Satan in the borrowed "insect body" of a fellow human, delivers a riveting account of Hell as a cramped cubicle of self-loathing. I say give the saccharine-coated holiday chestnuts a rest in favor of this teaming pint of pickled redemption served without the big turkey at the end.

< prev  1  |  2  |  3  | 
Related: Autumn garden, The Earth moves, Year in Theater: Staged right, More more >
  Topics: Theater , Entertainment, Music, American Conservatory Theater,  More more >
  • Share:
  • Share this entry with Facebook
  • Share this entry with Digg
  • Share this entry with Delicious
  • RSS feed
  • Email this article to a friend
  • Print this article
Comments

ARTICLES BY CAROLYN CLAY
Share this entry with Delicious
  •   NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN  |  December 01, 2009
    Louis de Rougemont makes James Frey look like a documentarian. A sickly Victorian lad who arose from his cot, knocked around the Southern Hemisphere for a while, and returned to England with a hifalutin new moniker and captivating tales of seafaring perils and aboriginal idylls, he was the subject of a popular serialized autobiography.
  •   LINCOLN YULE LOG  |  November 24, 2009
    Abraham Lincoln, as he said in his second inaugural address, yearned to "bind up the nation's wounds." Since the great man was assassinated little more than a month later, he didn't quite get around to it. No worry, Paula Vogel has taken over the job with A Civil War Christmas: An American Musical Celebration.
  •   DODGING DEATH  |  November 18, 2009
    Even the sweetest life can shatter in an instant, sending you through the looking glass like Alice. For the euphoric heroine of Craig Lucas's 1988 fable of holiday festivity and arbitrary mayhem, Reckless the moment of reckoning comes when her husband tearfully confesses, on Christmas Eve, that he has taken out a contract on her life.
  •   MARS VS. VENUS  |  October 28, 2009
    It’s been 21 years since Speed-the-Plow first milked the cravenness of Hollywood and the self-described “whores” who turn its celluloid tricks. But David Mamet’s scathing, staccato comedy has held up at least as well as Madonna, who made her Broadway debut in the original 1988 production.
  •   ONLY CONNECT  |  October 20, 2009
    Usually when a cell phone goes off in the theater, you want to kill someone. In the case of Dead Man’s Cell Phone , that’s not necessary.

 See all articles by: CAROLYN CLAY

MOST POPULAR
RSS Feed of for the most popular articles
 Most Viewed   Most Emailed 



  |  Sign In  |  Register
 
thePhoenix.com:
Phoenix Media/Communications Group:
TODAY'S FEATURED ADVERTISERS
Copyright © 2009 The Phoenix Media/Communications Group