210.
OUTSIDE MULLINGAR
From left: Peter Maloney, Brían F. O'Byrne, Dearbhla Molloy. Photo: Joan Marcus.
I haven't had too much luck at the theatre slots lately; for every small payoff, there've been too many paybacks. Maybe it's the luck of the Irish, but I had no doubt I was hearing jackpot bells and whistles during John Patrick
Shanley’s OUTSIDE MULLINGAR, at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre. This is
the tenth play Shanley (MOONSTRUCK, DOUBT)
has written for the Manhattan Theatre Club. The play stands alone for its sheer ability to detonate
bursts of explosive laughter at one moment and then wring puddles of tears the
next. Other recent works may have more conceptually daring
theatrical ideas, more challenging intellectual premises, or more provocative
points of view; none, however, can compare to the powerful emotional grip this
play exerts throughout because of its lyrical richness, human warmth,
romantic sentiment, comical surprises, and exceptional artistry of acting and design. I remain enchanted, days later.
Debra Messing and Peter Maloney. Photo: Joan Marcus.
The story is simplicity itself. A
stubborn old Irish Midlands cattle farmer, Tony Reilly (Peter Maloney, at the top of his game) senses his mortality and refuses to leave
the land to the son, Anthony (Brían F. O’Byrne, marvelous), who farms it with
him, because he believes Anthony to have too much in him of the family’s Kelly
side, one member in particular of which he despises. He tells Mrs. Aiofe Muldoon
(Dearbhla Molloy, wonderful), the lame widow of the just deceased Chris
Muldoon, who owns the neighboring farm, that he prefers to leave his property to
an American relative instead. A witty and frank woman, Mrs. Muldoon lets Tony
know just how foolish she thinks he is, but the self-effacing Anthony, for all
his disappointment, lacks the fire in his belly to firmly resist his father’s thickheadedness.
Peter Maloney and Brían F. O'Byrne. Photo: Joan Marcus.
A
serious right-of-way problem, however, lies in a small piece of land between
the Reilly farm and that of the neighboring Muldoons, making access to the
Reillys difficult, and thereby decreasing the property’s value. That piece of
land is owned by the Muldoon daughter, Rosemary (Debra Messing, lovely), who
got her dad to give it to her when she was a child because, at the age of six,
the 13-year-old Anthony had pushed her down there, an event of which he has no
remembrance but that has rankled her ever since. The play charts the evolution
of Tony’s recognition of his son’s love, and that between the shy Anthony and
the beautiful, outspoken woman next door he’s known all his life but whose
feelings toward her have remained repressed.
Brían F. O'Byrne and Debra Messing. Photo: Joan Marcus.
The
American-born Shanley has written the play in a vernacular that suggests he was
born and raised in the old sod, and the actors, two from Ireland itself, all
perform as if to the manner born, with deliciously listenable brogues; some
critics have faulted Ms. Messing’s accent, but to my ears, only the slightest
hints of it being artificial creep in. There’s no way of knowing what John Aylward, who was replaced during rehearsals by Mr. Maloney, would
have made of the irascible Tony, but Mr. Maloney’s performance is one of many memorable highlights, especially in a scene where he lies
in bed, mortally ill, and finds peace with his son, whose goodness he has belatedly
come to recognize. Mr. O’Byrne’s quiet demeanor here, as his father rambles, beautifully heightens the old man's apotheosis. If you can sit through this scene without
spouting gushers, you may need to have your heart checked for sclerosis. And this scene is only one of those requiring a box of Kleenex;
just wait until the extended final confrontation between Anthony and Rosemary.
If you wear glasses you’ll need Windex to wipe away the steam.
Doug Hughes’s direction displays a superlative ability to orchestrate the musicality of the language, and the comical argumentativeness and character eccentricity embedded in Shanley’s zesty speeches; he also evinces finely articulated and expressively sensitive performances from each member of his gifted ensemble. Worthy as well of loud kudos is the contribution of the great set designer John Lee Beatty, who places on a turntable the finely detailed kitchens of the Reilly and Muldoon households, the stable setting where Anthony and Rosemary engage in private conversations, and the bedroom where the dying Tony spends his final hours. Rain, by the way, falls upstage for much of the play, and, thanks to the lovely lighting of Mark McCullough, the atmospherics of gloomy weather, which ultimately (if, perhaps, a tad too obviously), changes to sunshine and blue skies, are effectively captured. With all these technical achievements smoothly integrated, the hour and a half, intermissionless performance moves along seamlessly with ineffable charm, grace, humor, and sentiment.
Doug Hughes’s direction displays a superlative ability to orchestrate the musicality of the language, and the comical argumentativeness and character eccentricity embedded in Shanley’s zesty speeches; he also evinces finely articulated and expressively sensitive performances from each member of his gifted ensemble. Worthy as well of loud kudos is the contribution of the great set designer John Lee Beatty, who places on a turntable the finely detailed kitchens of the Reilly and Muldoon households, the stable setting where Anthony and Rosemary engage in private conversations, and the bedroom where the dying Tony spends his final hours. Rain, by the way, falls upstage for much of the play, and, thanks to the lovely lighting of Mark McCullough, the atmospherics of gloomy weather, which ultimately (if, perhaps, a tad too obviously), changes to sunshine and blue skies, are effectively captured. With all these technical achievements smoothly integrated, the hour and a half, intermissionless performance moves along seamlessly with ineffable charm, grace, humor, and sentiment.
When my wife's not enjoying a show, her body language can be a dead giveaway. As we
sat at OUTSIDE MULLINGAR I avoided glancing her way for fear her experience was not the same as mine.
At the end, when I realized that she was as moved as I, it was
clear that OUTSIDE MULLINGAR had hit the theatre jackpot.
