by A volley of gunfire at the start marks the violent backdrop to Seán O’Casey’s 1924 tragicomedy, set during the Irish Civil War of 1922–23. But it’s a distant sound, and in this production musical comedy and drunken shenanigans take center stage.
The second part of O’Casey’s Dublin trilogy, Juno and the Paycock, dramatizes the tenement life of the Boyles, whose breadwinner Jack (Mark Rylance) prefers drinking to working, while his wife Juno (J Smith-Cameron) has to earn her own living hold.
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The quirky comedy takes on the lead role. Jack is annoyed by Juno’s bossy behavior; Juno is angry at her daughter Mary (Aisling Kearns) for striking out from work and at Jack for his pretense. Her son Johnny (Eimhin Fitzgerald Doherty) watches nervously until the Republican revenge storyline comes into play.
Director Matthew Warchus has assembled a talented cast, from Smith-Cameron as a formidable performer to Rylance as her peacock husband. They’re never less than entertaining, but the show doesn’t overwhelm them, and the drama of the first two acts is a little too strolling and creaky with the broad Irish accents and comic denouement.
Jack, who claims to have been a sea captain, seems as much a fantasist and self-mythologizer as Jerusalem’s Rooster, and Rylance is wonderfully Chaplinesque in the comic physicality of his drunkenness. He plays an entertaining double act with Paul Hilton as Jack’s crazy friend Joxer, but even when he’s not there he comes across as a comedy duo rolled into one, tumbling more than walking and making the audience laugh with sparkling laughter.
O’Casey’s trilogy contains strong women and Juno is one of them, although she is not romanticized. Smith-Cameron, despite Rylance’s charisma, is truly the heart and soul of this production. Juno is the foil to Jack’s clowning and when the tone turns tragic, Smith-Cameron is great. Kearns also does wonders with her role as Mary, although Johnny feels rather insignificant.
There are songs and music as the Boyles begin carousing after being promised money from a relative’s will. Beneath the bonhomie are O’Casey’s poetry and the family’s desire to be somewhere they don’t know, but this production doesn’t dwell on that for too long.
The war outside seeps into the house through Rob Howell’s set, which looks like a strip has been torn out, showing blood-soaked red light over a sketched house below. The family’s poverty is made clear by the sparse furnishings at the start, with a table, a fire grate and, importantly, a dangling crucifix to which the characters speak pleadingly or accusingly of their terrible losses.
When the plot gets dark, the stage opens up to an expressionistic setting and it’s a great moment. The tragedy feels late but is impressive in the impact of its turning point. “Take away this murderous hatred,” Juno says in front of the crucifix as the war reaches her home, and her prayer rings all the more tragic for the coming decades of sectarian hatred in Ireland.
• At the Gielgud Theatre, London, until November 23rd
