by First things first: Sean O’Casey’s tragicomedy, set in civil war-torn Dublin in 1922, is showing its age; Successor star J. Smith-Cameron is great in it as tenement matriarch Juno; Mark Rylance, a mercurial but collegial actor at his best, sadly continues his recent descent into mannered self-parody as Juno’s ruthless husband “Captain” Jack Boyle.
The play was radical for its time and depicted the struggle for Irish independence through the lives of the working class. Today, the juxtaposition of broad humor with sectarian violence and poverty is a problem, as is the strong accent.
Director Matthew Warchus underlines the strangeness by giving his production the appearance of a black-and-white slapstick film, the actors wearing white pancake makeup and eyes lined with kohl. Rylance even sports a toothbrush mustache like Charlie Chaplin, Oliver Hardy or, er, Hitler.
His drunken slurred delivery is as wide-ranging as his “tache” is narrow. Captain Jack is a work-shy, boastful “paycock” of a man who tells his buddy Joxer (Paul Hilton, unpleasantly miscast) endless stories about a non-existent seafaring career in bars.
Jack tends to murmur next to himself or to the Almighty, who is represented by a crucifix hanging above the stage. Rylance therefore treats the role as an extended joke between himself and the audience, full of familiar tics: the sideways bravado, the embarrassed dodginess, the guilty stutter. It’s entertaining, but strangely selfish towards its fellow cast members.
Smith-Cameron, on the other hand, is completely convincing as Juno, who single-handedly saves her useless husband, a radical daughter who is on strike and a son who was mutilated in the struggle for independence from misery.
Though the character often shifts improbably from anger to compliance, Smith-Cameron — a Broadway veteran before she became the powerful Gerri in Succession — maintains a steely, raw inner truth. You can’t take your eyes off her, even when the focus inevitably falls back on Rylance.
Jack, already ridiculous, becomes even more absurd when he hears of a possible inheritance from the smooth Bentham, a teacher and theosophist (the discussion of Bentham’s beliefs has also aged like milk).
Young Mary Boyle (Aisling Kearns, strong) foolishly chooses Bentham over her comrade Jerry Devine, while her brother Johnny’s fear of reprisals from his IRA comrades grows. Oppression, religion, politics and poverty work together to destroy it. Like Joyce, O’Casey sees Ireland as an old sow who eats her young.
But although the play has historical value and powerful moments, in this production it seems hopelessly over-the-top. The strange locals who initially interrupt the action are joined by increasingly grumpy armed men and grieving mothers.
The song interludes are downright bizarre. In the third act, Rob Howell’s impressionistic tenement is torn apart to reveal a massive marble pieta on which Mary mourns the dead Christ. Rylance hurls everything from the railing to the floorboards in Jack’s final appearance.
I wish Warchus had kept him in check. And perhaps found a less rickety star vehicle to transport Gerri – sorry, the histrionic grandmaster J – to the West End, great as it is to have her here. She shines – and surpasses Rylance.
Gielgud Theater, until November 23rd; Book tickets Here
