Playwright: Frank and Malachy McCourt
At: Royal George Theatre, 1641 N. Halsted
Phone: 312-988-9000; $39.50-$49.50
Runs through: Dec. 24
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
When Frank McCourt arrived in the United States in 1949, he was advised to 'stick with your own.' 'But I want to assimilate!' protested the lad from the Limerick slums. The degree to which American audiences are comfortable with the Irish post-immigrant experience might be measured by the response to this revue of stories and songs steeped in nostalgic sentiment and ethnocentric angst.
Following nearly a half-century of reparative courtesy toward the many cultures comprising our country's heritage, the line between archetype and stereotype still depends mostly on who hired the hall. Recent years have seen a resurgence of Borscht Belt comedy featuring caricatured portrayals of Negroes, Indians, Orientals, Latinos, Russians, Italians, Germans, Poles, the Irish and Jews—some not pretending to more than parochial appeal, but others risking affirmation of prejudices held by playgoers who still see only darkies, redskins, japs, wetbacks, russkies, eyeties, krauts, polacks, micks and heebs. If, as the saying goes, the formula for humor is tragedy plus Time, then how much time is required to effect the transformation?
To be sure, the irreverent McCourt brothers are recounting their own histories, a kind of courage evident in their mockery of squalor, xenophobia and childhood fears—a single cesspool for a whole street of homes bereft of plumbing, a church commanded by clergy steeped in draconian mysticism, siblings succumbing to the scourges of poverty. One may admire the unfettered emotions reflected in the weepy Mother Machree and the sly wit of Some Say The Devil's Dead. The spectacle of two old men playing a bevy of male and female eccentrics is a venerable tradition in western vaudeville ( cf. Flanagan's Wake ) . And since our chief narrator is that Frank McCourt, now a star in literary circles, we can console ourselves with the knowledge that the Blaguard boy made good in the end.
A few opening-night audience members departed at intermission after expressing offense at Jarlath Conroy and Howard Platt's portrayals of Ould Sod citizens. Most stayed, however, and chortled affectionately at the irreverent antics—in particular, a tongue-twisting ditty that the singer labels an 'Irish sobriety test.' In 2006, that title could perhaps be applied to the entire show.