Playwright: Mark O'Rowe
At: Steep Theatre, 3902 N. Sheridan
Phone: (312) 458-0722; $15
Runs through: Nov. 10
Mark O'Rowe is as unsentimental as they come, writing of the young Anglo-Irish of Liverpool who live by male-bonding codes of behavior, never talk about work but always have the price of a drink, and exist only in the moment with no thought of the future or the consequences of actions. Although wild, these young men are anything but anarchic: their strict codes of conduct define and limit who they are or might ever be.
Howie Lee and Rookie Lee are two such men-about-Liverpool. Although unrelated, their common last name and shared circle of acquaintances make them sometimes-mates as their stories intersect over a brief time frame. Presented as sequential monologues, their tales combine into a single story. Howie is what David Mamet calls 'a stand-up guy,' dependable, tough, unflappable, slow to anger but watch out when he does. Rookie is a charming asshole, a screw-up, the driver wrecks the car and walks away with scratches. Neither one has an emotional bone in his body, and both have Neanderthal attitudes towards women and sex as they inhabit a world of almost daily violence.
O'Rowe is amazingly non-judgmental about all this. He presents a slice of life, seemingly without comment save for the husky, earthy, rich and rhythmic street patois his characters speak; like rap, almost its own language. Nicknames proliferate: Peaches, Ginger Boy, Lady Boy (all men); Avalanche and Bernie (women). Howie is The Howie Lee, his kid brother The Mousey Lee and Rookie The Rookie Lee. Parents are the Old One (Mom) and Old Fella' (Dad).
These monologues are aural pieces and they are done up brown by Brendan Melanson (Howie) and Matt Engle (Rookie), performing on a black-box stage with no set save a table and chair, and no props other than a glass and a cigarette. First-time director Mike Tutaj's background in music shows as he goes for all the rhythms and music in the language, and for an Anglo-Irish accent so thick that this professional listener had trouble understanding it at times. There's a good deal of comedy in these monologues if slowed down, relished and played with more irony; but that's not Tutaj's choice. This reading of Howie the Rookie is a downhill bus with no breaks, as two young toughs take you on a short, wild and lethal ride; one that reveals the conscience and guilt The Howie Lee never acknowledges, but chooses to act upon.
The uncredited costumes are smart: non-descript clothes for stolid Howie and retro Mod threads for flashy but insubstantial Rookie. Ultimately, this is Howie's story, but Rookie must complete it. For Steep Theatre, it's another tough all-male excursion, which seems to be their milieu, and good they are at it.
