Rum and Vodka (dir. Kevin O’Connor, prod. Philip Doherty, Gonzo Theatre Company) — The International Bar
The narrator of Conor McPherson’s black-hearted 1992 monologue is a mess and getting messier. Rum and vodka, we’re told, is a cocktail fit to wake the dead, but this is wishful thinking for the wretch in front of us here, for whom it’s just another step in a desperate sprint towards oblivion.
Kieron Smith throws himself into the role, spitting and snarling and riding the script’s warring currents of bravado and self-loathing with skill and a perverse charm. He keeps the energy up well despite the occasional flabbiness of McPherson’s writing (with some anecdotes dragging on after the point’s been made, and a too-neat progression that belies the erratic dizziness of a real drunken rant). But in the end it’s all a bit too _sober_, a bit too controlled. Smith is too steady on his feet — I wanted him to loosen up more, use more of the space available to him, unstick his arms from his sides and really let go. I wanted to see a man barely contained, not just a man delivering a monologue. There are moments when he does whip up a real head of steam, veering and gesturing about him and threatening to lose control, and these are the most exciting parts of the performance.
It’s not a light-hearted play, not in the slightest. But nor is it something to be sat back from — and would that I’d thought to sneak a naggin in with me, because this is a dirge and an indictment best enjoyed with as guilty a conscience as you can muster.
