In two overlapping (and occasionally interacting) monologues, John Paul Murphy‘s The Prophet of Monto tells the story of a relationship gone sour in inner-city Dublin. Through veering tales of pharmacies, gangsters, cakes and clairvoyance, it tackles ideas of wilful blindness to circumstance, and of the tension between the twin desires for escape and comfort.
It starts off well. Larry (Michael Mellamphy) in particular has a real storyteller’s swagger and a way with a sly remark, while Zoe (Laoisa Sexton), the object of his kind-of-twin-brother’s affections (it makes sense when you watch it), embodies a fun mix of wide-eyed naivety and cold calculation. The opening monologues are lean, punchy and funny, and you get drawn into the murky world these characters inhabit. If there’s a flaw at this point, it’s that the actors don’t always take full advantage of their own physical presence and of the space afforded them by the stage — they’re too often too still, much more sedate than the material could have warranted.
And this is part of a bigger problem — while it’s not exactly an emotional monotone, the ups and downs are fewer and less emphatic than you might expect with a story like this. It doesn’t help that as time goes on, the monologues starts to get flabby, with fewer laughs and more needless details, whole stories that could have been done without. The play is good for its chatty, c’mere-til-I-tell-you-this feel, but by the end it’s hard not to feel like you’d just zone out if you met these people in a pub.
Murphy obviously has some good ideas, and is adept at expressing them. With a bit more life and a bit more variation in tone, The Prophet of Monto could be excellent, but as it is, despite a strong start, it’s ultimately disappointing.
