THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T BE MURDERED at the Lion & Unicorn Theatre
★★★
“there are definitely some musical talents among the cast, and they particularly shine as a chorus”
It’s always a bold choice to put on a new musical in a 60-capacity with only a keyboard for accompaniment. But that doesn’t stop the cast of The Man Who Wouldn’t Be Murdered from singing their hearts out.
I had never heard the tale of Michael Malloy before this evening, but writer and composer Lilly Blundell has done well to come upon it because it’s absolutely ripe for a musical farce.
In 1933 America, times are tough, and Michael Malloy (Jude Ashcroft) is drinking Marino’s bar dry when he’s supposed to be the one serving the drinks. So as to save his business, Tony Marino (Jamie Ellis) decides, along with a couple of greedy accomplices, to murder Malloy and collect his life insurance. But, as the name would suggest, despite their best efforts, he will not be killed.
Death (Marie-Ange Camara), tired of the same old stories, finds herself obsessed with Malloy’s murderers and acts as partial narrator and observer. Wanting to see how far they’ll go, she withholds her ultimate power: Therein lies Blundell’s explanation for Malloy’s seeming immortality.
Camara is certainly the star of the show, moving sphynx-like around the would-be murderers as she playfully interferes. She’s a childish psychopath, stomping her feet and yelling “boring!” at the prospect of the human condition, whilst almost salivating at the growing wilfulness of Malloy’s ‘friends’.
There’s a bit of a problem with consistency: the faster paced songs are catchy and cheeky, whereas the slower numbers- a lover’s lament between main murderer Tony Marino and his wife (Annie Stedman), for example- are a bit of a drag, and feel especially long. They might be fine if it were a full-length musical, but given it’s only 55 minutes, I want as much jigging about as possible. Also, it’s a bit tired to have the only female character spend the whole time looking like a hurt bunny, trying to get her man to make sensible choices, and generally dampening the good fun.
With such a small space, it’s hard for the performers to gauge how big they should go, and the result is a bit pitchy. But there are definitely some musical talents among the cast, and they particularly shine as a chorus, splitting harmonies four or five ways, and moving in jaunty tandem. The design is thankfully simple, and further than the use of a drinks trolly, the stage is left mostly empty for the use of the generous cast of eight.
Please excuse me, but I’m about to majorly spoil the ending: Given that in real life Malloy was eventually murdered, it feels a bit bizarre that the story should end so abruptly with another failed attempt, instead focusing on the demise of Marino’s personal life. But it does feel like maybe this is just the first reveal of an idea still in incubation, an excerpt, even, from an as yet unfinished hit musical.
“an exceptionally well written and funny piece of theatre”
You think you’ve had it tough over the past eighteen months. Imagine not leaving your house for eighteen years; which is where we find the two brothers, Finbar and Donnacha in Little Shadow Theatre’s two hander. Six thousand five hundred and fifty-six days, to be precise, if we are to believe Donnacha, the elder sibling, who appears to rule the roost. They have been barricaded inside the four walls of their suburban Dublin home since the mysterious death of their parents from a bad batch of Rice Krispies.
Written by Seán Basil Crawford, this sixty-minute duologue is a bit of a find. The language trips off the pair’s tongues with its delightful Gaelic rhythms. Initially light and charged with surreal humour, it soon has hints of darkness that flicker subliminally in the background. Crawford (who also plays the younger brother) writes with a skill that renders the absurd believable. You can imagine him spinning a yarn over a pint of Guinness, weaving his eccentric mind patterns into a patchwork quilt of mismatched anecdotes.
The pair are a hilarious couple on stage. They gently spar, comfort each other with stories, play word games and talk about biscuits and giraffes as though Samuel Beckett had been hired by the Comic Strip team in the eighties. Crawford bounces with a childlike energy and innocence, with touches of a young Ardal O’Hanlan in his delivery, while Ross Gaynor humours, tolerates, babysits, entertains and ultimately controls him. Gaynor captures the dynamics of their relationship perfectly, only occasionally letting slip that something wicked this way is coming.
Finbar’s belief, endorsed by Donnacha, is that their parents were poisoned by a sinister villain known as the Rice Krispie Killer and now, after nearly two decades, his quest (vehemently not endorsed by Donnacha) is to go into the outside world to see if he can catch the culprit. Donnacha’s arguments to keep him in the house have the veneer of protection, of wanting to shield his vulnerable kid brother but it reeks of propaganda and supremacy. It is difficult to know whether this is intentional political commentary in the shadow of lockdown, or just serendipity. But it doesn’t really matter – this is a character driven piece and director Niall Jordan knows how to spotlight the contradictions of these weird personalities.
The only minor qualm about the piece is that you can anticipate the final twist a bit too early on in the play. But hey, who cares? I’m in danger now of becoming over analytical (read as pompous). Let’s just tell it straight: this is an exceptionally well written and funny piece of theatre, played out by two hugely talented comic actors. It is running as part of the Camden Fringe Festival so only has a limited run. I suggest you don’t waste time getting your ticket.
