Juno and the Paycock
Written in 1924, Juno and the Paycock is one in a trilogy (with The Plough and the Stars and The Shadow of a Gunman) about political and social upheavals conceived on an epic scale and deeply tinged by an overall tragic vision. Shawn O’Casey wrote of the lives and struggles of ordinary men and women trapped in indiscriminate savagery and recriminations of civil war and revolutions. This writer is deft at creating an enclosed social environment seething with life, lyrical humor, and shared—as well as privately held— emotion. He is acridly critical of his own people, yet tempered with affection, which creates a deep sadness. IRA justice, gender roles, the position of women in 1920s Ireland, the ills of the Irish character, as well as those inflicted by poverty and repression, the overreaching control of Catholicism are all subjects touched upon during the evening.
Unfortunately, this production does not come close to realizing even a fraction of the issues just mentioned or awaken a humanistic identification with those souls captured in monstrous social, as well as personal, mental constraints. At intermission I said to myself, “Why, this is just a comedy, a farce. I wonder why it’s such a famous play?” The second act, for which the first act left us totally unprepared, was infinitely more interesting and dramatic; it was like watching two different plays.
In Act I, we are introduced to the Boyle family. Juno Boyle (Kitty Swink) never for one moment convinces me that she is an overworked, rundown, distraught wife/mother, who angrily prods her delinquent husband to shape up and find work. This actress is not centered and has the tell-tale sign of rattling off lines very clipped in that slightly phony intonation of the ungrounded actor. She was far superior in the second act; but her great emotional scene was unfulfilled, mainly due to what I believe was faulty direction. Great pain, particularly emotional pain, draws the eyes downward and inward into the middle of one’s own body; gravity wins, and one stumbles toward the earth. This is true even when one is attempting to talk to God, because the source of emotional pain is within. Head up, eyes to the sky is the body language of defiance and anger, a physicality proclaiming challenge. Juno could not fulfill the expression of her great loss because she had been forced into an untrue body position. At least that’s what I think.
Husband Jack Boyle (John Apicella, an obviously skilled and experienced actor), nicknamed the Paycock for his strut and conceit, is interpreted in this production as a one-dimensional drunken buffoon. I’m not sure why. He has some provocative lines: “I ofen looked up at the sky an’ assed meself the question—what is the moon, what is the stars?” and later in the play, “Th’ whole worl’s in a terrible state o’ chassis,” and “Never tired o’ lookin’ for a rest” “It’s nearly time we had a little less respect for the dead, an’ a little more regard for the living.” “Isn’t all religions curious? —if they weren’t you wouldn’t get anyone to believe in them.” But everything in Mr. Apicella’s performance is one note—no effort is made to discover why Juno ever married him, what appeal he might ever have had. We never see a man not sick in the legs, but sick in the soul. Even his famous closing speech, the final moment in the play, falls flat without pathos of any kind. He and his sidekick Joxer Daly both shouted too much, showing an incredible insensitivity to the actual space in which they were playing and the reality of the now.
The character of Joxer Daly (Armin Shimerman) is a stereotypic one—very likely written that way. But even a leech has motivation. He was comic but not sly; not nearly complex nor interesting enough as he aids in Jack’s debilitation.
Mrs. Tancred (Janellen Steininger) was good. She might have been more outrageous perhaps, but she was believable and appeared to talk to her fellow actors and even care about them somewhat. Daughter Mary Boyle (Jeanne Syquia) was excellent; as was Josh Zuckerman as son Johnny Boyle, who spends the play awaiting retribution for jeopardizing another member of his revolutionary party. Rhonda Aldrich started off great as the grieving mother, but the apex of her emotional scene is ruined once again by being directed (I suppose) to speak up to the sky—the wrong place; that’s not where pain is. The lesser parts were all executed very well.
The set was inadequate. Aged dirt and grime simply was not there. With the exception of a chaise lounge, I couldn’t tell much difference in the furniture from Act I and that of Act II, when an expected inheritance makes possible many purchases. Costumes were good.
The major fault of this production, as I see it, lies with the director, Allan Miller. Prestigious and awarded though he may be, he certainly hadn’t much feeling for the layered intricacies of this Irish play, no intuitive grasp of the depth of longing and regret. The pace was too fast, the accents too thick, comedy was chosen over philosophy. No believable, living mood was established. None of his characters were lovable. I was left completely cold. Only later, mulling over the play, did I realize what a great play it really is. And a great play demands more than was accomplished here. I regret being so critical, but this is what I really think. Perhaps with some running it will improve. I hope so.
Odyssey Theatre
2055 Sepulveda Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90025
April 16 through June 5, 2011
www.odysseytheatre.com