‘Young Edward
Kilcullen’s life is blighted by alcohol. Lawyer McGinty desires
possession of all the Kilcullens ever owned and relishes the
prospect of his demise. However, the temperance preacher and
philanthropist, Sir Arden Rencelaw, is at hand … Can the young
Kilcullen be saved? And what is Agnes, the maniac’s, hidden
secret? Comedy, tragedy, heroics, villainy and song in this
exuberant, life affirming version of The Drunkard
’.
‘The
Drunkard is a wonderfully eloquent play. Murphy’s ear is
finely attuned to the glories and absurdities of melodramatic
exclamation, and even while he is wringing out its ludicrous
overstatement, he is also making it sing’.
The Irish Times
‘Tom
Murphy has taken the bones of an American melodrama of the
1830s, written at the height of the travelling temperance shows,
and added some elements from Douglas Jerrold and William W.
Pratt. The result makes it easy to see why Edwards-MacLiammoir,
any time they were faced with dwindling houses, threw on yet
another production of The Drunkard, which was sure to
pack the Gate to the rafters’. ‘A
tour de force’.
Sunday Independent
‘Murphy’s
Drunkard is a triumph. Humour abounds right through. The
script cackles. It’s brilliant’.
The Examiner
The
Drunkard by Tom
Murphy was first produced at the Town Hall Theatre, Galway, on
July 18, 2003, by b*spoke theatre company in association with
Galway Arts Festival, with the following cast:
Sir Arden Rencelaw
Nick Dunning
Edward Kilcullen
Rory Keenan
Phelim McGinty
Stephen Brennan
Mother/Agnes Earley/Floozie 1
Pauline McLynn
Arabella/Floozie 2
Sarah-Jane Drummey
William Earley/Loafer 3
Jack Lynch
Widdy Spindle/Tavern Keeper/
Loafer 1/Bartender/Policeman 2
Dylan Tighe
Farmer/Loafer 2/Policeman 1
Rory Nolan
Alanna/Village Girl/Floozie 3 Sarah Brennan
Village Girl
Gemma Reeves
Director
Lynne Parker
Set & Costume Design
Monica Frawley
Lighting Design
Rupert Murray
Music arranged, composed,
and performed by
Ellen Cranitch &
Hélène Montague
Stage Manager
Aisling Mooney
Assistant Stage Manager
Gemma Reeves
Producers
Jane Brennan &
Alison McKenna
Prologue
The
prologue is delivered by
Sir Arden Rencelaw,
dramatist and philanthropist. He is innocently himself.
Rencelaw:
When steadfast man, with riches to enjoy, well-born and nobly to
ambition’s cause intent, begins to slide into perdition’s way,
what topples him? What insidious attraction tempts the tender
heart from that straight and goodly narrow to the rude bent and
vulgar broad? Why, when in safe harbour, his wont to drift the
foul-hard foetid waters from the soft moorings of a lovely wife?
Apply to Intellect’s highest school, man’s overflowing treasury
of light, philosophy, and draw a blank. And the Holy Alternative
in His infinite wisdom guards His motives still. Our heavenward
appeal is not for answer but to implore first aid.
Yet, I have some, and not a little knowledge of
this turpitude, for I was once – though never wedded – one such.
Taxing to credit when you
see before you a personage of my conduct. But ’tis shining
reformation o’er my erstwhile fault that you perceive; a figure
staunch again in the ways of righteousness, reconstituted in
fortune and, though I am not one to boast, in just and rightful
claim to fame. Indeed, in recognition of a life spent penning
works for the edification of my fellow man, titled. Don’tcha
know.
But that is perfunctory by
the way, for the protagonist of the drama to be here enacted is
not its humble author: the role I take is more modest one, God’s
instrument on earth.
Lights briefly up on a bundle of rags that is Edward, lying in a
heap on the ground.
There he
is, the hero, master of the earth and all its creatures. There
he lies, man, who binds the elements to his will, at death’s
door, gorged to the throat with wine.
Is’t too late for him to
mend? Can the luminous, once-noble light, now guttering to its
shivering last, have rekindle? Is’t too late? Is’t too late for
YOU? Fellow, fallible man, I stand before you, renovation’s
living proof! All can be saved.
Light briefly up on McGinty – his back towards us, perhaps.
Most all. For there are some, into whose hearts, black and
adamantine, no ray of sweetness is allowed to penetrate, who
will continue blind to example’s lamp and resolutely deaf to the
reproving shafts of conscience. Why? In this request we are
afforded no difficulty. For no reason other than that someone
pitied
them.
Take observation then and attend the tale of human weakness
about to be revealed, of selfless and unfaltering love to rend
and yet uplift the gentle heart; a tale of remorseless hatred,
cruel injustice and salvation. Poor woman.
The last, as he leaves, of Mother who is entering scene one.
Music.
