ALSO PLAYING
I’m willing to believe Michael Harnett’s The Boys (Smock Alley, is a good novel but its stage adaptation is an uncomfortable combination of over-the-top physical comedy that’s not particularly funny, mixed with maudlin sentiment, that doesn’t work on either level. It traces four teenage Dublin boys through their teens, sexual urges, exams and family relations in the 1960s. Their overlong masturbatory peeping Tom session, resembles a scene from the film of Angela’s Ashes, and it becomes a recurring theme. Older people are portrayed as moronic until bad news hits the families and we’re meant to weep for everyone. The comedy is like a series of improvised sketches, with the actors doing character switches and being frenetically active. To go from that to the final scenes of maturity demands a crunching gear-change. The four performers put in exceptional work but the lack of a consistent tone makes it difficult to empathise with the characters.
Smock Alley until October 7: The Dolmen, Cornelscourt, October 11-14.