Overtones of O'Neill

The implosion of the Irish-American family after a tragic loss is grist for theater, and Larry Kirwan has refined that material in "The Heart Has a Mind of Its Own," playing in rotating repertory until September 30th at the Boomerang Theatre Company, Center Stage, 48 West 21 St, 4th floor.

Playwright Larry Kirwan; Photo courtesy of Black 47

The drama is driven by the death on 9/11 of New York Police Department Lt. Brian Murphy in the World Trade Center tragedy. Since then, his wife, Rose, has lived alone. She and the play's three other characters deal with their grief in different ways -- alcohol abuse, drugs, religion. Brian's brother Kevin, a member of the Fire Department of New York, and his parents, Aggie (a retired schoolteacher), and Jim (retired from the NYPD), make up the rest of the cast, but none of them has recovered from the events of the day -- and Kirwan has presented us with a finely nuanced portrait of grieving. The action switches between the Murphys' home in Rockaway Beach and Rose's home in Belle Harbor, both working-class, and once heavily Irish, enclaves by the Atlantic Ocean.

Jim and Aggie, played superbly by Doc Dougherty and Connie Barron, have been married for 35 years. Kevin, played by Kevin Collins, is a firefighter who somehow escaped the tragedy, which took the lives of 343 members of the FDNY in its immediate aftermath; we are not told if Kevin was even on the force then. Aurora Nessly does a superb job bringing Rose to life; she has intense scenes with her father-in-law that reveal some of the family’s hidden secrets, hers and Jim’s, and also tell us about Brian, who, though unseen, becomes a fifth character in the play. Together, they present a dysfunctional Irish-American family who cannot accept the fact that their dead hero was not as heroic as he appeared to be .

Connie Barron portrays role of the grieving mother with accuracy; she takes comfort in religion, but it becomes almost an addiction, reminiscent of Mary Tyrone, the mother in Eugene O’Neill’s 1912 “Long Day’s Journey Into Night.” Mary Tyrone, modeled on O’Neill’s own mother, who lost a son, is a morphine addict who lives in the past, reminiscing about her days in the convent. Connie, as Aggie, tosses out her pills; she does volunteer work in her church, and that becomes almost an addiction.

Larry Kirwan is best known as the frontman of the Irish American punk rock band Black 47; he has written a memoir(Green Suede Shoes), a novel(Liverpool Fantasy), and a ton of song lyrics, as well as plays(Mad Angels: The Plays of Larry Kirwan) was published in 1994. He told us the idea for this play came to him in a dream and he didn't want to write it at the time; it's based in Rockaway because the Wexford-born author's brother lives there.

You have only five more chances to see this playas it closes on Sunday; don't miss out on it.

Patricia Jameson-Sammartano

Culture Editor, WGT

http://boomerangtheatre.org/productions/07heart.htm

http://www.black47.com/

http://www.thewildgeese.com/blogs/2006_09_01_archive.html(scroll to September 10,2006)

http://www.thewildgeese.com/pages/kirwan.html

http://www.thewildgeese.com/pages/ldjour.html

9/11, Six Years On

This is part one of a reflective essay begun last year:

The morning of 9/11 was commonplace: racing around, getting ready for the commute to school, hopping the bus to grab the 7:20 ferry. Yet it was an election day, one of those early September days that sparkled with sunlight and deep blue skies. Fall was yet to come with its glories, yet this day was ironic perfection.

Photo of stained glass window of St. Florian, patron saint of firefighters, in window of St. Francis of Assisi Church, West 31st St, across the street from Ladder 24 and Engine 1, the firehouse which Father Mychal Judge called home. In the front of the window is a twisted beam from the World Trade Center, a memorial to Father Judge and to all the firefighters who died on that day six years ago. Photo credit: Patricia Jameson-Sammartano

On the boat, our group of friends talked about the election, but the major topic of the day was the bombings in Northern Ireland. Four-year old Catholic schoolgirls were being bombed by Protestant extremists, and the violence was sanctioned by the Reverend(sic) Ian Paisley. Our task for the 25-minute ride was to choose which of the circles of Dante’s Inferno to which that worthy should be consigned. We couldn’t agree; the ninth circle seemed to be for the Hitlers of the world, and a friend seemed to think this was too severe.

The boat pulled in and as we raced to our respective subways, the friend with whom I was debating handed me his New York Times, saying, “You can read it; I’ve read all I need.” He strode off to his office at Morgan Stanley in the World Trade Center.

Fifty minutes later, I walked into the English Department office at my school on the Upper West Side and casually tossed a light jacket over a chair. I reached for the telephone to call my mother-in-law, who would pick up my 9-year old daughter at her school later that day. “Mom, I’m going to be late this afternoon, and I don’t want you to worry. I just have to go vote in the primary.”

Her voice sounded shaky as she said, “They’ve bombed the World Trade Center.” I could hear New York 1 blaring in the background, with a lot of excitement carrying on, but I was about to be late getting to my 3rd period English class, so I had no time to discuss the news. I ran upstairs to Room 312, and said to myself that I’d better not say much because I didn’t know all the facts. I did tell my students, most of whom lived in Harlem, Washington Heights, or the Bronx, that they were lucky they lived uptown. That I only remembered when students did reflective essays later on in the term.

Patricia Jameson-Sammartano

Culture Editor, WGT