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Howie the Rookie, Old Fitzroy

By Stephen Dunne
February 21 2003

Red Stitch Actors' Theatre, Old Fitzroy, February 19

Is there anything worse than catching scabies from a mattress you slept on at a mate's place? Perhaps accidentally causing the death of some valuable Oriental fighting fish by tipping their bucket over as you're distracted by your infected, itching bits.

These interconnected small-scale tragedies are the twin springboards for Mark O'Rowe's two Irish monologues. First up is The Howie Lee (Vincent Miller), general boyo, unsuccessful with the ladies but always up for a bit of biff.

Monologue two is no-relation The Rookie Lee (David Whitely), handsome, cocksure and usually smart enough to run away from threatening blokes.

In part one, Howie helps beat up Rookie as presumed instigator of the deeply troubling mattress infection. In part two, Howie helps Rookie in a fight with the fighting fish owner.

Amid all the irritated flesh and bollock scratching, there's also a whack of dead-relative gothic and some shagging and groping.

That's pretty much it for O'Rowe's well-written and muscular microcosms, his gritty interrelated stories of Dublin low-life.

Which makes Greg Carroll's production very curious. Both actors are directed into vast amounts of dance-like expression and patently choreographed physical movement. They might talk like hoons, but these lads can't get through a door without furious, elegant and rehearsed gesturing.

Such overly physical direction usually betrays a lack of faith in the ability of the material to stand on its own or the actors to compellingly convey the story, and O'Rowe's script does not need such fussing and tizzying.

Indeed, all the choreography detracts from O'Rowe's convincing and well-drawn low-life. It's sad to see a good play let down by such an over-directed production, but then it's a sad world. This telling is as authentic and gritty as a jazz ballet competition.

Despite this, there are eternal verities and eternal oddities. While the fat chick in the white ski pants will always be disappointed, a green Hi-Ace van with a smelly driver and a roof-riding redhead does make an unusual Mayan symbol of death.

Until March 1.




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