The Fall of the Second Republic review: Dark satire trying to bare a heart of gold

The Corn Exchange and the Abbey's new comedy is set in a 1970s version of Ireland, where an opportunistic Taoiseach conspires to cling onto power. Photo: Ros Kavanagh

Abbey Theatre, Dublin

★ ★

“Why is it still here?” asks Manny Spillane, a Taoiseach gazing into the expanse of a derelict Dublin theatre. The political leadership in the Corn Exchange and the Abbey Theatre’s new comedy The Fall of the Second Republic seems surprised, not because a landmark theatre has been let fall into decay, but because it hasn’t been razed.

Portraying a government that dismisses the arts has a particularly electric charge coming from playwright Michael West and director Annie Ryan. Some outlets reported that, due to a funding cut, this would be their final play as the long-innovating Corn Exchange company. (A press call hours before opening night stated this wasn't offical).

Set in a bleak 1970s version of Ireland, West’s script launches mockeries that stick to our own era. Manny (Andrew Bennett), an opportunistic politician, conspires with a crooked property developer to burn down the old theatre and build a new banking centre on its site. When the fire claims the life of someone inside, it leads to a public outcry, and negotiations are begun to form a new government. “A coalition with the wankers?” says a TD, with disgust. 

The play works well around such blowhards. Bennett’s Manny, desperate to cling onto power, bounces between foul-mouthed meltdowns in his office, and giving excruciatingly awkward addresses on television. His party members are enjoyably sheepish and airheaded. Only Anna Healy’s dauntless TD from Donegal, concerned about The Troubles, dares to challenge his leadership and gets suspended for it. “Get back in the kitchen,” jeers a male colleague.

West’s previous comedies Man of Valour and Dublin by Lamplight were well-mannered in humour, and centred on themes of loneliness and showmanship, but the material here is more obscene. It’s a hissy fit kind of machismo, recalling the political burlesques of Armando Iannucci.

That dark satire is potent, but there’s a disharmony between it and the play’s heart-of-gold conscience. Caitríona Ennis’s Emer is a daring journalist trying to expose Manny’s corrupt dealings. She’s passed over for important bylines (they usually go to her feeble boyfriend Finbar, played by a nicely judged John Doran). She’s an undeniable role model. When a fellow hack asks her “How do you keep going on?”, she says, with full seriousness: “The truth”. With such earnestness, it’s hard to hang on to those Iannucci vibes. 

Part of it has to do with one of Corn Exchange’s preoccupations since A Girl is a Half-formed Thing: the oppressive histories of women. Katie Davenport’s set is a gloomy vision of the past, the blues and beiges of its offices and bars looking washed out. But Emer’s confrontations with flagrant sexism usually lead to protest rather than subversion. “I have a right to travel,” she cries, on a closed pier, echoing the struggles of the past. 

Such put-downs don't alway sit comfortably alongside the send-ups of male chauvinism. His Girl Friday is an obvious reference here. Instead of being a sad reminder of the past, imagine if Emer was given some screwball nerve. Then she may be let in on the serious work of ridiculing the terrible men and making them fall. 

Runs until Mar 14th.