Theatre review: Sparkplug

Everyman, Cork

This quirky one-man show, written and performed by Little John Nee, is the story of Sparkplug Callaghan, a vintage-car mechanic and wandering blues singer who is finding life tough. Set in a fictional, recession-blighted village in Donegal, it’s an odyssey: Sparkplug meets various people, including the owners of a pet cemetery and a woman named Ruby, for whom he falls.

Nee is a benign presence and he engages with the audience, inviting us to relax as he takes us on a journey that is punctuated by his original songs which are played on an array of musical instruments.

The music is mildly rousing, but mostly soothing; the language is evocative and there is much levity in this show, despite the travails of a society brought to its knees by the banks.

Nee doesn’t do anger. Instead, he paints surreal word pictures that conjure up a colourful world whose inhabitants are trying to get by. He effortlessly combines solemnity with humour, as when he describes the burial and requiem of a pet red hen, called Rihanna.

An art exhibition is hilariously portrayed: the viewers engage in pretentious art speak, before tiring of it and getting down to brass tacks, wondering if TK Maxx still stock the umbrella that forms part of the installation.

There is more artistry of a simple kind, when Nee hands out miniature bells to members of the audience and then conducts them as if they were an orchestra.

Apart from the lyrical and often witty language, the most impressive element of the show is the soundscape. With a foot pedal, Nee uses live-looping, playing back his newly recorded music, while simultaneously singing over it. This creates layers and textures and underscores the inventiveness of the show.

The audience is invited to sing the chorus of a song whose lines are: “It’s hard to be Zen when you’re bred from mountain men.” There is a Zen-like quality to Nee, who is gently mocking, but mostly fond of his characters.

Final performance tonight