Theatre Review: Jack at the Everyman, Cork

4/5

There can be little doubt that Jack Lynch is a name close to Cork hearts. To have “one of their own” successfully take on the rest of the country on both the hurling field and in the Dáil is the stuff of legend, and it is this legend that playwright Declan Hassett, and director Patrick Talbot quarried for Jack.

One would estimate that the packed house was evenly divided between GAA experts and political pundits, to judge from the bursts of appreciative laughter at clever lines and local jokes.

Unfortunately, the Everyman acoustics, normally excellent, resulted in chunks of dialogue being missed by those seated towards the back.

The use of contemporary press reports, interviews and speeches gave a keen sense of living through those times, which is characteristic of Talbot’s direction.

Even now, the “thunder and lightning” final of 1939 stands out as an incredible event in Irish sport, and the radio-style commentary by Dominic Moore conveyed the excitement of a truly surreal day: Cork and Kilkenny facing off at Croke Park on September 1, with a massive storm signalling that all was not well with the world. Just before the final started, word filtered through that the Second World War had begun.

Amidst such global events, we were also reminded of the importance of hurling to a populace with little in the way of other entertainments or luxuries.

Alf McCarthy wandered the stage as a sort of narrator, filling in some of the facts from the various eras of Lynch’s life. The figure of the Bystander or Chorus did seem at times slightly out of place with a rather too confident swagger which threatened almost to overshadow the central character.

And the death of Christy Ring did unbalance the leitmotif of the action which was surely meant to follow Lynch himself.

The Northern crisis was particularly well evoked, as was the rise of Charles Haughey. The ensemble playing of the cast was exceptional, with split-second timing, morphing from Corkonian supporters to tough politicians or match commentators, displaying spectacular ease in changing accents, behaviours, the grating voice of authority or wistful singing.

A lovely version of ‘The Banks Of My Own Lovely Lee’ even prompted some members of the audience to sing along.

There was an awful lot of history packed in, but the play certainly did what it was intended to do: Give us an insight into the life of one extraordinary Corkman.