‘It’s not the real world we get... it’s the fluffy one’

Would author Cecelia Ahern’s first play, Mrs Whippy, impress ardent fan Niamh Hennessy and critic Marc O’Sullivan? We sent both along to find out if Ahern has made a successful leap into the world of theatre.

GIRL is upset, her guy has left her and run off with a young one — what does she do?

She turns to ice-cream, of course, dusts off her Celine Dion CD and lies on the couch in her dressing gown and furry slippers.

Yes, maybe she would in the movies of many a year ago, but in the real world she’s more likely to turn to a bottle of cheap vodka, a donor kebab and texting.

It’s not the real world we get in Cecelia Ahern’s first play, Mrs Whippy, it’s the fluffy one.

The play tells the tale of mother-of-five, Emelda, who is upset because her husband left her for a 23-year-old dancer.

Emelda is obsessed with ice-cream and to ease her pain she turns to Ben and Jerry’s.

She takes us through stages of her life by relating the events to flavours of ice-cream, from chocolate to BBQ bananas. She lost me at vanilla.

Waiting for the play to start I took a seat in the bar area and noticed Cecelia at the next table. She was joined by a man, possibly the director, who said: “I can’t wait to see if they laugh.”

Well they did laugh, at times, but they also left.

The audience was a mixed crowd of curious theatre-goers and young girls. It was these young girls that were most surprised with how the play unfolded, and during the performance they slowly began to leave — not in their droves, but enough for it to be noticeable and prompt one lady to complain about afterwards.

These were the young girls, like me, who enjoyed PS I Love You, and presumably thought Mrs Whippy would be some lighthearted comedy, not a story of a struggling housewife forced to pack bags in a supermarket.

Nothing wrong with plays of a deeper meaning, but I found it hard to find the deep meaning in Mrs Whippy. I was captured for about the first 15 minutes until Emelda, played superbly by Marion O’Dwyer, began to obsess about ice-cream. It was too much.

My friend sitting next to me whispered: “Is this play sponsored by Ben & Jerry’s?”

I couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the lack of imagination and wit in the play.

Ice-cream and break-ups are so clichéd that I was genuinely expecting something deeper.

And then Mr Whippy comes along. He helps Emelda, on a very dark day, regain her confidence and face her husband.

I left disappointed — like mint and chocolate chip — slightly bitter, but sprinkles of some positives easing the pain.

We can all do fluff when we try.