Juno and the Paycock
Written by Sean O'Casey
Directed by John Mossman
At Live Bait Theater in Chicago
Produced by The Artistic Home
A review by M. D. Ball of the performance on June 21, 2008
This review contains spoilers.
How fine is the line between dignity and vanity? Although each is an aspect of pride, the former rooted in self-respect and the latter in vainglory, how much difference can we detect between them? Can't dignity seem like vanity if the owner is sincere but harmlessly melodramatic? Likewise, can't vanity seem like dignity in someone who's phony but convincingly humble? After all, David Hume said that vanity is "closely allied to virtue" insofar as people enjoy recognition for doing good works.
In Sean O'Casey's 1924 play Juno and the Paycock, which Artistic Home is producing at Live Bait Theater, these two manifestations of pride appear in the form of a wife, Juno, and her husband, Jack. Tempted as I am to identify dignity with Juno and vanity with Jack, I'd be oversimplifying the characters, even though the correspondence would still largely be true. Juno and Jack Boyle live in a Dublin tenement with their two children, Mary and Johnny. Juno is the only family member gainfully employed, with Jack feigning leg pain whenever necessary to escape working, Mary being on strike, and Johnny having lost an arm in the Irish War of Independence. Johnny, a very anxious young man, betrayed an IRA comrade and throughout the play fears reprisal in the form of execution.
After coming into an unexpected inheritance, the Boyles buy goods on credit and borrow from neighbors, expecting to settle all accounts when the money arrives. Two months later, however, their joy evaporates when they discover that the legacy is not collectible because the lawyer who drafted the will, and who originally told them of its existence, had made a clerical blunder. With neither an explanation nor an apology, the lawyer ceases all contact with the family; unfortunately, Mary is carrying his baby. And the tragedy only worsens as Irregulars, having learned of Johnny's role in the betrayal of their comrade, take him away to his death. An hour later, Juno must identify her son's body.
Throughout the story, Jack and his buddy Joxer Daley float happily on a cloud of drunkenness. While in one moment they might spout a self-serving platitude, in the next they might submit a surprisingly meaningful observation about themselves, people in general, or the world at large. Wisdom at the bottom of a glass, as the aphorism goes. In fact, it's a squiffy Jack Boyle who utters the last words of the play, words to the effect that there's chaos in the world.
Frank Nall, who played Jack, nailed the role. He gave his character the attitude of a peacock without any splendor to justify it, making me wonder whether the titular metaphor might be better as "Paycock-Wannabe". Even a strutting peacock has beautiful feathers; Jack Boyle, however, has nothing but his pride. And to be proud of having pride is the last resort of a man who's already damned himself.
Nall's Jack Boyle was marvelously vain. His mien, in every gesture, every intonation, every glance, was a transparent betrayal of his need to disguise the hopelessness that weighed him down. Nall gave Jack a very believable theatricality that we would expect from someone trying so hard to be proud of himself. And his calculated exaggeration, which reflected both the tragedy and comedy of Jack's life, was never crisper than when Nall was doing his part to distinguish the two prides of Mr. and Mrs. Boyle.
In the role of Juno, Kathy Scambiatterra created an unassailable sense of genuineness in her character's dignity. Juno kept the family afloat, financially and otherwise, and Scambiatterra showed her character's proud but indignant awareness of that fact. Nevertheless, she was unpretentious, strong, assertive, and confident, without compromising practicality or compassion -- all this without the spectacle that was ideal for her pavonine foil of a husband. She was not, however, above raising her voice either in anger or in celebration. Scambiatterra's interpretation opened our eyes not only to her own character's nobility, but also to the nagging possibility of something dormant, something reparable in Jack's perpetually drunken soul.
Between Juno and Jack, the mutual impedance was obvious (albeit largely due to Jack's laziness), but one also sensed some mutual understanding, tolerance, and appreciation. Together, Nall and Scambiatterra created the impression that Jack was implicitly searching for some way to solidify his vanity into dignity, and to thereby become the man he thought it proper to be, and that Juno wanted to soften her dignity just enough to enjoy some healthful narcissism and bring out the qualities she thought befitting a woman. It's up to us to decide where their dignity becomes vanity, and their vanity becomes dignity.
Scambiatterra's otherwise sweeping performance had only one moment of weakness, in the feeling of artificiality in her reaction to Johnny's death. Coming near the play's end, unfortunately, it blunted the tragedy in the tone.
Playing the part of Johnny, Daniel Evashevski relied too much on histrionics to express his character's fear of execution. So forced was his anxiety, in fact, that it provoked a few chuckles from the audience.
I do want to congratulate Mark Ulrich for his engaging portrayal of Joxer, Jack's wily chum, who was just as endearing as he was alarming. When it suited Joxer to do so, he either defused tense situations or maneuvered people into conflict. Consequently, Joxer employed both timidity and boldness, often in rapid alternation, and Ulrich's command of this difficult character was impressive.