Irish Annie’s review

Catherine Rice’s landlady is a Catherine wheel, sparking fiercely – almost alarmingly at times – as the big-hearted hostess of a party where her ragtag of regulars are encouraged to share their stories in turn between bursts of music. Among them is Ricky Tomlinson, rather incongruously playing himself, albeit in Jim Royle’s signature mustard T-shirt, and mixing random anecdotes about his life and career with an audience quiz featuring questions that could have been pilfered from a box of Christmas cracker gags.

Writer and director Murphy maintains a steadying hand on the tiller from his perch playing Seamus, leader of the Shenanigans – a five-piece band that includes John Wheatcroft on guitar and mandolin, and plays a mixture of original ballads written by Murphy himself, and rousing, traditional singalong tunes such as The Wild Rover and Dirty Old Town.

It’s unpretentious, crowd-pleasing stuff with a touch of genuine pathos courtesy of Sam Conlon’s bar-propping alcoholic Noel, who breaks off from quoting Shakespeare and Yeats to explain sorrowfully how drink destroyed his acting career and to sing a poignant Danny Boy, reducing the room to spellbound silence, followed by a spontaneous standing ovation. And if there is not much of a plot to underpin proceedings, there is a palpable sense of community spirit that strikes a resonant chord with its audience.