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Our story starts with the death of Fr
As his drinking reaches its nadir his own nature is revealed
to him in the shape of a demon. This demon is his companion
for the rest of the play and through the demon we are privy
to Fr Mathews private thoughts. The demon clambers around
the space on a climbing frame goading Fr Mathew to embrace
his true nature, rejoicing in his many defeats and victories.
We follow Fr Mathew as he single-headedly ends an epidemic
of alcoholism in Ireland, signing up over three million members
to his total abstinence pledge, changing the economic and
political climate of his day.
He is feted as a hero by Orangemen in Ulster and Daniel O'Connell
kneels before him to receive the pledge in front of a multitude
in Cork and he is the first European to address a joint session
of the United States Congress since la Fayette a century before.
Such
achievements come at a price; blind to financial and political
realities Fr Mathew is brought to the brink of financial ruin
and finally spurned by his family and his beloved church.
At the end of his life dependent on the goodwill of the southern
American states for his financial survival, he equivocates
on the issue of slavery at an abolitionist meeting in Boston.
This action sullies his reputation at home and abroad and
he returns to Cork to be hounded by creditors and bankers
'til the end of his days.
The play features three characters, Fr Mathew, his demon and
his Sacristan, John, who acts as a narrator and through whom
we are introduced to the story.
It
is the character of Fr Mathew who drives the story however.
The part requires a range from the depth of delirium tremens
to the qualities of one of the greatest orators Ireland has
ever produced. A man with awe inspiring charisma who can fill
a room with his presence. Fr Matthew is the story, perhaps
the tragedy of such a man.
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Father
Mathew
Half Moon Theatre, Cork
by
Mary Leland
There
are many ways of assessing the merit of a new play but if
the number of people standing afterwards in the teeming
rain arguing about it's accuracy, insights or assumptions
seems an acceptable measurement, then Sean McCarthy's Father
Mathew is very meritorious indeed.
This is a terrific piece of drama, with a strong narrative
drive, visionary directing and brilliant performances. Theobald
Mathew entered the Capuchin friary in a poor parish in early
19th Century Cork. When invited to join a Quaker-led crusade
against the plague of drunkeness in the community it became
his mission to such an extent that he is still known as
the Apostle of Temperance. He commanded monster meetings
in the style of O'Connell; he became an international talisman
of total abstinence, attracting campaign funds from local
breweries and distillers and causing political anxiety among
Ireland's vintners. The sttue errected by a grateful public
in Cork is one of the city's two iconic landmarks: the other
is Shandon, buriel place of Fr Mathew's loyal friend, Fr
Prout. Prout may not have been the ideal supporter, but
Fr Mathew needed all the help he could get. According to
McCarthy, in the end he got it from laudanum.
So is this a Cork play? Not at all. It might be wondered
even if ti is a play about Fr Mathew. It's main theme is
the demon drink, wonderfully personified by Carl Kennedy
as the priest's seductive alter ego. Mathew could drink
like a gentleman, according to his secretary (here played
by Liam Heffernan to represent the public eye), and as he
sweeps from sermons to soirees he is never far from brandy.
Eventually Mathew takes the pledge, only to find that he
is beset by financial difficulties resulting from his recklessly
generous nature and his inability to handle his affairs.
McCarthy has filled in the biographical gaps with material
to suit his theme and the quality of both invention and
of writing is such that the occasional irritating inaccuracy-although
easily repaired- cannot deflect the play's force, style
and psychological possibilities.
Some things are missing, such as any sense of a habitual
prayer life which might have been expected from such an
evangelical personality. Or a suggestion that as the priest
grows older he might have grown a little wiser. But it doesn't
matter. There is a great human charm in the Fr Mathew of
Malcolm Adams, a great sadness, a great conviction.
Yew Tree Theatre's director John Breen has achieved a remarkable,
relishable piece of theatre here, working with Marcus Costello's
steel-caged set where, in a lovely little reference, Mathew's
refusal in America to condemn slavery has him sink into
a posture poignantly reminiscent of Lincoln's Washington
memorial. It's that kind of play: visual, agile, almost
extreme, distinguished by it's clever, forceful script and
by three players at the top of their form. No wonder we
got so wet.
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