Time’s Tide

New Theatre, Dublin

With a pith that bears repeating, the actor Ricardo Montalbán summarised the five stages of an actor’s career thus: 1 Who is Ricardo Montalbán?; 2 Get me Ricardo Montalbán; 3 Get me a Ricardo Montalbán type; 4 Get me a young Ricardo Montalbán; 5 Who is Ricardo Montalbán?

The protagonists of Del Lennon’s new play, a celebrity talk-show host in professional and personal decline, and a would-be opera singer pursuing her last chance at a career, are at different points on that arc (about 4 and 1, respectively), but when their lives collide in sleazy circumstances such natural trajectories may reverse.

The circumstances are made thornier for this engaging and effective inaugural production from new writing company Disaffection. The talk-show host, Danny Hall (Paul Nolan), a narcissist in the throes of a midlife crisis, has squandered his intellect on puff interviews with Jordan and Jedward; he recently walked out on his family, and is now locked in bitter dispute with his estranged wife (Brenda Larby), who is also his producer. Clara (Jenn McGuirk), works as a high-class prostitute, and pursues cosy singing lessons with an elderly instructor, Victor (Val O’Donnell). You can guess how Clara meets Danny.

Director Kevin Mooney, working with the necessary bare-boards economy and ingenuity of a start-up company, wisely surges through the clichés and implausibilities of the set up. Naturally, Clara is a hooker with a heart of gold, and although Lennon, allied by a stunning performance from McGuirk, works hard to provide her with substance and dissonance (“Wash your cock in the sink,” she absently instructs Danny, without looking up from her Dostoyevsky), she bizarrely agrees to date the paparazzi-magnet publicly.

You can guess what happens.

More intriguingly, the play and the production become a study in seduction, which it recognises as less sexual than enabling. Intoxicated with Clara, a still insufferable Danny gets his groove back and plots a return, while intoxicated with McGuirk, the production begins to feel like her showcase.

That may be why the scenes between Clara and Victor have such a fluid rapport (with O’Donnell on the piano, they also make beautiful music together), while other performances are more stilted, and it could explain why Lennon retreats from what might have been a much darker moral fable.

Asked if he thinks his protege is a bad person, Victor soothingly replies: “Operas are filled with prostitutes.” He has a point, and it’s indicative of Lennon’s zest and wit, but the operas rarely treat them quite so kindly.