Rachel Poirier, Keegan-Dolan’s partner (both creative and romantic), accompanies him on stage, shoring up his musings with dramatic flourishes and background action. In the opening scene, she puffs on a cigarette and pulls a string of props—balloons, breeze blocks, bicycles—out of a crate, Mary Poppins-style, setting a suitably carnivalesque tone for the memories on parade. Most of the time she’s a welcome accessory to Keegan-Dolan’s diarising, especially in their joint cabaret send-up of an anti-Irish slur, although there are occasions when her antics intrude rather than complement.
Both performers sport excellent comedic timing, especially when the source material mingles the sweet and the crude, rendering misadventures like a fumbled sexual encounter as wistful rather than puerile. Keegan-Dolan aptly threads the needle between the personal and the existential, hitting a powerful stride when he sets comedy to the side to confront this thorny juncture, with recollections of his brother’s death, and a relative’s part in Dublin’s 1916 Easter Rising, coming into play.
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