Irish Times writers review the latest offerings from the arts world.
Dirty Dusting, Gaiety Theatre, Dublin
If no one has ever lost money by underestimating the public's intelligence, the producers of Dirty Dusting look set to mop up. But does this flimsy pretext for personality performances and wink-wink, nudge-nudge innuendo really mean to insult its audience? Even the publicity material ("pure theatrical Viagra . . . for those who just might need the real thing!") aims to tickle but ends with a slap (oo-er matron, etc).
In their aprons and uniform headscarves, Elsie (Adèle King), Olive (Eileen Colgan) and Peggy (Áine Ní Mhuirí) are earthy and honest Dublin cleaning women in their 70s, working for "a major national corporation". Although they enjoy a work-related pun, understand that fewer things on earth are more hilarious than flavoured condoms, and prove dab hands at doubling their every entendre, they are somehow not valued employees by their boss (a cartoonish Steve Blount).
They soon discover that, unlike their jokes, they are now too old to be of any service. But never fear - for reasons too implausible to relate they begin operating a phone-sex chatline from the office. Hilarity eludes.
Dirty Dusting begs to be risqué, satisfied that endless iterations of the same gag can sustain a show for two hours. But the execution of Ken Alexander's production is listless: you can only handle so many double-takes, misunderstandings, and tumescent props that droop sadly downwards.
Adèle King is at least able to pull it off (sorry) with dignity intact, playing a bubbly entertainer (playing Twink, in short), keeping her face front and delivering enough local (and personal) references to disguise the fact that Ed Waugh and Trevor Wood's play is an international franchise.
Smut has always had a place on the stage, but it needs to have purpose. Dirty Dusting isn't nearly as lewd as it thinks it is (and somewhere in the ancient Y-shaped coffin gag is a statement about elderly sexuality scratching to get out) but in the end it's the dull plot, stale punchlines and cynically cheap production values that really seem filthy.
Peter Crawley
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Rodrigo y Gabriela, Olympia Theatre, Dublin
It's not the kind of crowd you'd expect to see at a classical guitar recital. To start with, everyone's on their feet, as if at a rock gig. They wear T-shirts instead of tuxes, and instead of politely applauding they whoop and raise their fists aloft in the heavy metal salute, index and little fingers pointing upwards to form devil's horns. Have we perhaps stumbled into a local Battle of the Bands contest, or a Metallica tribute show? No, this is another sold-out concert by young Mexican guitar virtuosi Rodrigo and Gabriela. If it's rip-roaring, flamenco-flecked, jazz-tinged rock'n'roll you're after, then you've come to the right place.
Rodrigo Sanchez and Gabriela Quintero used to play in a thrash-metal band back home in Mexico City. But they swapped the head-chopping axes for Spanish guitars, and moved to Europe in search of a new audience. They never lost the metallic edge, however; when they perform onstage, they bring an awesome energy and electricity to bear. Gabriela sets the thundering rhythm, strumming the chords so hard that you feel the pull in your solar plexus. Rodrigo lays an intricate line of melodic fire, hitting the target with unerring dexterity. When the pair fall into near-perfect unison at about the halfway point of a song, it's like you've been lifted off the floor by a mighty wind.
The duo played intricately laced tunes from their new, self-titled album, including Tamacun, Ixtapa and Diablo Rojo, but it wouldn't have been Rodrigo y Gabriela without a couple of Metallica covers. There was also a show-stopping rendition of jazz standard Take Five, and a version of Stairway to Heaven that got the Zep-heads roaring tunelessly along. The crowd fared better with Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, singing more or less in key while Rodrigo used a beer bottle as a slide - by this stage, the purists would have been in a dead faint. The rest of us will be ironing our Metallica T-shirts in readiness for their return in April.
Kevin Courtney
