Eddie Shields (center) and the company of “A Man of No Importance.” Photo by Nile Scott Studios.
Presented by SpeakEasy Stage
Book by Terrance McNally
Music by Stephen Flaherty
Lyrics by Lynn Ahrens
Based on the film “A Man of No Importance”
Directed by Paul Daigneault
Music directed by Paul S Katz
Choreographed by Ilyse Robbins
Feb. 21 – March 22, 2025
Stanford Calderwood Pavilion
Boston Center for the Arts
539 Tremont St
Boston, MA 02116
Content warning: Themes of homophobia and some strong language. Recommended for Ages 12+.
Critique by Kitty Drexel
BOSTON — Ahrens, Flaherty, and McNally’s A Man of No Importance is based on the film (1994, directed by Suri Krishnamma. Starring Albert Finney.) of the same name which is a play on words based on the Oscar Wilde comedy A Woman of No Importance. Both tackle social status, ethics, and to a lesser degree, gender roles. The musical, like the play, features a central character holding a deep, dark secret that sparks community shame when it is exposed. Fortunately, both the musical and the play have happy endings.
A Man of No Importance opens with lines from Oscar Wilde’s “The Harlot’s House.” The reader, Alfie Byrne (Eddie Shields), is an unmarried bus conductor who loves theatre and poetry on his bus in 1960s Dublin. While dodging his boss Carson (Joe LaRocca), Alfie tells his bus riders this year he will direct the St. Imelda Players community theatre production of Oscar Wilde’s Salomé. It’s a biblical story about St. John the Baptist, Alfie tells them. He conveniently leaves out the salacious parts because, he says, art can’t be salacious.
Alfie finds his leading lady in newcomer Adele (Rebekah Rae Robles) but can’t convince his coworker Robbie (Keith Robinson) to play St. John. Alfie’s sister Lily (Aimee Doherty) thinks Alfie is sweet on Adele, but Adele holds secrets of her own. When local butcher and pompous actor Carney (Sam Simahk) leaks the script to Father Kenny (Dave Rabinow) and other church officials, Alfie starts on a journey of self-discovery that ends in tragedy. A Man of No Importance is a musical about identity, art, and the community that holds you. Wyatt Anton, Kerry A Dowling, Jennifer Ellis, Ronan Green, Joe LaRocca, Meagan Lewis-Michelson, Will McGarrahan, Billy Meleady, and Kathy St. George performing a spirited dance of the seven veils appear as the St. Imelda Players.
While the Irish accents were spotty (when not completely rejected), the acting and singing were great. This version of the musical is a true ensemble piece. All members of the cast except Alfie/Shields perform with the on-stage chamber orchestra. Joe LaRocca played reed instruments; Robles played violin; Anton and others played guitar; An accordion and a cajon percussion box were handed around. The effect charmed the audience; our hearts warmed to the characters on the stage as well as the actors performing them.
Eddie Shields plays Alfie Byrne with quiet, gentle solitude and intentional obliviousness. He captures the soul of a sweet, sensitive boy surprised by the gendered limitations of adulthood. He is equally at home speaking Oscar Wilde’s poetry as he is bashfully singing Irish folksong. His performance of “Love Who You Love” is sweet and generous of spirit. “Man in the Mirror” is fragile on the surface but hides the hidden strength of an artist.
Eddie Shields and Keith Robinson (center) with the company of “A Man of No Importance.” Photo by Nile Scott Studios.
Not all of the artists in this production are on stage. Nestled between the cast and production team bios in the show’s playbill, is a heartfelt production note from Isaac Tardy, assistant director, called, “The Power of Community: Embracing Identity in A Man of No Importance.” It is an impassioned missive about finding strength in an imperfect community by telling a forbidden story the local Powers That Be want silenced. Tardy asks his readers to consider Alfie’s story: censorship is wrong, places of refuge are necessary, queer joy is transcendent, and (consenting) love is love is love is love.
Tardy compares the musical’s story to the one we’re now living in and calls on our allies to support the LGBTQ+ community it loves. He doesn’t invoke the names of a certain authoritarian President and his fascist administration, but he doesn’t have to. Anyone with half an eye on the news understands the implication. Queer and trans people have always existed. Isaac Tardy, your act of loving resistance is appreciated.
There’s an exchange between Mrs. Grace (Dowling) and Carney (Simahk) during which she reminds him there are no small roles, only small actors. One heard this a lot growing up in the community theatre. Thankfully, a lot less now that the children of the people who said it the most are now directing shows.
A long time ago in a rural New Hampshire public school that can only be captured in the poetry of Mary Oliver, I recall a scene in which our children’s theatre director told an auditorium of sweaty prepubescent kids and their teenaged minders of which I was one, “There are no small parts, only small actors.” Even then, I knew our overworked, under-sexed director was grasping at straws to pacify her dozens of distracted charges. It’s the kind of adage theatre people deploy when the truth is too difficult to accept. Small roles exist and sometimes inflated egos play them. As A Man of No Importance and the political theatre shows us daily, the real trouble starts when those inflated egos start leading instead.
I prefer the saying, “Prepare for every role as if it were Hamlet and eventually, you’ll get to play Hamlet.” Or, as my mother once told me after a terrible public school audition, “You’ve got to wade through the shit to get to the good stuff.” During this time of unrest, theatre reminds us of the good things waiting for us after the shit. It can be a refuge and an act of resistance. Let it.
“The Harlot’s House” by Oscar Wilde
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.
Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the ghostly dancers spin,
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.
Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try and sing.
Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.
Then turning to my love I said,
‘The dead are dancing with the dead,’
‘The dust is whirling with the dust.’
But she—she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.
