STAGE REVIEW : ‘Falling Upward’ in Bradbury’s Ireland

It seems natural that Ray Bradbury would have an Irish play in him. What’s not so expected is how fey and heartfelt it is.

“Falling Upward,” in its world premiere at the Melrose Theatre, is certifiably Bradbury-esque. Who else could turn Guinness stout into dandelion wine?

Actually, Bradbury has taken a frightful risk, mixing the grimy habitues of a murky village pub with the arrival of five “hothouse roses,” dandified male tourists who materialize like sprites from “The Tempest.”

The result is a curiously affecting fable, an 80-minute-or-so one-act that joins two wildly clashing cultures in a paean to mutual acceptance and love.

That’s pretty treacherous stuff, given the theme’s sentiment and loftiness. But the production succeeds primarily because of Bradbury’s language and because his director, Charles Rome Smith, draws excellent performances from the two key players: Greg Mullavey’s whimsical narrator/Irish conscience and David Fox-Brenton’s Prospero-like figure whose sublime impact is as bedazzling as his vanilla ice cream suit.

The play is not seamless, however. The first half veers in seeming disarray from Celtic banter to a dramatized anecdote whose payoff centers on group urination over a fresh grave (as if from a bunch of naughty elfins). You wonder where is this play going?

The focus becomes clear when the quintet of Ariels sweeps into town, drawing sneers from the complacent villagers and shaking Catholic decorum (as seen in Robert Larkin’s provincial priest). Suddenly, the production is in gear.

But Bradbury needs to better integrate the two halves of his barroom fable. The rosy bouquet that is so blithely developed in the play’s closing scenes should bridge the greater span of the play.

There are 19 characters, none a woman. If you know Ireland and its male pub life, that point conveys its own barb. (These men don’t have women in their lives, never mention them; you can imagine that a few of their long-term fiancees or wives may be home cooking.)

The brogues are thick, often too thick for an American audience. But when actor Fox-Brenton, in a lyrical metaphor about a Sun King and a Snow Queen, explains to the wary pub regulars why he and his golden flock have left the light of Italy to stand in St. Stephen’s Green and experience the turning and falling of the leaves, Bradbury’s play comes beautifully together.

The sun and the snow, the darkly clothed Irish and the creamy-clothed visitors, are all one unity, says the suave leader of the alien pack. These men of opposites, each with his womanless clubbiness and his brand of poetry, are surprisingly alike.

When both sides clasp one another and the goodbys are said, the resident choric Celt Mullavey grins and turns to the audience: “Ireland once had fairies. . . , “ he begins. “Now there are none,” but they have come again. It’s a piquant and rather amazing fade-out.

Bradbury has written a comedy that combines earth and air. If you wish, the troubles in Northern Ireland are not far removed here. But this is a mellower Bradbury who, at 67, has dramatized with relish a lifelong love affair with Ireland.

Smith’s staging, Michael Shere’s set and lighting design and vivid character turns by supporting players Bob Ball and Robert Sorrells lend flavorful texture to this Pandemonium Theater Company production.

Performances run at 733 N. Seward St., Fridays through Sundays, 8:30 p.m., indefinitely. Tickets: $10. (213) 465-1885.