Daily News Reviews
Grin Reaper
by Fintan O'Toole
Original Publication Date: 08/28/1998
Anyone who thinks that ethnic stereotypes are
entirely untrue should avoid
comparing Colin Quinn's "An Irish Wake" with John
Leguizamo's "Freak."
Like "Freak," "An Irish Wake" is a one-man
Broadway show built around
memories of an ethnic neighborhood in New York. But there the
similarities end.
Leguizamo's show had all the heady male display that tends to be
associated
with the word "Latino." Quinn's has all the melancholy
wit, all the unstable
mix of defiance and resignation, that seems to be contained in
the word "Irish."
Where Leguizamo strutted, Quinn shambles. Instead of electric
energy, there is dry understatement.Instead of characters who
grab you by the throat, there are impersonations that creep up on
you from nowhere. And yet, in its own way,
"An Irish Wake" is as rich and as riveting as
"Freak."
Quinn is sometimes so funny that you shout out loud with
laughter. But what
makes his show a piece of theater rather than just a standup act
is that the
laughter comes out of grief and loss.
The show is essentially about death. The various stories and
characters are
drawn together by the death, sometime in the 1970s, of Jackie
Ryan, a man
who seemed a permanent fixture in this Irish corner of Brooklyn.
There are other deaths, as well.
One character's hilarious tale of life in the suburbs reminds us
that the
Irish are slowly moving out and that this whole world is dying.
Another brilliantly evokes the death of President John F.
Kennnedy as the
moment when respectable, old-fashioned Irish ambition collapsed
and
everything became permissible.
A third character, a young junkie on the brink of prison,
embodies the
consequences of that collapse.
Quinn's vision of these people is at once merciless and tender.
Their
foibles and obsessions, their delusions and pomposities, are laid
bare. But
so is their simple humanity.
For all its expletives and scatology, "An Irish Wake"
is essentially a
respectful elegy for those who, as one of Quinn's characters puts
it,
"didn't go after what we wanted. We went after what was
left."
The one problem with the show is that it is not long enough.
What's missing
is a more powerful sense of the dead man, Jackie Ryan, and why he
mattered
so much.
But this is, in a way, an appropriate complaint.
"An Irish Wake" is, after all, a fiercely funny
reminder of the bitter truth
that things have a habit of vanishing long before they ought to.
------------------------------------------------
He Stoops to Conquer
Brooklyn sidewalk sage Colin Quinn brings his comic riffs to Broadway
by Denis Hamil
Here comes Colin Quinn, on a visit from his
Manhattan exile and national
infamy as "Weekend Update" anchor on "Saturday
Night Live," walking along
Prospect Park West. Dressed in jeans and sweater in August, he
looks
bewildered, lost, like a local Brooklyn con just home from the
joint,
clocking all the changes in his old stamping ground.
"When did they turn Bartell Pritchard Square into a homeless
shelter?" asks
Quinn, 39, referring to the winos who warm the benches at the
gates of
Windsor Terrace. "And where the hell did the Connecticut
Muffin come from?
Bums and yuppies in Windsor Terrace? I was walking up 14th St.
looking
around in shock and a Con Ed guy asked if I was lost. Jesus, the
Park Slope
we knew got swallowed whole 20 years ago. So, where'd Brooklyn
go?"
The answer is, to Broadway.
For the next four weeks, the Brooklyn of the late 1970s that
Quinn remembers
will be on stage at the Helen Hayes Theater in his one-man show,
"An Irish
Wake."
Colin Quinn takes his act to the Great White Way.
Filled with brilliant observations, shots of Irish cynicism and
street
scenes so realistic you'll think you're watching from a top-floor
window,
Quinn's show does more than give us a night of nostalgic laughs.
He has
preserved for us a vital time in the city's history.
"It's about the old Irish neighborhood, the block, the stoop
and mostly the
characters," he says. "About the last days of those
neighborhoods where we
were born, raised, played stoopball, lost our virginity, got
stoned and hung
out. And eventually left."
To show just what the block means to his world, Quinn introduces
a
neighborhood guy who has moved to "The Island" because
that's supposed to be
the essence of success.
"Then he comes back to the block to visit and boast and to
ask everyone when
they're coming out to visit," Quinn says. "And he looks
around and realizes
he misses the block so bad it's killing him, but he just can't
admit it. I
tried to capture the humor and the wildness of the
Irish-Americans in
Brooklyn back then, and based the show around the seven Catholic
sacraments
and the wake of a neighborhood legend named Jackie Ryan."
Ryan's death symbolizes the death of the neighborhood, and, Quinn
says, the
show is a tribute to the sense of community he enjoyed growing
up, when all
the guys always had a snide little comment to make about
everything and
everyone.
"And yet you still looked out for people you didn't even
like because they
were from your block," he says. "During the blackout in
1977, everyone went
out on the stoop, and without saying a word it was understood
that I got
your back and you got mine, and let's all enjoy this piece of
history
together. That time, that era, when the block was everything . .
. is gone.
I miss it. I miss the safety and the comfort of it, so I wanted
to preserve
it. Because the thing I miss most is how much it made me
laugh."
It also made him a standup comic, a TV star and now a Broadway
showman.
This morning, we stroll through Park Slope toward 502 First St.,
where Quinn
once lived.
Sitting on his stoop his very first stage Quinn
grew up making his
friends laugh with stream-of-consciousness riffs on the passing
parade of
life in Brooklyn.
"On the stoop it didn't hurt that everyone in the audience
was drinking," he
says. "That never hurt my act. But Broadway? Most times I
didn't have enough
money for a token to get there on the subway."
Highs and Lows
But he remembers one of the first times he did standup comedy
"onstage" in
Manhattan. He went to The Improv, took a number for open-mike
night, then
went to Smith's bar near Times Square to slug a few beers to get
the nerve
to perform.
"Then I went around the corner into a vestibule to buy weed
off a guy," he
says. "And three ham-faced Irish cops broke through the door
and I wound up
in the Times Square substation. I told the cops I was a comedian
and due on
stage. The sergeant didn't believe me and told me to do my act.
"I got up and did a 5-minute routine. I bombed! The sergeant
said I was a
liar, that I was no comedian. I thought I was going into the
system when
another cop came out and said the weed the guy was selling me was
oregano so
they were cutting us loose."
Soon after, Quinn quit drinking. For good. And also moved from
the stoop to
the stage for good.
In 1994 he put on a variation of "An Irish Wake" (then
called "Sanctified
Grace") at the Irish Arts Center. It was a big hit in a
limited run.
Then three years ago he auditioned for "Saturday Night
Live."
"I bombed again," he says. "But for some reason
[producer] Lorne Michaels
took a liking to me and hired me as a writer."
It wasn't long before he was in front of the camera doing such
characters as
Joe Blow, Lenny the Lion and the Thank You Guy, all drawn from
his Brooklyn
roots.
Last year, in a highly publicized "SNL" shuffle,
Michaels replaced Norm
Macdonald with Quinn at the anchor desk of the "Weekend
Update" segment.
"Me and Norm are friends," Quinn says. "I didn't
want to take his job, but I
told him upfront that if he was leaving, I wanted to be the one
who got it.
He was very supportive, a real gentleman about it. We're still
good
friends."
His "SNL" connections didn't hurt when it came to
bringing "An Irish Wake"
to Broadway. "They all loved it," Quinn said.
"Lorne said it belonged on
Broadway. I didn't argue with him when he helped me bring it
there."
Does he think anything will be lost in the transition from the
stoop to
Broadway?
"Actually, what I've done is I've moved the stoop to
Broadway and I'm still
there, with my friends, making snide remarks at the world and
having a few
laughs."
Resume
Colin Quinn, 39
Actor, Comedian
Personal
Born in Brooklyn
Single
Got his start doing standup
Credits Include
MTV's "Remote Control" (first TV job)
"Married to the Mob"
"Who's the Man?"
"Three Men and a Baby"
"Celtic Pride" (co-writer)
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