Review: HOWIE THE ROOKIE, Cockpit Theatre

In my experience, few cities have changed more than Dublin over the last 35 years or so. Bigger, pricier, wealthier (in parts, at least), but primarily much more diverse, it feels like it has developed at twice the speed of its British counterparts. 

Mark O’Rowe’s 1999 award-winning play, Howie The Rookie, takes us back to that Dublin I first encountered not long after reading Roddy Doyle’s Barrytown Trilogy (as it was then). Like those novels, O’Rowe’s writing leans into the bounce of working class speech, the relentless pursuit of the avoidance of boredom and the humour that spikes up between people pulling in different directions. It’s much bleaker though.

Howie is a lad about town, boozing with the boys, trying (and failing) to pick up the birds and not babysitting his little brother. He’s always ready for a ruck, all that pent-up incel frustration don’t you know, and jumps at the chance of joining a revenge beating to be exacted on his unrelated namesake who goes by the name of Rookie. If you find yourself thinking of James Graham’s Punch in the first 20 minutes of action, so was I.

Rookie is also a lad about town, but more successful with the dollies, to the extent that his dose of scabies (spreading via a shared mattress) is the cause of his roughing up. But he has bigger problems, after accidentally killing a pair of fighting fish that means he’s IR£500 in the hole with no source of credit, his knees not just trembling, but in danger of being detached from his legs. 

Things do not end well.

I was genuinely pondering on the possibility that O’Rowe had adapted a Shakespearean tragedy, such is the narrative arc. Was it a South Dublin version of Hamlet and Laertes we were watching? But no.

That comparison was also prompted by the play’s unusual structure, the story told in consecutive monologues, first by Howie, then by Rookie. 

Lucius Robinson looks a little old to play Howie, not just for the lifestyle he leads, but also the crucial element of his having a five year-old brother. That matters less and less as his monologue continues, this Dublin is conjured as a kind of dreamscape of streets and bars and brawls - yes, a bit of Joyce in there too I suspect. The language, with a full complement of Fs and Cs, a heroic volume even by local standards, gains a kind of poetic resonance, the rhythms slowly worming their way into your head as the ear attunes to the silk and venom of the speeches.
 

Andrew Price Carlile’s Rookie is smoother and sharper than his bullish counterpart (who also reminded me of Steven Berkoff’s unforgettable Dog) but that confidence is always going to take him to places, physically and psychologically, where he shouldn’t be. He also finds more in the words than mere meaning, benefitting from going second so we’re already primed to hear verse as much as prose in this unique hybrid voice.

It’s not difficult to see why O’Rowe, who was still in his 20s when he wrote the play, hoovered up a clutch of awards as, a quarter-century on, the play still feels alive and vibrant, the language robust, the allusions fresh.

So why only the three stars up top there? Come 2026, the vicious misogyny (and misandry too) is very hard to bear. Of course, it is in the characters’ psychology to hold so much in contempt, but 90 minutes of anti-empathy, of cruel barbs flung and revelations of the appalling consequences of misjudgements, all coming home to roost, feels a burden in the square black box space. We know more now about the impact of environmental factors on mental illness, more about toxic masculinity, more about generational abuse and that knowledge pokes at you as you witness Howie and Rookie spiralling towards disaster.

Ultimately, simply to set aside the violence and verbals because the artistic achievement is considerable, is a bit like claiming that The Black and White Minstrel Show had some good songs and great harmonies. Yes. But. Mate… 

Read our guest blog from Cockpit's Artistic Director Dave Wybrow about the show here

Howie The Rookie at the Cockpit Theatre until 2 May

Photo images: Cockpit Theatre