It is a triumph which should play to full houses in Hammersmith and deserves to transfer to theatres throughout the country before going to Broadway. Okay, maybe off-Broadway. Perhaps it should be staged in The Chelsea Hotel itself to give the ghosts there a chuckle, before the final curtain comes down on the awesome Behan legend. Adrian Dunbar is an incredibly versatile actor who imbues the role of Brendan Behan with a true sense of the man. Seeing this terrifically funny play (written by Janet Behan and coloured by her memories of her father Brian ), makes you aware of the potency of a well-staged drama and its inherent ability to bring to life a personality such as Brendan – and with such startling accuracy.
It is Adrian Dunbar’s night, just as it is Brendan Behan’s last stand. What is especially impressive is the recreation of not only the Behan wry, sardonic, often self-critical wit but also the accent and quality of the speaking voice, both repellent and attractive in equal measure. This allows a focus on the complexity of the character and can only add to the myth. Dunbar lives and breathes this man to his last witty word, and is ably supported by his long-suffering wife, a hawk-eyed Beatrice (Brid Brennan), in this his final fling with life. Go to this play, but be prepared to laugh until you cry as there is plenty of The Black Stuff in the second half to ensure it plumbs the murky depths of alcoholism. Comfortable it’s not. – Ursula O’Reilly Traynor, Irish World
Initially there is the worry that playwright Janet Behan is going to be hamstrung by the simple but rather important fact that the subject is her uncle … played with considerable rumpled charm by Adrian Dunbar, chronic alcoholic Behan, who would drink himself into diabetic comas, at first comes across as nothing more sinister than a lovable Irish rogue with a gift of the blarney.
Mercifully, however, Behan J begins to darken the picture, Dunbar hints at the man’s capacity for egotism, aggression and wanton self-destruction … there’s a sustainedly excellent supporting turn from Brid Brennan as Behan’s resilient wife. With the beautiful, sorrowful face of a martyr in an icon, Brennan’s Beatrice suggests what a daily battle it was to support her husband while maintaining a vital core of self-esteem …Brendan’s greatest fear was of becoming “just an ordinary human Behan”. His niece conclusively proves that he did exactly the opposite. – Fiona Mountford, Evening Standard.
This biodrama by his niece is steeped in affection and a certain admiration for her uncle’s full tilt charge into his creative and personal life. Warm and witty, it’s a portrait of a talent dogged by addiction and of a man whose emotional incontinence tormented the women in his life … Brid Brennan gives a spirited performance as Beatrice, his wife … Dunbar’s Behan is stimulating company, sodden and slurring yet lucid, scathingly funny and sadly incapable of enjoying his success. – Sam Marlow, The Times
…playwright and star conjure Behan’s voice brilliantly
as he rhapsodizes about the possibility of self-reinvention in New York and curses the insularity of his auld sod: “Dear old Dublin. Do anything you like, be anything you like, so long as you remember to fail.” Dunbar, a Northern Irishman, captures the rhythmic swoops of Behan’s working class Dublinese with total conviction. He’s so immersed in his depiction of Behan that his craggy, handsome face somehow seems to transform into Behan’s podgy, potato-like one. – Karen Fricker, Variety
Adrian Dunbar makes little attempt to impersonate Behan, aims for, and gets, the esprit and the delivery … he rises to the songs and the witty arias, and suggests that deep down Brendan knows he will not stop pressing the self-destruct button. Brendan flails engagingly – singing (“When Irish eyes are bloodshot . . .”), teasing (“You’ve moved way past happy, you’re careering into smug”), gargling with gusto and strewing his bon mots with abandon …excellently acted, a lively funny, interesting play. – Bernard Adams, Irish Times.
A brilliant play. Don’t miss! – Irish in Britain
© Copyright by Janet Behan 2025
