Nell (Serena Parrish), Bridie (Clare O’Malley), Sean (Aidan McCracken), and Grandmother Nora (Úna Clancy) are all agog at a parcel from America.
Parcel from America subtitles itself “The Irish Musical,” and begorra, is it ever. A near-original, loosely adapted from a story by Tomáseen Foley, with music by Malcolm Hillgartner and Kevin Corcoran and book by Hillgartner, Jahnna Beecham, and Michael J. Hume, it wears its Irishness on its sleeve—not to mention on its brogues, its Aran sweaters, and set designer Harry Feiner’s evocative County Limerick backdrop. A placid evening, with goodhearted small-towners looking after one another and banding together as a community when one of its own is suffering, it’s a feel-good show, and a welcome one.
As Sean piggybacks Nell, his older self (Michael Grennell) looks on, in Parcel from America.
The setting is Teampall an Ghleanntáin—don’t even try pronouncing it—in the 1950s, looked on decades later by a narrator (Michael Grennell) who’s the older version of Sean (Aidan McCracken), a rambunctious teenager in a remote village where there’s little for a wee lad to do. (One flaw: The older and younger Seans, each individually excellent, don’t really seem like the same person.) Sean has a frisky younger sister (Serena Parrish), a practical ma (Clare O’Malley), a wise grandma (Úna Clancy), and a stern da (a strong-voiced Gregg Grodbrod) who frets over the family finances while upbraiding his son for multiple perceived transgressions.
It’s a close-knit, backward community, lacking electricity and automobiles; the prime means of transport are rusty bicycles and feet. The dialogue couldn’t be from anywhere else on the planet:
“Ah, sure I know ’twas a very quare way to be goin’ about it.”
“’Tis too big for your britches you’re gettin’ altogether.”
Among the prominent townspeople are a tippling postman (Michael Mellamphy), a fatherly priest (Daniel Patrick Sullivan), and Bridge (Alex Sharpe), a solitary widow whose great pride and love is her son Liam Óg (Ethan Jack Haberfield), though he’s plainly a rude, lazy, illiterate, selfish jerk.
Nora and Sean try to comfort an inconsolable Bridge (Alex Sharpe).
A sizable minority of Teampall an Ghleanntáin has emigrated to Springfield, Mass., and the one thing the stay-behinds can look forward to is the bounty of parcels from America arriving around Christmas, containing the wonders of a far-off, prosperous land. When Liam Óg surreptitiously runs off to the New World, leaving an inconsolable Bridge behind, the villagers conspire to prevent her from grieving and starving herself to death. That’s pretty much the show, and, as all good musicals should be, it’s propelled by the music.
And what music! The six-piece band, directed by Corcoran, features such Celtic curiosities as an uilleann pipe and a bodhran drum. Always authentically Irish and often melodic—you may exit humming the title tune—it exudes a pungent Erin character without ever trafficking in cliché, and the band received an enormous hand when the exit music ended. The unbilled vocal arrangements are elaborate and pleasing.
The songs work harder at delineating character than advancing the narrative, but they’re fine at the former, and the lyrics, in these false-rhyme times, are reasonably neat, although “O wondrous night, let the stars shine bright” is a bit of a stretch when it’s snowing. (Joey Moro’s lighting and video design convincingly depicts both snow and clouds wafting across the Limerick skies.)
From America, some badly needed currency for Michael (Gregg Goodbrod) and Bridie. Photographs by Russ Rowland.
It’s a true ensemble musical, and that’s how J.R. Sullivan directs it, treating the community as a community, never letting anyone needlessly pull focus. Mellamphy, sort of the comic relief, underplays the rum-swilling postman effectively, and Sharpe, initially seeming a little old for Bridge (maybe it’s Cate Broomhead’s gray wig), quickly wins over the viewer. Barry McNabb’s choreography, heavy on the Irish stepping and jigging, accentuates mood and helps define character.
And it’s old-fashioned: Parcel from America, every word and every note, could have been written in 1962. Which, incidentally, was a pretty great year for musicals. Its Irishness is of the sunny sort: O’Neill-style family tragedy, O’Caseyish political commentary, McDonagh-esque twists and shocks—don’t look for any of those. This is a quiet, sentimental tale, a celebration of community support and unselfishness, and a new Christmas story that feels like it could take its place among all the familiar Yuletide classics. It’s lilting and touching and makes one feel good about one’s fellow man. And in times like these, that’s badly needed.
Parcel from America plays through Nov. 22 at Theatre Row (410 West 42nd St.). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Wednesday and Saturday and at 3 p.m. Sunday. For tickets and information, visit parcelthemusical.com.
Book & Lyrics: Jahnna Beecham, Malcolm Hillgartner & Michael J. Hume
Music: Malcolm Hillgartner & Kevin Corcoran
Direction: J.R. Sullivan
Choreography: Barry McNabb
Scenic Design: Harry Feiner
Costume Design: Debbi Hobson
Lighting & Projection Design: Joey Moro
Sound Design: Ian Scot
Hair & Wig Design: Cate Broomhead
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