MY SCANDALOUS LIFE at Irish Repertory Theatre

The self-delusions and bitterness of a man well into his golden years take center stage in Thomas Kilroy’s awkwardly conceived bio-drama My Scandalous Life, now playing at The Irish Repertory Theatre. Tthe piece focuses on Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas, the poet perhaps remembered today as Oscar Wilde’s lover “Bosie,” and while the man’s reflections on his event-filled life could make for riveting drama, the play never rises above being a mere curiosity as it unfolds in this production that’s been fussily directed by John Going.

There’s something to be said for the period in which Kilroy sets his play: it unfolds in 1944 just one year before Douglas (Des Keogh) will pass away. He’s retreated to his wife’s apartments while she herself copes with an unspecified fatal illness in an upstairs bedroom. The time seems ripe for honest self-examination, but instead of giving theatergoers forthrightness, playwright Kilroy presents a series of elaborate, and increasingly frustrating obfuscations, particularly concerning Douglas’ bitterness toward Robert Ross, an intimate of Wilde’s who would become the famed writer’s literary executor and a tormentor to Douglas.

During the first portion of the two-character (Fiana Toibin proves memorable as the household’s spunky Irish maid) piece, Douglas bemoans and condemns the ways in which his father-in-law and Ross contributed to the emotional distress that led to the institutionalization of his son, Raymond. Later, Douglas admits that what he has said has all been lies, saying “They had no part in the sickness of my son, Raymond. Raymond’s madness is of my own flesh and blood.”

While the piece is more straightforward about the facts regarding Douglas’ life with Wilde, it contains similar reversals with regards to his wife Olive’s relationship with their son. Such personally created ambiguities have the potential for creating fascinating theatergoing as they compel audiences to separate fact from fiction, but in Life, the smoke-and-mirrors merely frustrate, particularly given Keogh’s stiff, workmanlike performance. He gives equal, often melodramatic, weight to nearly all of Douglas’ intimate confessions, never affording one the opportunity to glean where the truth may lie.

The piece is further undermined by Kilroy’s inelegant handling of the confessional nature of the play. For instance, After a brief pause at the show’s mid-point, Douglas returns to the stage saying “Suppose you’ve heard the news? Olive. Died three days ago.” Such direct address, particularly given that the play contains scenes between Douglas and the maid that would never take place in front of guests, jars.

Ultimately, the play doles out just enough factual data to give those not familiar with the subject a sense of having been introduced to a compelling historical figure, but it’s not enough to make the