Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Brendan O'Carroll on "The Young Wan"



Brendan O'Carroll: Forever 'Young'



BY DYLAN FOLEY
 
April 8, 2003 



IT IS the day after St. Patrick's Day and Brendan O'Carroll, Ireland's most famous comedian, is tired and glum as he sits in the dining room at the Fitzpatrick Manhattan Hotel. He had sidestepped the hotel's raucous party the night before, but stayed up late.

"I stayed up watching the news on Iraq," said O'Carroll of his worries, just before the war began. "This Bush has no foreign policy knowledge."

O'Carroll had been in the States for two weeks on a nationwide, 11-city and 70-bookstore tour of America for his fourth Agnes Browne novel, "The Young Wan" (Viking/$24.95).

Agnes Browne is the resilient widow with seven children who has spawned a radio show, novels and stage plays. She will soon star in her own TV show. The 46-year-old O'Carroll used a big chunk of his own childhood story of growing up poor in North Dublin to create Agnes Browne.

With a cappuccino in front of him from the Russian waitress, Browne was ready to talk about the new book. Suddenly, the interview was interrupted by Bill Cullen, the Irish businessman and author of It's a Long Way From Penny Apples, his own story of growing up poor in North Dublin, and working
in the markets of Moore Street.

"Five thousand copies of my book sold out last night on QVC in two minutes," boasted Cullen of the shopping channel. "That's $100,000 in two minutes."

" I have five books of my own," said a mock indignant O'Carroll. "Can't you see I am being interviewed?"

Was it a tense moment? Were they going to challenge each other on whose childhood was more bleak? Was a fistfight going to break out? No, the men
shook hands and Cullen went off to sell more books.

O'CARROLL'S third U.S. book tour has been a big success. O'Carroll has been reading to packed crowds on the East and West Coasts and the book has been doing great.

"The independent bookstores have been hand-selling Agnes Browne," he said.

The tour, however, has not been without peril. "I was having a drink before a reading in Sonoma, California," said O'Carroll, as he pepped up over his second cappuccino. "This old guy comes up to me." He moved into a hillbilly
accent: "You got nice teeth, boy, like a woman," he said.

The terrified comedian, a father of three, ran away from his potential suitor. "If you had a banjo, you'd have a movie," O'Carroll said, referring to the film Deliverance.


The Young Wan, which is slang for a wild girl, is actually a "prequel" to the Agnes Browne series, focusing on Agnes' friendship with the scrappy Marion, when they meet at the age of five. Even after the success of The
Mammy and The Chiselers, O'Carroll tried to kill the series in his book The Granny. "I didn't want to write Agnes Browne books forever," he said. "What people liked was the relationship between Marion and Agnes," said O'Carroll. "My editor asked me to explore their friendship."

The Young Wan returns to the fictional North Dublin area of The Jarro, where the readers meet Agnes' parents - a labor organizer named Bosco and a West Briton factory owner's daughter named Connie. The book goes through the Black-and-Tan brutality, and labor violence kills Agnes' father, forcing her to find work as a teen in the vegetable markets of Moore Street.

O'Carroll created The Jarro from a number of North Dublin neighborhoods, including Summer-hill and Stoneybatter. "I wanted all the action to happen in a small area," he explained. "American tourists show up looking for The Jarro," he giggled. "Dubliners can't say `I don't know,' so they send them
along."

Agnes Browne has become her own cottage industry with the film by Anjelica Huston and the upcoming TV shows. This widow with seven children "supports 40 people," said O'Carroll. "This staff supports the books, plays, etc."

The waitress came over with O'Carroll's third cappuccino. "You know, she is from the Russian neighborhood in Finglas," he cracked.

O'Carroll's own mother was much different than Agnes.

"She was a nun turned into a schoolteacher," said O'Carroll. The late Maureen O'Carroll was a socialist member of the Dail (Irish Parliament). "She was a TD, but we lived in a two-bedroom council flat with 11 children.
I gave Agnes my mother's sense of social justice," he said. "Agnes is also very wise. The major difference between her and my mother was the education."

Though things were tight with 11 kids, O'Carroll never knew he was poor.

"We did okay," he said. "I was never hungry. We thought we were rich. We just didn't have the money."

O'Carroll left school without his mother's knowledge right before his 13th birthday. "I started working in the departures bar of Dublin airport, as a trainee barman," he said. He worked as a waiter, then ran a pub with a partner.

Eventually his partner stole all the money and sold the furniture. Broke and with a wife and then-two kids to feed, O'Carroll took a comedy gig, and wound up getting paid 10 quid for his efforts. In a matter of weeks, he claimed he was making 750 pounds a night.

O'Carroll created the radio show Mrs. Browne's Boys on 2FM in the early 1990s. "That was where everything - the books, the movie, the plays, came from." The seven-minute shows ran for two years, and O'Carroll played Mrs. Browne. The shows were so popular that Irish prisoners asked to be locked in their prison cells so they could listen to the shows on their radios.

His career exploded when he appeared on the Late Late Show with Gay Byrne in 1992. O'Carroll tricked Byrne out of his seat.
(Brendan O'Carroll as the foul-mouthed Mrs. Browne)

"My first question for him was, `So Gay, how is your mickey?'" said O'Carroll. A star was born.

O'Carroll, who can command $10,000 a performance, travels with an entourage, but it is not full of your normal groupies. As evidence of this, his 10-year-old son Eric wandered into the dining room, looking for breakfast.

"My publisher Viking wanted to know why I needed 11 hotel rooms in New York," he said. "They are for my family and friends," a group which also includes his two adult children and his girlfriend, the actress Jenny Gibney.

O'CARROLL'S new project is his third Agnes Browne stage play, Mrs. Browne Rides Again, where he again plays Mrs. Browne.

"We have been playing to sold out shows in Edinburgh and we'll be in Liverpool next," he said.

In the spring, O'Carroll and his production company will start taping the Agnes Browne TV show, where he will also play the famed widow.

He gleefully shows off pictures of himself dressed up as a working-class matron with moles on his face. When asked if he has to shave off his mustache to play Agnes Browne, O'Carroll said, "I play Mrs. Browne without the mustache. If I keep the mustache, I look too much like my mother."

 


Friday, April 6, 2012

Ed Sanders on his Seminal 1960s Protest Band The Fugs in "Fug You"

 



In 1962, a young poet named Ed Sanders set up a literary journal with the unprintable title F--- You: A Magazine of the Arts on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The magazine started Sanders’ wild ride as an underground filmmaker, counterculture bookshop owner and leader of the seminal 1960s antiwar rock band The Fugs.

In his rollicking memoir “Fug You: An Informal History of the Peace Eye Bookshop, the F--- You Press, The Fugs and the Counterculture of the Lower East Side”(Da Capo, $26.99, 448pp.)  Sander covers the improvisational days where he joined the mimeograph revolution and started an underground magazine, then fronted The Fugs with their hits “Kill for Peace” and “CIA Man,” mocking Lyndon Johnson’s escalating war in Vietnam. Sanders catalogs both the witty and the horrifying during the tumultuous decade of protest, where the Lower East Side moved from the Summer of Love to murder, heroin and rage. Eventually, Sanders and his family had to escape the neighborhood.

Sanders, 72, spoke with freelance writer Dylan Foley by telephone from his home in Woodstock, N.Y.

Q. Why does your memoir go from the early 1960s to 1970?

A. It was a good unit. I began my magazine in 1962. My first book, “Poem From Jail,” came out from City Lights in 1963. That year, my hero Allen Ginsberg sent me a copy of his poem “The Change.” It seemed like a pretty good place to start.

Q. Why did you give your magazine the unprintable name of F--- You: A Magazine of the Arts?

A. I don’t know. It seemed like a grabby title. It combined forward thrusting acts with my regular philosophy of nonviolence, direct action and peace. When I came to New York in 1958, that was my period of training as a poet. I’d see Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and Gregory Corso at poetry readings, but I never thought I’d know them. When I started the magazine, I began mailing it to my heroes—Beckett, Sartre, Picasso, Khruschev and Castro. I gave it away for free, sending it to poets like Charles Olsen, Frank O’Hara and Diane di Prima. Olsen sent me poems. The magazine attracted a readership.
 
 (The Fugs in the 1960s)

Q. Why did you decide to start The Fugs with Beat poet Tuli Kupferberg?

A. I graduated from NYU in the spring of ’64 with a degree in Greek and Latin. I applied to graduate school too late, so I had to wait a semester. I needed something to do, so I opened the Peace Eye Bookstore, which was next to Tuli in the East Village. I told Tuli we should form a band of poets and write songs. It was the era of “happenings” (performance art), where you didn’t have to have that tight an act. Tuli agreed. I wanted to call the band The Freaks or the Yodeling Socialists. Tuli picked The Fugs, which was Mailer’s euphemism in “The Naked and the Dead.”

The Vietnam War had really just begun by ’65. The Fugs were staunchly against the war. The band was partially to have fun and to promote a kind of revolution. None of us were trained at the Julliard School, but we brought our raw energy and talent to the struggle.
 


Q. You shut down The Fugs at the height of its fame in 1969. Why?

wA. As the leader, I was the guy who ran all the practices and the recording sessions. I had to write the press releases, for you always need the attention of the media. It was a 15-hour day. I wanted to go back to being a Beatnik poet, so I disbanded the Fugs and went back to my bookstore.

Q. You left the Lower East Side in 1970. Why?

A. A woman was stabbed to death under our window. A tailor across the street was murdered by a kid with a brick. It added up.

(This interview ran in the Newark Star-Ledger in February 2012)