The Legend of Zocorro
The lights go down. A masked, dark-haired woman in a black dress strides on to the stage, where a single microphone awaits. This is Zocorro, avenger of myriad injustices and self-described epitome of a modern Irish woman. She comes charged with an extra helping of testosterone and ready to sacrifice love or bare whatever is necessary to achieve her goal: to be crowned the Rose of Tralee.
In heavily accented English, reminiscent of The Princess Bride’s Inigo Montoya, she waxes lyrical on the St Patrick’s Day parade, on nannying forgettably named Foxrock offspring, on her first leprechaun sighting, on flying Ryanair, on the melodious joys of the Garda Síochána band and on her fight for the Rose of Tralee crown (and the keys to the Volvo that come with it).
Leonor Bethencourt never once drops character in a deadpan 50-minute monologue, expounding on the vagaries of Irish life with such earnestness that their inherent comedy is instantly evident. Not every joke hits the mark, but where she shines is in her attention to detail and an impeccable timing that marks her out as a keen comic talent. Ees funny. Until tomorrow, at Bewley’s Cafe Theatre.
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