The Miser

Elmwood Hall, Belfast"You can't trust banks!" bellows Moliere's miserly anti-hero Harpagon. On the eve of a UK general election, whose campaigns have been dominated by money matters, and with the global economy in tatters, the Lyric could scarcely have chosen a more apposite play for our times than The Miser.

Translated and adapted for a home audience by language professor and playwright David Johnston, directed by Dan Gordon and with Scottish actor Andy Gray in the title role, this was the creative team, which, in 2007, brought tremendous comic and literary flourish to their “Ulsterised” transformation of

Le Malade Imaginaire

into

The Hypochondriact

.

Here, Harpagon becomes the suitably named Harpingon, a grotesque figure never tiring of the sound of his own voice, particularly when in praise of the delight of possessing vast hoards of cash. Gray is a superb comedic actor but, like other aspects of this big, blousy extravaganza (which shows no evidence of belt-tightening in its handsome production values) his no-holds-barred performance, punctuated by knowing quips, winks and nods towards the front row of the audience, does not need to try so hard to please.

The crazed obsessions of the central character, his absurd attitudes to love, his ridiculous attempts to disinherit his strong-willed children – the brash, bouncy Eloise (Julie Maxwell) and the foppish Tristram (Richard Clements) – his manic mood changes, as he wallows in the discomfort of his own frugality are, in themselves, the source of ample comic possibility.

But additional slapstick and scatalogical and sexual innuendo have been ladled on in excessive quantities, resulting in high-energy segments in which little actually happens. In a trio of roles, Michael Condron contrives to stay on the right side of the comic divide, shamelessly milking laughs from the Ulster-Scots meanderings of the retainer Quinph, as well as in his quick-fire exchanges with the rubber-faced Gray. In amongst the torrent of words and madcap action is some fine, fluent writing and this lengthy adaptation is at its best when Moliere’s cutting-edge social satire and dark, subversive humour are allowed to shine through unadorned. Runs until May 29, then tours

Flight of the Conchords

Olympia, Dublin

KEVIN COURTNEY

Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, “formerly New Zealand’s fourth most popular guitar-based digi-bongo acapella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo,” seem to have taken superstardom in their stride. With a hit HBO TV series, two hit albums, and sellout tours around the world, Flight Of The Conchords are flying high, but at the first of their two Dublin shows, Bret and Jemaine seem to have their feet on the ground – and their asses on two very wobbly stools.

“This is the only thing I don’t like about Dublin,” deadpans Jemaine as he rocks precariously from side to side.

You could say Flight of the Conchords are between two stools – too funny to be a straight-up rock band, too musical to be a serious stand-up comedy act.

“There’ll be songs, and some talking between songs, and, er, that’s it,” they warn us. For the loyal fans who have packed the Olympia, that’s more than enough.

No musical genre is safe from the pair’s spot-on parodies, but they’re at their best when making fun of the alpha-male attitudes of soul, funk and hip-hop.

Ladies Of The World gets more priapic – and preposterous – than Prince, Bret’s falsetto and Jemaine’s baritone executing a pincer movement on their multitudinous quarry; in contrast, Business Time is a quickie bedtime story that’s over in two minutes. The Most Beautiful Girl (In The Room) sees them damning a poor dame with faint praise, while Think About It takes Marvin Gaye’s social conscience and drags it down an alley for a good kicking.

They switch to medieval madrigal mode for a new song about “wooing a lady”, go a bit OK Computer on Robots, and then go completely Serge Gainsbourg for Foux Du Fafa, but they opt to do only one track, Demon Woman, from their new album, I Told You I Was Freaky. When they perform it, though, they rip their shirts and jeans off to reveal superhero glam sequins. So, some songs, some talking between songs, and one costume change. I knew fame would turn their heads.