The Wild Rovers: you're never gonna see no unicorn
23 Oct 2023

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Ritche Perez

Could The Wild Rovers really have been created, produced and put on stage just to prank "the most elaborate Rick roll in history?" Possibly. That seems as logical a reason as any to mash the Celtic-pop of The Irish Rovers with a fantastical plot about two warring nations in a magical land. Actually, in hindsight, there is a kernel of a clever idea in Steve Cochrane's haphazard script. The show begins with the incessantly annoying narrator singing The Irish Rovers' song "The Orange and the Green.," a folky number lamenting being born half Catholic and half Protestant. Thus begins a problem endemic to The Wild Rovers, the song appears to have nothing to do with the plot,. At least such as the plot is thus far, despite much long-winded exposition from the aforementioned ubiquitously annoying narrator. The song is it's own little narrative, a plotline with a beginning, a middle and an end. Self-contained. As are most of The Irish Rovers songs. Which makes it damned difficult to string them together as a musical. Even as a jukebox musical. But I am going to hazard that the theme of unnecessary conflict in "The Orange and the Green" is supposed to reflect on the unnecessary conflict in the sci-fi/fantasy plotline and cause us to contemplate the current abundance of unnecessary conflicts in the world today. Or that might be a stretch born of desperation on my part.

That theory seems to be confirmed by the final number being "All Sing Together," with its chorus of "Yes we'll all sing together/May our hearts be there with you whenever you go/Yes, we'll all sing together/'Til it's time to go home." But by then I was too exhausted from a plot that was an unholy mishmash of the worst of Tolkien, CS Lewis and George RR Martin, and the ham-handed insertion of Irish Rovers songs that connected only obliquely if at all. The Wild Rovers is set in 1989 so that the narrator can inform us that "let's keep in mind that its 1989 and these jokes were hilarious then." And that, along with the Rick roll gag, is the height of the wit. I lost count of how many times the narrator disparaged the script and the writer, but it was frequent enough to be embarrassing for all involved. Even the extraordinary music of Queen and Jim Steinman couldn't save We Will Rock You and Bat Out of Hell from being dragged down by awkward, absurd scifi/fantasy plots. Alas The Irish Rovers fare even less well. It's not that the songs aren't solid and catchy—they were all hits and are instantly recognizable—it's just that they have little to no context within the grand scheme. 

Perhaps The Wild Rovers would have worked better if it had been set in a pub. Some of the singers are very good and the core foursome are perfectly adequate despite some shaky harmonies. A concert version might have held the audience's attention. And might have allowed for a variation in arrangements. Each song begins with a near-acapella dragged-out introduction implying emoting, that builds to a turgid midtempo tasteful rendition. Even "Wasn't That a Party." Where is the rollicking Rover energy? Where is the Wild? It's as missing as the choreography that we associate with drunken dancing in pubs, Riverdance, or even a horny leprechaun lap dance. Instead we get slow motion Martha Graham embraces Marcel Marceau on ludes. Another missed opportunity. However the most egregious omission is the promised puppets. Puppets can elevate, through their inherent comic and/or sinister existences, the most moribund of material. The first puppet, and the only puppet aside from some pirate ship props, appears at the one hour and 10 minute mark. And it is a tiny shadow puppet of a dragon that appears to be an afterthought. It makes one wonder if there were budget problems, creative differences, puppets revolting against the material, or just a lack of will to make the conceptual leap necessary. Somehow I think the backstage story might be more interesting that what made it onto the stage. 

While The Wild Rovers as a whole is a "Honeymoon Bitter" (yes, that is one of the big jokes as is a Trooper dig) disappointment, there are some glimmers of what could have been. Steve Maloney electrifies every time his vocals are allowed to soar. "The Rising of the Moon" is particularly eerie and haunting until errant harmonies, one just a fraction too flat to be comfortable, are layered on. Maloney even manages to rise above the inexplicable inclusion (was it a novelty hit for The Irish Rovers?) of "Donald, Where's Your Troosers?" Turning the melodic ballad "Black Velvet Band" into a lesbian pirate lament is an intriguing idea, if only the lesbian pirate had been lusty. Nicole Underhay (Hand to God) is given very little to do until she is handed the number The Irish Rovers are known for (and the publicity for The Wild Rovers is based upon):"The Unicorn." Again the context is flimsy, but Underhay's smoky voice suits the now ingrained arrangement style. There is also a spectacularly simple special effect choreographic element, perhaps qualifying as puppetry, that enhances hypnotically. As the song tells us that the unicorns are all dead, Underhay's sensual dragon will have to do. A shining moment in the midst of an inexplicable meander to an elaborate Rick roll.