The Real Mrs. Brown: The Authorised Biography of Brendan O'Carroll (28 page)

‘You have to take your hat off to Iain Gordon. He didn’t know us from Adam. He gave us the theatre with no rent and no guarantees. He showed a lot of balls.’

This was
The Course
all over again, except it set a pattern of success that would continue for the next decade.

That run at the Pavilion alone saw
Mrs Brown’s Last Weddin
g pull in £400,000. Brendan had conquered Glasgow, which would become his favourite venue in the UK, with the Agnes Brown plays going on to pull in millions.

(Bugsy made his first appearance on stage at the Pavilion, playing the role of Grandad, in a cameo. The former window-cleaner, now instantly recognisable, is today besieged for autographs wherever he goes.)

Thankfully, Liverpool and Manchester followed suit. Not quite in the same numbers as Glasgow, but the Mrs Brown train, packed with friends and family, was now funded – and off and running.

However, in London, at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, it came off the rails, in terms of the broadsheet reviews and box office.

‘It is potentially a fine enough comic set-up, and gets plenty of laughs,’ said the
Financial Times.
‘However, the thing is, most of the laughs are titters of genteel shock that O’Carroll has taken a mildly smirksome line and inserted the word “fuckin” into it. I began to keep a tally of the number of laugh lines he gave himself which did not include that or another expletive; by the end of the show, I had spotted a grand total of five.

‘The audience, on the other hand, were by the end so ready to laugh at anything that they giggled through the climactic mother–daughter sentimentality.’

The reviewer added, ‘The play exists somewhere between Roddy Doyle-land and the territory of Caroline Aherne’s
The Royle Family
, with a cousin of Les Dawson’s Ada in charge.’

The review highlighted a couple of important points: the broadsheets weren’t keen on what they thought was lowbrow entertainment; yet, those in the audience loved Brendan’s broad comedy strokes.

Sadly,
Last Wedding
played to houses little more than a third full in Hammersmith. Brendan and Gerry didn’t have the money to back the full-scale advertising campaign needed in London.

Yet Brendan wasn’t overly worried.

‘Fuck London,’ he said at the time.

And, after all, the northern cities loved Agnes. But sadly, overall box-office success didn’t cement the relationship between Brendan and Gerry. Gerry was dealing with his own problems. He’d had enough of travelling with the O’Carroll circus and decided it was time to step off the carousel.

Gerry decided he would break up the partnership on the night of the premiere of
Agnes Browne
in Dublin in November. At the time, the former milkman had a broken ankle he’d sustained in a football match but, more importantly, a broken spirit. He had spent too many years living in a metaphorical tent and he reckoned his wife and two kids were paramount. He’d watched Brendan’s marriage break up and didn’t want his to go the same way.

Even though Gerry was desperately broke, he chose to walk away from the upcoming plays, the Mrs Brown royalties, everything.

What had happened between the pair to break up such an incredible friendship? Two men going at different speeds, sometimes in different directions? Perhaps.

Or perhaps they were like many seemingly inseparable double acts such as Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, Abbott and Costello, Little and Large, there simply comes a time when they have to separate.

‘It was on the cards, I guess. During the difficult times we would have rows and Gerry would get angry and say, “You bastard! I’ve looked after you since we were kids . . .”

‘And I’d yell back, “You didn’t, Gerry. We made it up!”

‘“Well, I would have . . .”

‘It had all become confused. We simply weren’t on the same page any more.’

The pair had loved each other like brothers. Somehow, life got in the way.

Film director Jim Sheridan landed Gerry a couple of small roles in movies, but Brendan’s former best friend was not after the limelight – he happily went from making a movie with Anjelica Huston and Tom Jones to gigging in a hotel bar for £200. However, he was content to be living a life he could control.

Brendan believed it was time to go it alone.

‘What I do think was that Gerry believed his own publicity. In his own way, though, he was a lovable guy.’

Brendan had lost his best friend. Benny and Gerry, who’d shared debts, reviews, holiday apartments with their wives (and even beds back in the touring days when they were skint), were no longer an item.

But Brendan had greater problems to contend with.

The Special One in Bethlehem

THE GLASGOW success story continued on to Newcastle, Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow –
Mrs Brown’s Last Wedding
returned to the city in October 1999 and sold out. And the play went on to tour in Canada and Australia.

But that didn’t mean Brendan was home and dry as far as the banks were concerned. He had a long way to go.

Yet, at least he now had stability in his personal life. What had changed in recent times were his feelings for Jenny. She had been a semi-permanent fixture in his life since 1995 – they had been working together, sharing problems, sharing the cost of keeping a troupe together – and it was obvious, if not to themselves, but certainly to those around them, they would become a couple.

However, when they made their announcement, there were seismic shockwaves. After all, Brendan was now a national figure.

At the time of his marriage break-up, Brendan had called the papers in Dublin and informed them that he and Doreen had parted. He asked that they refrain from writing about the story, in a pre-emptive strike, because of how vulnerable the kids were feeling. And Brendan said he would talk about the break-up later on.

All the papers respected the request, except for the
News of the World
. When the story appeared, it was given a massive six pages of coverage.

Doreen was knocked for six. It was all very well agreeing to go on
The Late, Late Show
, but that was for the good of the family. This latest bout of publicity rocked her world.

The producers of
The Late, Late Show,
however, deemed the break-up to be of interest to their viewers, who would want to know the reason for the end of the seemingly happy marriage.

‘Gay said he wanted me to come on the show, and he wanted to talk about the split “for a few minutes”. Now, I had never disagreed with anything Gay had suggested before, but I couldn’t go along with this. So I said, “Look, Gay, I’ll talk about the split, but I won’t do it in three minutes. If you want to talk about it, then that’s what the interview will be about. I’m not going to go onto a serious subject and start to play the clown. It won’t sit right.” And he protested, saying, “No, we have to mention the split. It’s been in the papers.” And I said, “Yes, but a subject like that has to be done properly. I’m not going to gloss over it.”

‘In the end, I went on the show and Gay never mentioned the split. The interview was the usual, funny exchange.’

What would he have said to Gay Byrne?

‘Well, I would have said I was on my own for six months in the apartment trying to sort myself out.

‘The fact that I met Jenny was a happy coincidence, but also a complication I didn’t need. I couldn’t even straighten out the life I had. I would have left Doreen anyway.

‘And, meantime, the kids were blaming Jenny, which added to the tension. The kids had no time for her. Fiona came to the apartment once and I hid Jenny in the car park! So I had to sit down the children and say, “There is no law that says you have to like Jenny. But one thing I demand is good manners. That’s not a lot to ask.” From that moment, they did me proud.

‘But the children had also seen their mother abandoned and this made them think, “Feck you, Dad, for breaking mum’s heart.” And they got very angry – for months, in Fiona’s case. She felt I’d really betrayed her mother by leaving.’

The kids would come to be very close to Jenny, seeing her as a friend and confidante. Which was just as well because, by the beginning of the new millennium, Brendan and Jenny were utterly inseparable. They formed a new production company. There was even talk about whether or not they would have kids together.

‘When I talked to Fiona and Danny about this, they said, “We draw the line at that, Dad.” But I knew their characters enough to know that if a baby came along, they’d welcome it with open arms.’

Brendan says Jenny had no problem with his being a father-of-three.

‘I would have said to whoever is with me, “If you have a problem with this, we have no future. It’d break my heart, but these children are going to be my children when they are fifty.” I would be saying, in the middle of dinner, “I got a call from Fiona, she’s not happy, I gotta go see her.” And I’d go. But Jenny was never going to have a problem with this. Her attitude was, “One of the reasons I was attracted to you is because, after my own father, you’re the finest father I’ve known. And if you change in that way, I wouldn’t like you.”

‘Some women, and men, think, “If you’re giving that level of devotion to your children, you’re taking it from me.” If you feel that, you don’t understand life. Jenny does. And that’s why I love her.’

He believes the relationship will last forever.

‘God, Jaysus, I hope so. But I’m not an expert on any of this. What I do know is I thank God for sending her to me, this woman who does
The Times
crossword and smokes Consulate. She’s incredible.’

Gay Byrne once asked Brendan if Jenny helped take the place of his mammy.

‘Could be,’ he replied, smiling. Why did Brendan agree? Because Jenny has some similar traits to Maureen O’Carroll. Jenny is a fighter, she’ll tackle anyone and anything she feels will threaten her world. She’s a passionate, well-read and incisive woman. She can read a script and know instinctively what will work. What she also has in common with Maureen is she believes implicitly in Brendan. Almost from the moment she met him (after she’d cast aside the thought that he was a Mafia member), she recognised his talent, his imagination and sense of humour. The pair were on the same wavelength. Every night at teatime, the world stops while they watch the BBC’s
Eggheads
together, trying to answer as many questions as possible. They like the same things. They love the same celery and apple health drink they take each afternoon. And they love their life together, at home and on the road. Jenny isn’t a mother substitute. But like Brendan’s mammy she’s a big personality in her own right, with a strong voice. Perhaps Brendan even still thinks of Jenny as a gobshite at times. And they do love a good argument on occasion. But there’s no doubt they were born to become the perfect double act.

His comic mammy, Brendan knew, offered the solution to his financial problems. The success of
Last Wedding
made the follow-up inevitable and he spent the early months of 2000 writing
Good Mourning Mrs Brown.
The action returns to Larkin Court in Dublin City, which follows the events surrounding the funeral of Grandad. Except he isn’t actually dead.

Along the way we get involved in Dermot’s efforts to go ‘straight’, Father Quinn’s doubting his vocation, the final days of Maria’s pregnancy, the changing of water to wine, the battle for a £50,000 insurance cheque and even a divine resurrection. What more could you ask for?

There are also a few typical Agnes lines: ‘You’ve heard of Dr Dolittle – this is Dr Do Fuckall.’ And where would Mrs Brown be without a malapropism or two? ‘It says, “You should splash cold water on your scrotum.” What if you drive a Volkswagen?’

What Brendan seems to have developed cleverly is Agnes’s fractured personality. While she is able to ape motherly love, there’s a part of her that’s judgemental. She loves her gay son Rory to bits, but still wonders ‘if they’ll find a cure’. She encourages daughter Cathy to find love. But then points out Cathy’s best years are behind her and she’d better not be too fussy. She looks after Grandad, who’s not even a blood relation. But reminds him every single day he’s ‘one step closer to the coffin’. Agnes welcomes Buster Brady into her home as if he were one of her sons. But then reminds the rest of the family to check their handbags and wallets when he’s gone.

‘Buster,’ she says, hugging the baseball-capped rascal, almost teary-eyed.

‘Yes, Mrs Brown?’

‘Buster, you’re the son I never wanted.’

She’s consistently funny. And thought-provoking. When a couple of Mormons come to the door, their unrelenting oversell of the Bible is halted immediately by one Agnes line.

‘If Noah had two of every breed of animal on a small boat, how could two hamsters have caused such chaos in my one house?’

Brendan left his cast behind to travel to the States in the autumn. To Harvard, no less, America’s principal seat of learning. Brendan was asked to go to promote his Mrs Brown books at the Harvard Book Fair as part of a major book tour.

But he wasn’t overly impressed by the offer.