A jazzy, noir-tinged caper about real-life legend Mike Malloy, whose miraculous survival thwarts an increasingly desperate murder plot.
The chief quality of Irish bar fly Mike Malloy is right there in the title. He won’t die.
And this is a major problem for a growing band of co-conspirators in this insurance scam. Because they really need Mike Malloy to die.
Until he does, they are spending money hand over fist to fund their increasingly outlandish plots.
But Malloy is the “Rasputin of the Bronx”, downing whisky and all sorts of other wicked substances, coming back each time if not stronger then at least not dead, as he should be. A lesser man would have gone down in the first. A sober man would have realised his friends were not his friends. For example, a closer inspection would have revealed the true contents of his freebie sardine sandwich.
Not iron-bellied Mike Malloy, he of the remarkable bounce-backability, amiable stupidity, bottomless tab and drunken Irish ditties. Not Mike the Durable.
And the thing of it is, it’s all true.
Playwright and director Luke Adamson seized on the story after hearing the podcast Things Are About To Get Weird. He had to go back and check again because the story is astounding. The story is a gift.
Capers in dive bars
It’s 1933 and this small-scale production leans heavily into period. There’s a jazzy soundtrack (sound designer Dan Bottomley), a sleazy air of neon, and dry ice (way too much dry ice). People say, “I tell ya” and “It’s our only shot” and a nasally “yeah” making it three syllables and two octaves.
Plotter-in-chief is Francis Pasqua (a light touch from Will Croft), with his trilby and Sam Spade narration. He is a funeral director, so he knows a lot of relevant guys. Elsewhere we have Bryan Pilkington as jovial soak Mike Malloy and Stefani Ariza as speakeasy owner Toni Marino. The pair fill out a full cast of Noo York drunk-tank archetypes with a tonal tweak here and there, having endless fun doing so.
Everything is wry up to the eyeballs – a noir pastiche, a caper, a Pink Panther-esque rollcall of mishaps, long shadows and sharp reversals.
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The script wants you to laugh. There are knowing quips about import tariffs and how no-one would be stupid enough to do that again. Pantomime tiptoeing. Jokes about jugs. They are on the cusp of indulgence and the play wouldn’t suffer for their excision.
But ultimately, you’re pulled back in by Mike Malloy and his inability to die. And there’s much fun to be had re-discovering this astounding fact time and again in 80 entertaining minutes.
The Unkillable Mike Malloy runs at the Bridge House Theatre, Penge, until 26 July 2025
This review was first written for The Spy In The Stalls.