THEY say that a most common trait among the widely popular is lack of character. In the world of Irish theatre there is one man who believes that maxim, and he is Bernard Farrell.
No one is better regarded among theatre people or held in such widespread affection, while at the same time holding his own strong views. It's all a question of style, of how he says it.
Indeed, he remains one of the few in the small, frequently touchy world of Irish theatre who has suffered nothing other than goodwill from his fellow playwright and neighbour Hugh Leonard, a man who once famously compared Dublin to a septic tank where writers are concerned.
"The biggest turds rise to the top," he elaborated, with probably a few of same in mind. Indeed in 1992 Bernard Farrell took great exception to Hugh Leonard being left out of the Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing, suggesting that to do so was akin to creating a map of the world which did not include Utopia.
"How anyone can talk about Irish drama and not include him is mystifying," he said, describing himself as "small potatoes" by comparison and so worthy of the exclusion that was also his fate.
It is the first time the AngloIrish Bancorp bursary - which will enable Farrell to write for a year and may result in a new play for the Abbey - has gone to a writer of comedy. Since it was instituted by Mr Gay Maloney of the Ansbacher Bank in 1987, previous winners have included Tom Murphy, Tom McIntyre, Frank McGuinness, Marina Carr and Sebastian Barry.
None of those deserving writers would have a reputation for comedy, adding to the perception that it tends to be taken less seriously in theatre. Which is probably why audiences continue to fall away.
When such attitudes prevail writers such as Bernard Farrell suffer. "I began to feel like the little boy Santa Claus forgot," he remarked on receiving the bursary (the amount was unspecified) at the Abbey last week, "I never got a bursary before and I never got a prize since I won the Rooney Prize for Literature in 1980."
He recalled that when he resigned his job with Sealink in 1979, he thought: "This is the way things are going to be from now on, winning prizes and putting plays on at the Abbey". But it has not been quite like that since his first play I Do Not Like Thee Doctor Fell erupted on to the Abbey stage in 1979.
Not that it really disturbs him. In 1994, while his play The Last Apache Reunion was enjoying great success, he remarked: "I've had this feeling from the very beginning, since I wrote Doctor Fell, that once a certain type of establishment mind hears laughter it switches off, because telling jokes is considered a very minor art form."
He quoted the successful English writer of comedies, Alan Ayckbourn, who said: "When I start emptying theatres and winning awards, that's when I'll worry".
Early on, the "establishment mind" in Irish theatre decided that Bernard Farrell was only about "telling jokes". The result was a trivialisation of his work and years in which it was neglected. But beneath the fast moving farce of Doctor Fell, Canaries, Forty Four Sycamore, Happy Birthday Dear Alice and he Last Apache Reunion are serious subjects, each of which is dealt with in a style which makes the painful tolerable.
"The basis of all humour is a race from despair rather than a race from truth," he once said, as though underlining that view.
For many, the recognition of Bernard Farrell as "a serious writer" only took place in 1993 when his Last Apache Reunion was staged at the Abbey.
Dealing with a school reunion, which devolves into a resurrection of things past, it was described by one critic as possessing "the same dark and dangerous comedy [as Doctor Fell] in which characters are poised on the knife edge between hilarious absurdity and hysterical breakdown". Bernard Farrell had been rediscovered, not least by the Abbey, after a prolonged absence.
In the intervening years he bead written for radio and television, collaborated successfully with the Red Kettle company in Waterford to produce Happy Birthday Dear Alice, for instance, and there had been numerous productions of his plays, Canaries in particular, by amateur companies.
Born in Sandycove, Co Dublin, in 1940, he worked as a clerk at Sealink until 1979, during which time he also wrote short stories and did some freelance journalism. He travelled a lot, all over Europe and Russia in particular. It was on one such journey he met Gloria, in Paris.
He left Sealink to concentrate on his writing. He sent Doctor Fell to the Abbey where to his surprise it was accepted and staged and was a great success.
Canaries followed, then All in Favour Said No, All the Way Back and Petty Sessions. He was on the way.
His fortunes dipped somewhat in the 1980s, as he was perceived as "lightweight". But he has been back on top again since Forty Four Sycamore with Red Kettle in 1992.
He is as popular on the amateur circuit as with professional theatre people, and for the same reasons - his quiet good humour, his genial manner and a consistent amiability.
As a member of one such amateur group said: "He is lovely, and so is his wife. There are no airs or graces, he's like an ordinary fellow just off the street. He doesn't demand any special attention and is always full of praise for what people do".
