Theatre in Review: The United States vs. Ulysses (Once Off Productions/Irish Arts Center)Our national pastime -- I'm talking about book-banning, of course -- is revisited in this lively, sometimes scattered slice of literary history. It's hilarious that a work as willfully obscure as James Joyce's Ulysses was ever considered too obscene for American readers, as if it were a midcentury bodice ripper like Forever Amber or Peyton Place. But that was the state of play in 1933, when the novel -- a must-have accouterment for the in-the-know traveler returning from Europe -- fell into the hands of Random House publisher Bennett Cerf, bent on making it widely available to his fellow citizens. Cerf's gambit -- to smuggle the book into the US, get caught, and issue a court challenge -- is the basis of The United States vs Ulysses; oddly, it has been imagined as an episode of the CBS radio series The March of Time, in which ripped-from-the-headlines stories were dramatized. (Interestingly, it was also the precursor of the newsreel series that appeared in cinemas from the mid-thirties to the early fifties.) Thus, in the first few minutes, a company of edgy, expectant actors await their scripts, which are delivered at the last minute, forcing them to make a running start into their nationwide broadcast. Talking about breaking news! Viewed from the audience, this particular trial yields a mixed verdict, although, to be sure, Colin Murphy's script has many amusing and enlightening moments. Among the former is Cerf's discovery that knowing, tolerant customs officials tend to let Ulysses into the country with a wink and a nod; not until he shows up at the New York docks and reads Molly Bloom's lusty soliloquy out loud are the cops called in. It's also fun to see Margaret Anderson and Jane Heap, publishers of the famed literary journal The Little Review, which carried large sections of the novel, working with Ezra Pound to quietly bowdlerize some of Joyce's scatological references, daintily converting "He felt a gentle loosening of his bowels" to "loosening in his stomach" before striking the sentence altogether. "God, the man is revolting," Pound notes, and he is not alone: We get a parade of bold-faced literary names weighing in on the book, both pro (T. S. Eliot, Rebecca West) and con (Virginia Woolf). My favorite is Arnold Bennett's comment: "Ulysses is more indecent, obscene, scatological, and licentious than the majority of professedly pornographical books...and I have read most of them." Well, there's nothing like doing one's research. As the basis for drama, however, the trial is less than ideal, as much of the action involves a series of delaying tactics by Morris Ernst, Random House's lawyer, to prevent Molly Bloom's monologue from being read in court. (If that happens, he fears, the jig will be up.) The back and forth between Ernst and prosecuting attorney Sam Coleman is repetitive, with the latter mostly repeating his charge of indecency. (Interestingly, one point made at the trial, yet left unaddressed here, is Joyce's attitude toward the Roman Catholic Church, which many found scandalous.) The radio play framework is shaky at best, since many sections of the script, including a discourse on the etymology of the word "fuck," would never have made it on the air in 1933. It's equally strange to have the actress Clare Barrett, as an onlooker in the courtroom, repeatedly shouting "Yes!" like Molly Bloom at key points. In terms of its artifice, The United States vs. Ulysses would benefit from more explicit ground rules. In this context, one apparent distraction, a lengthy dream sequence, which dramatizes part of Ulysses' "Nighttown" passages, proves valuable for showing that, rather than any pornographic qualities (Has anyone ever read Ulysses for the naughty bits?) what disturbed readers was the chaos inherent in the book's depiction of human beings' everyday stream of consciousness. This supports Ernst's winning argument that Joyce's revelatory depiction of how our minds operate gives it a literary distinction that overrules questions of vulgarity or indecency. Still, it's a stop-and-go evening, sometimes stimulating and sometimes repetitive -- although Conall Morrison's staging never flags in its pacing. The actors throw themselves into multiple roles, although it's confusing for Ross Gaynor to play Cerf and Coleman in the same scene. Also, a little dialect coaching would do wonders to stem those brogues from breaking through assumed American accents. If Liam Doona's broadcast studio setting is strangely lacking in audio gear, Catherine Fay's costumes and John Comiskey's lighting are fine. Simon Kenny's sound design includes the March of Time theme music, associated sound effects, and original compositions, all solidly done. Since the libraries of America are once again under assault by self-appointed guardians of decency convinced that we are all one racy novel away from perdition, The United States vs. Ulysses should probably make a bigger impact than it does. Still, as a meditation on changing times, evolving standards, and the roots of moral panic, it provides food for thought: Of all the people involved in the trial, only Cerf is remembered, and then by only a few Boomers, while Joyce's novel is still provoking strong reactions. It's often the most polarizing works of art that enjoy the longest shelf lives. --David Barbour 
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