It is not every day that a comedian finds vicious critic (me) and vicious magician (Jerry Sadowitz) at either end of a pew, faces grim, arms folded in defiant 'so make me laugh' mode.
   Well Neil Mullarkey had me pissing myself (and I swear out of the corner of my eye I caught the flicker of a smile from Jerry).
    It is a simple enough formula. Mullarkey lures you into his genealogical lair to discuss the meaning of surnames and their effect on your personality.

   Stung by jibes by his own similitude to "malarky" - as in 'all that' - he launches into a Twilight Zone of loopy ancestors and namesakes to unstain his besmirched appellation.
    I'm not sure how Mullarkey does it, but he deftly weaves his own personal magic to blur the boundary between fact and fantasy as well as that between audience and performer, provoking a sweet fear of being pounced on to answer the man's probing questions.