He’s become famous as a chronicler of Dublin family life in the rare auld times, when siblings shared bedrooms and frequently beds, when Mammy ruled the roost, when sons and daughters handed up their wage packets, unopened, mind you, to be given back whatever monies Ma decided would see you through the week. In particular, O’Carroll’s many books and plays have charted the highs and lows of the Brown dynasty, headed by the dowager empress Agnes, who will shortly take to the Olympia stage in her native Dublin as a newly qualified widow.

There was a time when the only way Brendan O’Caroll was going to enter the Olympia theatre was by ringing Ticketmaster like everybody else. At one time the organisers of the Dublin Theatre Festival refused permission for his work to be included in that event; an unperturbed O’Carroll proceeded to stage the play independently, to huge success. Now returning to Dublin with Good Mourning Mrs Brown, direct from an extended run in Glasgow that saw one million people attend the play, it must surely feel like a vindication?

“It’s a vindication in that we’ve been touring the play all over the UK and in America and it’s been a huge success,” he says. “That’s gratifying. In terms of becoming accepted by a kind of theatre elite, that’s never been a concern of mine, I have no interest in being part of that establishment. In my experience, those people think theatre should be obscure, it should carry a message, it should be reflective of its time, it should be… theatrical! I’m not about that, I’m about entertaining people. I’ll tell you why we’re in the Olympia this time around, and why we played the Gaiety last year. When I approached those theatres some years ago they were being run by ‘theatre people’ of the mindset I’ve described, with connections to the Arts Council and the Irish Film Board. Now both those theatres are owned by Denis Desmond, a man who’s in the same business as I am. Show business.”

Is he saying that the play is merely a light piece, containing no artistic merit?

“The play is primarily about giving the audience a good, funny, entertaining night out. I haven’t conciously inserted a message, but I don’t think you can generalise or second guess your audience. If someone comes along and laughs at the gags and goes home happy that’s grand. If someone else picks up on a sentiment or finds something reflective in the piece, that’s fine too, once they also go home happy. I’ve no problem with writers who choose to confound, or challenge or disturb an audience, but I have no interest in that sort of project. Life is confounding and challenging and disturbing enough, thanks. I’d rather have a laugh.”

Is he surprised by the success of the play abroad, given its particularly Dublin flavour?

“When I wrote Mrs Brown’s Boys for the radio, I thought it would be popular in Dublin and that would be it. When we began touring Ireland with The Outrageous Comedy Show I was surprised that they got it in Cork! When the first book, The Mammy, came out I began to get letters from Hawaii, Denver, Alaska, one from a guy in India for fuck’s sake! And I was amazed, because I thought it was a purely Dublin thing, but of course it’s not. She’s Mrs Brownoski in New York, Mrs Braun in Hamburg and Mrs Brandabadghita in Bombay. It’s a universal thing. Mrs Brown believes that her ship is eventually going to come in, despite every evidence to the contrary. She believes that something good is always just around the corner, and maybe that’s a universal hope or dream of every human being.”

For a man who insists that the play is a piece of pure entertainment, O’Carroll is passionate when he discusses the work, particularly since his own life suggests a self-made man who worked demonically to make things happen, in direct contrast to Mrs Brown’s ethos.

“Maybe that’s what I love so much about the character, that she has that belief and I don’t. I believe it’s purely up to me. But it’s a bit like the confirmed agnostic who envys the believer their faith. I don’t believe it’s true, but jayzus wouldn’t it be fuckin’ fantastic if it was.”

The play is set at a time when Irish mores and morals were very different from today, and while family values and a community spirit are celebrated, there’s no mention of TB or rickets. Does O’Carroll believe that we were better off back then?

“Jayzus I don’t know,” he confesses. “You

were allowed beat kids in those days because

you might be in bad form. That’s criminal and thank god that such behaviour would rightly

get you arrested these days. That said, there

was a respect for authority then that doesn’t

exist now. When I was a kid playing soccer in

the street you’d hide the ball if you saw a garda. Now you’ve got 12 year-old kids telling gardai

to go fuck themselves, and I don’t think that

kind of unwarranted disrespect is good for

anyone, least of all the kids themselves. There’s

a general lack of self respect among elements

of society that I really don’t remember being

present when I was growing up. But it’s another contradiction. You can’t fuckin’ beat respect

into somebody. And in fairness it’s become

more and more apparent that some people in positions of power have done very little to earn our respect. Which is a big part of the problem. Corrupt politicians and abusive clergy. And I don’t accept the argument that it’s just a few bad apples, it’s not, read the papers, it’s widespread. And it’s been allowed to continue. When authority remains silent when it is aware that there is wrongdoing then it loses that authority. And our respect.”

Does he think that the various tribunals are an adequate way to address this shortcoming?

“While I think that a lot of peope, me included, have been confused by what’s going on, and concerned about the cost, I think it’s necessary. People are being brought to account, and that’s a good thing. People who believed they were above the law, or above a certain morality, have been humbled. And that might make somebody else in the same position think twice. I’ll tell you a story. At a script meeting with some producers in Hollywood once, in a top LA restaurant, I was just about to tuck into me starter when the guys I was with looked at each other and motioned that we were leaving. And as I got up I noticed that everyone in the place was following suit. Just as I was about to ask what the story was, I noticed that standing at the reception desk awaiting a table was OJ Simpson with a small party. And everyone else in the place left immediately. That’s his prison. And it’s a life sentence.”

Getting back to matters artistic, are there any plans for further episodes of the Mrs Brown saga in book form?

“I’m currently working on a prequel to the works I’ve done so far, which will tell the story of how Agnes’ parents met, which happened in 1920 when he was a rebel on the run. And he goes to Liverpool and falls under the spell of Larkin, who’s preaching evolution as opposed to revolution. And he returns to Dublin and by coincidence finds himself employed in Agnes’ grandfather’s foundry, where her mother, his daughter works as the wages clerk. And he has a run in with her when he discovers that he wages have been docked even though he hasn’t been late because of a fault in the clock-on clock. So he… Wait a minute. I’m not writing the fuckin’ book here. Buy it when it comes out. And come and see the play, it’s a laugh.”

Good Mourning Mrs Brown has just begun a five-week run in the Olympia Theatre, Dublin