l to r. Lucianne McEvoy, Darragh Kelly, Brian Gleeson, Frank McCuster, Gary Lydon.
Photos. Drew Farrell

“You will not want to let these characters go home”

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars: Outstanding

For an Irish play set in an out of the way bar, The Weir is pretty sobering. That it is also witty, articulate, and beset by place, loss and sprites is less of a surprise. Writer Conor McPherson has serious form by now when it comes to the dregs of self at the bottom of a glass,  or more cheerfully, to the poetry in the head of a creamy pint of Guinness.

Except that the Guinness in Brendan’s bar is ‘off’ because the fecking tap is broken. Jack has to help himself to a bottle (it’s that kind of village pub); Finbar’s ok because he’s become a tad more sophisticated and drinks Harp Lager; Jim, gentle soul, is happy with small chasers; Brendan is pleased to keep them company; and Valerie, well, she’s down from Dublin and might stay a while. She has a white wine – awkward – poured in a straight glass. There is no smoking ban yet and Designer Francis O’Connor has the craic curling across a wide, low beamed, space with the telegraph poles leaning drunkenly outside. There is a television above the bar but it’s a careful, appealing touch when Jack reaches up to switch off the rugby – it might have been gaelic football. The reception was bad anyway.

Nothing interferes with the story telling and there is no interval. First, Jack with his faerie road and spooky knocks at the door; then Finbar, with a terrifying old woman on the stairs; then Jim’s unwitting shocker in the graveyard that summons Valerie’s nightmare; and finally, cleverly, at the fireside, it’s back to Jack as he mournfully recalls his lost chance at love and marriage. Each tale is far too enthralling, too involving and heartfelt, to be contained as a monologue. The silence after Valerie’s story is literally stunning. Director Amanda Gaughan lets it down evocatively, rendering the men helpless in their sympathy.

McPherson’s achievement is to write bar stool conversation that is as moreish as good peanuts, wholesome against the odds. And the Irish cast are very, very good at helping themselves: Gary Lydon as Jack, sturdy, crumpled; Darragh Kelly as Jim, fond, credulous; Brian Gleeson (yes, son of ….) as Brendan, open, obliging; Lucianne McEvoy as Valerie, injured, self-possessed. And Frank McCusker as Finbar, whose equable, decent, tones stay short of the self-satisfied.

Brian Gleeson, Brendan, and Gary Lydon as Jack.
Harp Lager and Draught Guinness as themselves.

‘The Weir’ was written in 1997, enjoyed immediate success and has attracted lyrical approval thereafter. Personally, I’ll play safe and just recognise how companionable a piece it is. You will not want to let these characters go home in the rain*. Single men, who know each other well, have gathered hospitably, stood each other a drink (or two), and have talked idly. However, there is the one woman amongst them and it’s Valerie who’s channeling the hard stuff.

(*Too tempting, sorry, not to cross -reference to Seamus Heaney’s Casualty from a darker period whose subject is the ‘Dawn-sniffing revenant’ plodding home from the pub in midnight rain.)

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 19 January)

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l.tor: Charlotte Miranda Smith as Susan, Ben Onwukwe as Aslan, and Claire-Marie Sneddon as Lucy.
Photos. Royal Lyceum Theatre.

“Fantastical adventure and heart”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Allegory or not, “It’s [still] a magic wardrobe. There’s a wood inside it, and it’s snowing, and there’s a faun and a witch and it’s called Narnia. Come and see.”

And enchanting it certainly is. This 2009 adaptation follows the adventures of four WWII evacuees as they travel through the wardrobe and discover the mysterious, wintry world of Narnia, encountering everything from witches to talking lions, to Father Christmas. C S Lewis’ wondrous story is expertly captured on the Lyceum stage by director Andrew Panton, and is an absolute triumph of a Christmas show.

The one thing that is immediately evident is how polished a production this is. Each scene change is almost like an smooth apparition; as if in some transitory dream, the audience move from one moment to the next without really knowing how they got there, and it’s wonderful. As the oak-panelled set opens out to reveal Narnia for the first time, one cannot help but gasp – with the younger audience – at the intricate display on stage: snow falls and coats the floor in a sparkling white blanket; tall icy trees seem to go on forever and that iconic lamp post glows in the shadows, waiting patiently for Mr Tumnus to appear. The impressive set is further complimented by sumptuous costume design, particularly in that of the animals. Mr and Mrs Beaver and Aslan the Lion are brought to life not only through their physicality but also through that wardrobe, but literally this time.

Stunning set and faithful costume aside, it is the strength of the cast that bring the real magic to this production. Special commendation must go to James Rottger, Charlotte Miranda Smith, Christian Ortega and Claire-Marie Sneddon, playing children Peter, Susan, Edmond and Lucy, respectively. As an audience member, there is often an underlying fear when watching adult actors in child roles as, if poorly performed, it can often remove you from the story. Yet this troupe executes their performances with such a warm and honest vulnerability that it is impossible not to be drawn into their adventure.

This childlike wondering proves all the more effective through the addition of song to the narrative. While some numbers do feel unnecessary, they do give the show another dimension of fantastical adventure and heart. After defeating the Witch, and the cast start singing the words, “You can’t know, but you can believe”, the spellworking in the theatre is almost palpable, and it is hard to suppress the urge to wave back at Aslan and the faun as they bid their farewell to their audience.

As stage magic goes, cutting the mustard might be up there as tricky; and evil White Witch (Pauline Knowles) has trouble living the part that is forever Tilda Swinton’s. A chilling performance works for her at times but it is often ambushed by pantomime warmth and is limited by the reach and power of the virtuous characters.

However, this is holy Advent time and this is a lovely production of a miraculous story that will delight the expectations of the children and grown-ups who come to see it.

Reviewer: Rachel Cram (Seen 4 December)

Go to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe at the Lyceum.

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Bill Paterson and Bian Cox as Estragon and Vladimir.
Photos by Alan McCredie.

“Magic and compassionate”

Editorial Rating: 5 Stars  Outstanding

A production dedicated to the memory of Kenny Ireland (1945 – 2014), artistic director of the Royal Lyceum Theatre Company from 1992 to 2003.

It’s celebratory. 50 years of the Lyceum Theatre Company and 50 years, thereabouts, that Vladimir and Estragon reckon that they’ve been together. It’s always nice to be definite about those two, as over the years they’ve acquired a reputation for being as equivocal and as moot as Monsieur Godet, Godot, or Godin, himself. Well, not any more, for this indelible production of Samuel Beckett’s famous play nails them as surely as any I’ve seen – and that includes the Ian McKellan and Patrick Stewart show of 2009. I’m in complete agreement with Gogo (Estragon) when he says ‘They all change. Only we can’t’.

It is probably Didi’s pee stained trousers that did it. For a play that elsewhere is often taken as an exhibition piece for metaphor, where the grave digger puts on the forceps, etc., here a weak bladder in a sixty-two year old man is a weak bladder and that’s that. Gogo’s boots stink, his feet are putrid, and every time that he is reminded that they’re waiting for Godot he stiffens in a gut churning, stomach cramped response. It is unsurprising then that the here and now – the blasted tree on the bleached cold set, the vicious kicks to the hapless Lucky – is ‘kackon country’.

And there’s the marvel: one shitty situation made bearable by kindness and affection, because that is what the magic, compassionate, pairing of Brian Cox and Bill Paterson achieves. Cox plays Vladimir as philosopher clown, constrained to smile rather than laugh. Paterson as Estragon has the pallor to match his delivery. It would be deadpan were it not so forlorn. And it would, of course, be a Laurel and Hardy tribute act were it not for the existential, timeless, pitch and spin of the dialogue. There’s that moment, early in Act 1, when Vladimir is telling the story of the two thieves crucified alongside Christ and Estragon is seriously unimpressed by the ‘Saviour’ word. Didi just wants his story listened to and Cox makes light of his exasperation with a gentle, relaxed ‘Come on, Gogo, return the ball, can’t you, once in a way?’ The half crouch and the outstretched hands look to be off the rugby field to me, which is neat (and topical). Funny too how easily Beckett’s language adapts to Scottish performance for there’s a near constant exchange between blethering and ‘discourse’ that is practically endearing and is certainly comic.

This is not bleak end-gamed Beckett. Take Estragon’s sudden ‘Que voulez-vous?’ that arrests another of their little riffs. That could be a surly or desperate, ‘What do you want?’, but actually it’s much more generous and appealing than that. ‘What do you know [of me]?’ is what Mark Thomson, as director, answers and so two preposterous, hopeless down-and-outs from somewhere wasted and foreign, acquire an extraordinary humanity that fetches warm-hearted laughter from their audience. They might have finished themselves off years ago ‘hand in hand off the top of the Eiffel Tower’ but too late for that now. Instead, we hear of Gogo and Didi picking grapes in Burgundy and Didi rescuing his friend from a suicidal dive into the Rhone.

John Bett as Pozzo (l) and Benny Young as Lucky (r)

So the blaring inhumanity of the nihilist Pozzo (John Bett) towards Lucky (Benny Young) is made all the more pronounced. These two are truly displaced, dispossessed, and bound. The rope between them just gets shorter as they become increasingly helpless and incoherent. As they collapse, Estragon’s spirits rise and he is almost cheerful. Paterson has that wonderful line: ‘We’ll go to the Pyrenees .. I’ve always wanted to wander in the Pyrenees’.

Yes, it is a question of make-believe and tone but this Godot stands in the light at the mouth of the tunnel and turns its back on the darkness beyond. I found it really illuminating.

(And, ‘cos it’s good and relevant, go to the BBC’s Today programme on http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p031g8l1 to hear a magisterial Michael Billington explain why Waiting for Godot is not in his list of ‘101 Greatest Plays’. Actor Lisa Dwan will have none of it.)

Reviewer: Alan Brown  (Seen 22 September)

Go to Waiting for Godot at the Lyceum here.

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