The Weir
3Olympia Theatre, Dublin
★★★★☆
Conor McPherson speaks about writing The Weir as Paul McCartney speaks about writing Yesterday. “It didn’t take long. It just arrived,” the playwright has said. Yet, nearly 30 years after its debut in the West End of London, it has become an immutable staple on the cultural menu.
It helps that the scenario is as clean as that of Waiting for Godot. Three men and a woman spend a night in a remote country pub. The lads fall into bettering one another with half-believed ghost stories. The woman unthinkingly shuts them up with allusions to a genuine trauma. Smaller, more everyday sadness rounds out the evening.
McPherson’s own revival for Landmark Productions and Kate Horton Productions, at 3Olympia Theatre, points up that we are now dealing with a period piece. All that indoor smoking is one thing. The barman’s confusion at being asked for a glass of white wine is entirely another. Even the humblest Leitrim pub now has a bottle of cooking Riesling in the fridge.
That noted, the word “timeless” is still unavoidable. McPherson looks to begin with a new joke as the famous closing surge from Richard Strauss’s Four Last Songs – what, after all, are we about to hear? – escorts us towards a busier set than those in most earlier productions; Rae Smith has designed a pub with a lived-in clutter that speaks to generations of wasted time.
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The publicity material blares Brendan Gleeson’s name above the title as film posters once yelled that of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and, though this is unquestionably an ensemble piece, the great man does provide an astral mass for the other actors to orbit. This is king acting of the most unmistakable stripe. As Jack, the oldest of the customers, Gleeson communicates an authority that none dares challenge. (Few will be surprised to hear that Brian Cox played the role a decade or so ago.)
[ Brendan Gleeson: ‘I can’t go into a pub any more. I really miss it’Opens in new window ]
What distinguishes this evening from, we guess, a few thousand others is the arrival of Valerie (Kate Phillips, immensely touching), a forward-thinking young woman from the city, with the white-suited, self-impressed Finbar (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor). Seán McGinley is amusing as the slow-witted Jim. Owen McDonnell is long-suffering as Brendan the barman. The newcomer’s presence encourages the lads to toy with the macabre.
Without wishing to embarrass any of our greats, a few of the male actors skew significantly older than the characters as described in the original playscript. But, if anything, this only adds to the poignancy of men facing up to unsatisfactorily lived lives. All four storytellers relish the opportunity to roll their lips around yarns that combine pure barroom baloney with atavistic connection to primal spirits.
Failure is scarcely to be contemplated when pointing such fine actors at such an indestructible text. Special mention should, however, be made of Vaughan-Lawlor’s magnificent turn as the perfectly ghastly Finbar. If someone were to stage a ballet of the ancient video game Leisure Suit Larry then this performance, as eccentrically hilarious as any in a Preston Sturges flick, will surely win Vaughan-Lawlor consideration. Or he could he play Fool to Gleeson’s Lear. Now there’s a thought.
The Weir is at 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin, until Saturday, September 6th; it then runs at the Harold Pinter Theatre, in London, until Saturday, December 6th
