THE WEIR
Three Irishmen walk into a bar; a mechanic, a deadpan mammy’s boy and a businessman. What follows is not a pithy punchline, but rather a gentle, intimate peephole into a rural village, its friendships, grudges, ghosts and fairies. Written by Conor McPherson and opening in 1997 when the playwright was just 25 (and battling alcoholism), The Weir is a distinctly Irish concoction, with its ever-flowing fount of small whiskeys and larger pints, its supernatural yarns replete with fairy roads and gravestone visiting ghouls, its brogue-laden banter and lyrically-delivered caveat of loss and wry humour. A ‘blow-in,’ Dubliner Valerie, give Brendan, Jack, Jim and Finbar a metaphorical hearth around which to warm their lonely souls – but by the end of the eve, it’s clear she needs them and their stories as much as they need her and the perspective she represents.
Influenced by the great David Mamet and a deep believer that 90% of our behaviour is animalistic, McPherson’s play was ranked 40th in the 100 most significant plays of the 20th Century in a poll run by the Royal National Theatre, London. This production, directed by Alice Livingstone and performed by Patrick Connolly, Barry French, Lynden Jones, Peter McAllum and Amanda Stephens Lee, is a faithful if not fearless staging of the original. If at times the Irish patter slips slightly or the energy droops somewhat, the faultless set and heartfelt commitment to the scenes more than make up for it.
Until Mar 31, New Theatre, 542 King St, Newtown, $15-30, 1300 131 188, newtheatre.org.au
