By Don Radovich
BELFAST—A brisk, windy spring night. A pub in a small Irish town. A handful of regular customers. The arrival of a stranger, a comely woman. Each character takes a turn telling tales in a ritual as old as humanity itself.
That’s the deceptively simple setup of the latest play from the Belfast Maskers.
They are to be commended for mounting what is easily one of the best local productions of the year, Colin McPherson’s “The Weir.” While other theatrical companies often and understandably go the safer route, offering broad farces and familiar crowd pleasers, the Maskers have again taken a risk.
“The Weir” is not all surface and sheen. There’s a depth to McPherson’s material that goes beyond the typical community theater offering. There are glimpses of real human emotion that resonate long after the play is over. Ardent local theatergoers should rejoice. It’s the perfect piece for the season, full of ghost stories that send a chill up the spine and an omnipresent atmosphere of isolation.
The play pushes other buttons as well. There’s laughter to be shared, and the humor is rarely forced—it emerges naturally from the colorful setting and characters. There’s sadness, as well, as these lonely characters slowly open up and communicate with each other. It’s a catharsis for characters and audience alike.
There’s a bit of sexual tension in the local pub when boisterous real estate agent Finbar (played by Charlie Hunter) brings his new client Valerie (Nicolle Littrell) over to the local pub to show her off to his old mates. On hand for introductions are bartender Brendan (Peter Conant), handyman Jim (Peter Paton) and auto garage owner Jack (Blair Einstein), all bachelors but not necessarily by choice.
Brendan doesn’t have time, what with running his own pub and all; Jim still takes care of his ancient, invalid mother and Jack has his own reasons that will find voice before the night is over.
After a lot of small talk, the conversation suddenly takes a ghostly turn, as each of the males tries to impress Valerie with personal tales of the supernatural.
Their stories help to explain why each remains rooted, physically and emotionally, to the economically depressed village. But Valerie has her own story to tell—one that explains why she has sought the peace and quiet of the lonely Irish countryside.
There were a few problems onstage Saturday night. The Irish accents were all over the place. While some of the actors seemed comfortable with the dialect, others were less so.
At one point it was clear that lines had been flubbed but professionalism always prevailed and the actors recovered nicely. This is live theater, after all.
I only mention these minor failings to give a little balance to a review that really only wants to extol the merits of this production. Onetime Maskers artistic director Robert Hitt has achieved a remarkable thing with his actors. The dialogue, which is peppered with four-letter words, is delivered in such a realistic fashion, especially during the ghost stories, that it’s hard to believe the actors have actually memorized the words from a script.
Hitt drew on the talents of three local Irish natives as language coaches and the ploy has paid off. The actors are able to deliver the many Irish colloquialisms with confidence.
This is the Maine premiere of “The Weir,” which was originally commissioned by the Royal Court Theatre in London and had its premiere in 1997 at the Court’s tiny Theatre Upstairs. It ran for two years at the main Royal Court stage to much critical and commercial acclaim before enjoying a successful run on Broadway. Among its many awards was the 1999 Olivier Award for “Best New Play.”
