The Acton Off-Broadway Theatre Review: IRT’s The Weir
By Acton
It’s a perfect Irish pub. That’s what I thought, stepping off the hot, empty August sidewalk and into the shaded haven of The Weir (writer Conor McPherson, director Ciarán O’Reilly). The astonishingly matter-of-fact, lived-in set created by Charlie Corcoran (Acorn’s Straight) transports us to a remote little pub somewhere in the middle of Ireland. It’s a comfortable and shabby little retreat from the windy, wet night (sound design Drew Levy), the walls lined with knick-knacks and photos of old-timers. The chips on the rack behind the bar look like they’ve been there for 30 years.
The pub stirs to life as its first customer (Dan Butler as Jack) lets himself in and begins the night’s drinking, soon joined by the owner, Brendan (Johnny Hopkins), who lives right upstairs. Their conversation seems to pick up from where they left off as lamps and stoves are lit for a bit of light and warmth. Soon they’re joined by another doleful regular (John Keating as Jim), and settle in for another humdrum evening of whiskey and beer.
Jack remembers a bit of news that has him riled: a woman has moved into the area. This disturbance to their closed ecosystem is made worse by the fact that their married friend Finbar (Sean Gormley) has been seen showing her around, and he’s likely to bring her around tonight to this very bar. Jack’s a little incoherent about what in the situation irritates him so much, but he seems to harbor general consternation against life, the universe, and everything.
Soon, Finbar arrives with the lovely newcomer Valerie (Sarah Street), who stuns Brendan when she asks for the most exotic drink he’s ever served, a glass of white wine. With laddish chivalry, the men take turns entertaining and educating Valerie about the history and folklore of the little town. Each tells an eerie story about the reappearance of a long-gone neighbor, brushes with the paranormal, or other weird events that can only be attributed to the nearby fairy road.
As it turns out, Valerie has a ghost story of her own to tell. She’s moved from Dublin with her husband (you can feel the men’s silent surprise at the husband reveal), partly in an attempt to move on from a very personal and recent tragedy. After she’s related her own encounter with the supernatural, the men rush in to gently correct her. Couldn’t she have been mistaken? There could be a million explanations for what she experienced. The men are genial but insistent on protecting Valerie from confronting her own loss. The conversation moves on, and the night wraps up soon after.
The Weir at the Irish Repertory Theatre is a marvelously haunting play, seemingly about ghost stories, but really about lonely people who distract themselves from their own unhappiness through alcohol and routine. I especially enjoyed Johnny Hopkins’ barkeep with the thousand-yard stare, decades younger than his customers but resigned to the same solitary life. Sean Gormley is witty and dapper as the most composed of the pub regulars, the only one who dresses as if he has someone to look good for (costume design Leon Dobkowski). Lighting design by Michael Gottlieb (IRT’s On Beckett / In Screen) creates an enchanting atmosphere of hushed attention as the characters spin their yarns. The pub was perfect for an evening, but I was happy to move on from this place where everybody knows your name.
