Tag Archives: Irish Repertory Theatre

ONE-MAN SHOWS: JOHN KEVIN JONES / AASIF MANDVI / BILL IRWIN

John Kevin Jones pays tribute to Edgar Allan Poe at historic Merchant’s House Museum (photo by Joey Stocks)

KILLING AN EVENING WITH EDGAR ALLAN POE: MURDER AT THE MERCHANT’S HOUSE
Merchant’s House Museum
29 East Fourth St. between Lafayette St. and the Bowery
October 12-31, $18
212-777-1089
merchantshouse.org
www.summonersensemble.org

Purely by coincidence, I saw three one-man shows this week, on three successive nights, and all three have strong reasons for me to recommend them. On Tuesday, I was at the historic Merchant’s House Museum on East Fourth St. to see John Kevin Jones in Killing an Evening with Edgar Allan Poe: Murder at the Merchant’s House. Jones has a kind of cult fan club for his annual one-man version of A Christmas Carol at the museum, a home built in 1831-32 that was occupied continuously by the Tredwell family from 1835 to 1933. The nineteenth century feels very present in the house, which was one of the first twenty buildings to gain landmark status under the city’s 1965 law and functions as a museum, preserving the Tredwell family’s furnishings as they would have appeared when Poe, coincidentally, lived nearby for a time at 85 West Third St. and later in a cottage in the Bronx. Dressed in nineteenth-century-style jacket, vest, top hat, and ascot, Jones celebrates Edgar Allan Poe with three of his most popular writings, preceded by short introductions about each work and Poe’s career.

Forty people are squeezed into the Tredwells’ candlelit double parlor — with a coffin at one end and a dining table at the other — and Jones walks up and down the narrow space between, where the audience is seated on three sides, boldly delivering two classic Poe tales of treachery and murder, “The Tell-Tale Heart” and “The Cask of Amontillado,” both from memory. His deep, theatrical voice resonates through the room as he catches the eye of audience members, adding yet more chills and thrills to the mystery in the air. He then sits down with a book for the long poem “The Raven,” evoking the great Poe actor Vincent Price. Jones, director Dr. Rhonda Dodd, and stage manager Dan Renkin, the leaders of Summoners Ensemble Theatre, keep the focus on Poe’s remarkable narrative technique; you might be watching one man, but you’ll feel like you’re seeing each of Poe’s characters in vivid detail. The sold-out show continues October 22, 23, and 31; tickets for A Christmas Carol, however, are still available.

Asaaf Mandvi brings back his Obie-winning (photo by Lisa Berg)

Aasif Mandvi brings back his Obie-winning Sakina’s Restaurant to the Minetta Lane (photo by Lisa Berg)

SAKINA’S RESTAURANT
Audible Theater at Minetta Lane Theatre
18 Minetta Lane between Sixth Ave. and MacDougal St.
Tuesday – Sunday through November 11, $57-$97
sakinasrestaurantplay.com

On Wednesday night I headed to the Minetta Lane Theatre, where Audible has been staging one-person shows that are also available as audios. First, Billy Crudup starred in David Cale’s modern noir Harry Clarke, then Carey Mulligan excelled in Dennis Kelly’s intense Girls & Boys, and now Aasif Mandvi has brought back his Obie-winning 1998 show, Sakina’s Restaurant. Born in India and raised in England, Mandvi studied with acting teacher Wynn Handman, whose students have also included solo specialists Eric Bogosian and John Leguizamo. In the slightly revamped autobiographical tale, directed by Kimberly Senior (Disgraced, The Niceties), Mandvi plays six characters, beginning with Agzi, an eager young man who is leaving his small, tight-knit Indian village to go to America, where he will be sponsored by Hakim (his father’s real name) and Farrida, who run Sakina’s Restaurant on, of course, East Sixth St. Before leaving, Agzi promises his mother he will write to her from all across the United States. “I will even write to you from Cleveland! Cleveland, Ma! Home of all the Indians!”

Mandvi (Disgraced, Halal in the Family) creatively slips into each character, adding glasses, a tie, a dress, or a Game Boy to delineate among Hakim, a serious man who wants only the best for his family; Farrida, who desires more out of her mundane life; their high-school-age daughter, Sakina, who has an American boyfriend and wants to immerse herself in Western culture but who has already been promised to an Indian man by their fathers; their younger son, Samir, who doesn’t really care about anything but his immediate enjoyment; Ali, Sakina’s nervous intended in the arranged marriage; and Agzi, who is not having as exciting a time as he imagined in America. Wilson Chin’s set looks just like several Sixth St. Indian restaurants I’ve been to. The story itself occasionally drags and has trouble skirting stereotypes, but Mandvi is superb, warm and likable, particularly when he talks directly to the audience as Agzi, sharing his hopes and dreams.

Bill Irwin shares his love of all things Samuel Beckett at the Irish Rep (photo by Carol Rosegg)

ON BECKETT
Irish Repertory Theatre
Francis J. Greenburger Mainstage
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through November 4, $50-$70
212-727-2737
irishrep.org

On Thursday night I was at the Irish Rep to see On Beckett, Bill Irwin’s very personal exploration of the work of Samuel Beckett and, in many ways, a combination of the two previous one-man shows I saw, evoking John Kevin Jones’s mastery of Edgar Allan Poe’s texts and Aasif Mandvi’s expert handling of multiple characters. For eighty-seven minutes, Tony-winning actor and certified clown Irwin delves into his vast enthusiasm for Beckett’s writings without ever becoming professorial or pedantic. “I am not a ‘Beckett scholar’ — nooo. Nor am I a Beckett biographer,” he admits. “Mine is an actor’s relationship with this language. By which I mean the deep knowledge that comes from committing words to memory, and speaking them to audiences.” Irwin (Old Hats, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) performs selections from Beckett’s 1955 collection Texts for Nothing, his 1950s novels The Unnamable and Watt, and the Irish writer’s most famous play, Waiting for Godot, significantly altering his delivery style, voice, and rhythm for each work.

Irwin adds fascinating insight to Beckett and his oeuvre, discussing the Nobel Prize winner’s punctuation and pronoun usage, his identity and heritage, the possible influence of vaudeville on his work, his detailed stage directions, and other intricacies. “Was Beckett a writer of the body, or of the intellect?” Irwin asks. “Smells like a question you could waste a lot of time on, but I think you can say that he was a writer acutely attuned to silhouette.” His appreciation of Beckett echoes that of Jones’s for Poe, while his simple but effective costume changes — switching among numerous bowlers, putting on baggy pants and clown shoes — work like Mandvi’s to distinguish individuals. Irwin spends a significant part of the show on Waiting for Godot, discussing the correct pronunciation of the title character’s name, examining the role of Lucky, and reminiscing about the production he appeared in with Robin Williams, John Goodman, Steve Martin, and Nathan Lane. Charlie Corcoran’s spare black set consists only of a podium and two rectangular boxes that Irwin can rearrange for various purposes. Irwin is a delight to watch, his passion for Beckett infectious. He occasionally goes off topic in comic ways, wrestling with a microphone and toying with the podium, but he eventually gets back on track for an enchanting piece of theater about theater.

The following evening, my string of one-man shows came to an end with the Wheelhouse Theater’s new adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut’s Happy Birthday, Wanda June, opening Tuesday at the Duke. Bringing the theme full circle, Wanda June features a ferocious performance by Jason O’Connell, whom I saw last year in his own solo outing, The Dork Knight, about his lifelong affinity for Batman.

THE SEAFARER

Five men celebrate Christmas Eve with plenty of drink in Irish Rep revival of The Seafarer (photo by Carol Rosegg)

Irish Repertory Theatre, Francis J. Greenburger Mainstage
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Wednesday – Sunday through May 24, $50-$70
212-727-2737
www.irishrep.org

Lightning doesn’t quite strike twice for director Ciarán O’Reilly, star Matthew Broderick, and playwright Conor McPherson in the Irish Rep revival of The Seafarer. In June 2016, O’Reilly directed Broderick in a haunting revival of McPherson’s 2004 West End hit, Shining City, which was nominated for Best Play and Best Actor (Oliver Platt) when it moved to Broadway in 2006. Two years later, The Seafarer garnered four Tony nods, including Best Play and Best Director (McPherson). The current version of The Seafarer, continuing on the Francis J. Greenburger Mainstage through May 24, is a stormy black comedy that takes place on Christmas Eve morning in a squalid, creaky basement apartment in Baldoyle, a coastal settlement north of Dublin City, that looks like a hurricane just passed through. Sharky (an exceptional Andy Murray) is cleaning up after what must have been one helluva drunken gathering the night before. Bottles and cans are strewn all over Charlie Corcoran’s vividly detailed, dank and dingy, crowded set, a shambles stuffed full of piles of junk, old record albums, ratty furniture, stained wallpaper, a small iron stove, and a puny fake Christmas tree. Recently on the wagon, Sharky is an uptight, tense fisherman and chauffeur who is taking care of his perpetually drunk, recently blinded, overweight wastrel of an older brother, Richard (Colin McPhillamy). Their friend Ivan (Michael Mellamphy) spent the night, too drunk to go home to his wife and kids. Ivan has misplaced his car and his glasses, which serves as a metaphor for all the characters, who are each unable to look ahead and move forward in life. Sharky is none too keen when Nicky (Tim Ruddy) arrives, a somewhat slicker man who is now living with Sharky’s ex-girlfriend. Nicky also brings a special guest, the well-dressed, well-spoken Mr. Lockhart (Broderick), who is more than he appears to be. “I’ve seen you. On your travels. On your wandering ways,” Lockhart tells Sharky when the two of them are alone. “I’ve seen all those hopeless thoughts, buried there, in your stupid scrunched-up face.” The mysterious Lockhart has come to collect on a debt, one that Sharky might not even have realized he still owes but has been tearing at his soul for decades. In the second act, the five men sit down for a game of cards in which the stakes are a lot higher for Sharky than for his drinking buddies.

Mr. Lockhart (Matthew Broderick) and Sharky (Andy Murray) have a lot riding on a game of cards in Conor McPherson play (photo by Carol Rosegg)

The Seafarer was inspired by an Olde English poem about the hardships men suffer as well as the Irish folktale “The Hellfire Club,” involving a rather dramatic card game. All five characters, including Lockhart, are carrying personal demons, but it’s Sharky’s tale that drives the narrative, and Murray (War Horse, The Emperor Jones) is more than up to the task, playing Sharky — whom he also portrayed in a 2008 production in California — with the brooding intensity of a once-proud man whose chances are quickly running out. His penetrating eyes reveal a deeply troubled individual who might at last be coming to terms with the things he has done and the choices he has made. Two-time Tony winner Broderick (Brighton Beach Memoirs, How to Succeed in Business . . .), fiddling with an Irish brogue, gets to break out of his stiffness near the end in a part previously played by Ron Cook, Ciarán Hinds, and Tom Irwin. Ruddy (The Weir, Swansong) is fine as the thinly drawn Nicky, but Mellamphy (Guy Walks into a Bar, When I Was God) is underwhelming as Ivan, and McPhillamy (The Woman in Black, Shakespeare in Love) severely overplays Richard; true, it’s a big, meaty part, one that earned Jim Norton an Olivier and a Tony, but McPhillamy never gets inside the character, playing his many physical and psychological maladies too broadly. Irish Rep producing director O’Reilly (The Emperor Jones, The Weir) does a good job with the surprise revelations that come at the end of each act, but the play is saddled with too much repetition, a few unresolved issues, and too many distractions, particularly the winos creating a ruckus outside. As with The Weir and Shining City, the supernatural is dealt with in clever ways, this time more overtly. And speaking of the supernatural, religion is key as well. There are numerous depictions of Jesus hanging on the walls, but the only thing the failed men worship is booze. When Richard proclaims, “I have so little left to live for!,” it could apply, in different ways, to every one of them, who, in the tradition of many alcoholic Irishmen before them, live only for the next drink.

JIMMY TITANIC

Colin Hamell portrays more than twenty characters in one-man show at the Irish Rep (photo by Carol Rosegg)

Irish Repertory Theatre
W. Scott McLucas Studio Theatre
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday February 18, $50
212-727-2737
irishrep.org

Playwright Bernard McMullan takes audiences from the fiery furnaces of hell to the heavens above in the seventy-five-minute one-man show Jimmy Titanic, cruising along at the Irish Rep through February 18. The play was first performed in 2012 in tribute to the centennial of both the birth and death of the RMS Titanic, which sank on April 14-15, 1912, after hitting an iceberg on its maiden voyage. The show is now back with its stalwart captain, Colin Hamell, who has been with it since the beginning, steering it around the world. Hamell serves as narrator/guide as well as playing every character, including Jimmy Boylan, who works on board with his best friend, Tommy Mackey, who helped build the luxury liner at the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast and knows all there is to know about the Titanic. Hamell portrays more than twenty characters in all, from Jimmy and Tommy and other crew members to numerous fictional passengers, the editor of the New York Times, the mayor of Belfast, the real-life John Jacob Astor, Jacques Futrelle, and Senate committee chairman William Alden Smith, and the angel Gabriel, St. Peter, and God. The play works best when Jimmy is on board the “ship of dreams,” relating stories about how it was built, sharing details about its overall impressiveness, and assisting people trying to survive as it begins sinking. Those scenes are chock-full of surprising facts as Hamell floats across Michael Gottlieb’s tight set, a series of riveted metal panels representing the inside of the bottom of the ship, where the men toil in mind-numbing heat. Gottlieb also designed the effective lighting, which changes colors as the tale continues with director Carmel O’Reilly (McMullan’s Return of the Winemaker) at the helm.

Colin Hamell teaches how to shovel coal in Bernard McMullan’s Jimmy Titanic (photo by Carol Rosegg)

The scenes on board the ship are genuinely gripping as Hamell reveals how passengers of different backgrounds, from class to ethnicity to gender, faced peril. Whenever McMullan steers the story back up to heaven, the energy is drained as Hamell portrays Gabriel as a cunning thief, Peter as a selfish lapdog, and God as a gangster. The scenes in the newsroom, the US Senate, and the Belfast mayor’s office offer a look into how the media, politics, and economics dealt with the disaster, but the show drags a bit until it shifts back to the commotion rising on the ship. To those not familiar with many of the facts, it is shocking to learn that there were far more passengers traveling in second and third class than in first, and how there were travelers from more than thirty nations, many seeking a new life in America. “Titanic was primarily an emigrant ship,” Jimmy says, while also talking about the large crew: “Two hundred and forty men worked below in the stokeholds. Only a quarter of them survived. Of the eighty lads working that night on the eight to midnight shift, just twelve made it out.” Jimmy is also proud to point out how most everyone reacted in the midst of the crisis. “The prospect of what lay ahead that night brought out instincts you never knew you had. People were trying to do the right thing. Saving themselves and their loved ones,” he explains. Despite its drawbacks, Jimmy Titanic offers a unique and compelling view of one of the worst tragedies of the twentieth century, focusing on the men behind the scenes.

THE EMPEROR JONES

Brutus Jones (Obi Abili) suddenly finds himself in trouble as the emperor of an unnamed Caribbean nation in Eugene O’Neill revival (photo by Carol Rosegg)

Irish Repertory Theatre, Francis Greenburger Mainstage
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through May 21, $50-$70
212-727-2737
irishrep.org

In the fall of 2009, the Irish Rep presented Eugene O’Neill’s 1920 play, The Emperor Jones, during President Barack Obama’s first year in office, a positive time of hope and change that also saw a rise in hate speech in what was most definitely not a postracial America. Irish Rep producing director Ciaran O’Reilly’s award-winning production is now back, returning on the heels of Donald Trump’s election to the White House, also a time of rising hate crimes and political correctness across a deeply divided country. Inspired by stories about Haitian president Vilbrun Guillaume Sam as well as German Expressionism and Joseph Conrad’s 1899 novella, Heart of Darkness, O’Neill sets The Emperor Jones in an unnamed Caribbean nation, where Brutus Jones (Obi Abili) has declared himself dictator after escaping from a U.S. prison. Wearing a military uniform reminiscent of Marcus Garvey’s, Jones says to brash British colonialist Henry Smithers (Andy Murray), “Talk polite, white man! Talk polite, you heah me! I’m boss heah now, is you fergettin’?” A moment later, Jones brags to Smithers, “Ain’t r de Emperor? De laws don’t go for him. You heah what I tells you, Smithers. Dere’s little stealin’ like you does, and dere’s big stealin’ like I does. For de little stealin’ dey gits you in jail soon or late. For de big stealin’ dey makes you Emperor and puts you in de Hall o’ Fame when you croaks. If dey’s one thing I learns in ten years on de Pullman ca’s listenin’ to de white quality talk, it’s dat same fact.” Smithers warns Jones that a revolt against him is under way, which the emperor first dismisses but then believes, sending him off on a hallucinatory journey through the Great Forest, where, in the spirit of Macbeth, he encounters his checkered past and faces his ultimate fate, all the while a tom-tom beating in the distance like the pumping aorta in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell Tale Heart.”

Brutus Jones (Obi Abili) faces his past in Irish Rep revival directed by Ciaran O’Reilly (photo by Carol Rosegg)

The role of Jones was originated by Charles S. Gilpin at the Provincetown Playhouse and then on Broadway, but it was later made famous onstage and onscreen by Paul Robeson. Controversy has surrounded the play from the very beginning because of its use of stereotypes, speech, and rampant use of the N-word by both Jones and Smithers. However, in a 1924 article in Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life, Robeson wrote, “And what a great part is ‘Brutus Jones.’ His is the exultant tragedy of the disintegration of a human soul. How we suffer as we see him in the depths of the forest re-living all the sins of his past — experiencing all the woes and wrongs of his people — throwing off one by one the layers of civilization until he returns to the primitive soil from which he (racially) came.” The debate over whether the work itself is racist or an exploration of racist oppression, especially now, following the recent expurgation of the N-word from a new edition of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, continues; however, O’Neill doesn’t do himself any favors by describing one character in the script as “a heavy-set, ape-faced old savage of the extreme African type, dressed only in a loin cloth.”

Regardless of where you find yourself on the racist controversy, it’s hard to deny the sheer power of the play, which is both uncomfortable to watch and utterly captivating in this intense and intimate production. Following in the footsteps of John Douglas Thompson at the Irish Rep (in addition to such other Jones portrayers as Ossie Davis, Albie Woodington, Paterson Joseph, and Kate Valk in blackface), Abili (Six Degrees of Separation, Titus Andronicus) fully embodies the role, his fear palpable as he encounters moving trees, masked figures, and puppets acting out scenes from his past as he gets lost in the forest and starts doubting his mind. Murray (War Horse) makes Smithers a fine foil for Jones, as ready to cut him down as to cower at his feet. Everyone involved deserves kudos: The haunting set design is by Charlie Corcoran, with regional costumes by Antonia Ford-Roberts and Whitney Locher, evocative lighting by Brian Nason, eerie choreography by Barry McNabb, affecting music by Christian Frederickson, stirring sound design by Ryan Rumery and M. Florian Staab, Caribbean puppets and masks by Bob Flanagan, and cool props by Deirdre Brennan. The ensemble also includes William Bellamy, Carl Hendrick Louis, Sinclair Mitchell, Angel Moore, and Reggie Talley. It might have been written nearly a century ago, but The Emperor Jones can still shock, providing no easy outs, particularly in this poignant version that bookends the Obama years.

QUIETLY

Ian (Declan Conlon), Robert (Robert Zawadzki), and Jimmy (Patrick O’Kane) do more than just watch the match in Owen McCafferty’s QUIETLY

Irish Repertory Theatre
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through September 11, $50 – $70
212-727-2737
www.irishrep.org

Owen McCafferty’s searing, sharp-edged, fictional Quietly might be set in a Belfast pub in 2009, but its theme is so frighteningly universal that it could be describing real events in any part of the world today. Polish émigré and barman Robert (Robert Zawadzki) is watching a World Cup qualifier between Poland and Northern Ireland when everyday regular Jimmy (Patrick O’Kane) comes in for a few pints. A bitter, angry man with a massive chip on his shoulder, Jimmy claims not to care about the game, or the news about a pub that was smashed up by some Poles. He warns Robert that there is likely to be a different kind of trouble when a man he is waiting for arrives. “But it’s nothin for you to worry about,” Jimmy says. Robert: “No trouble — can’t afford for trouble — I get the blame.” Jimmy: All a meant was just in case there was a bit a shoutin — don’t panic.” Robert: “A bit of shouting.” Jimmy: “Yes, a bit a shoutin — nothin for you to get involved in — ya understan — stay out of it — nothin to do with you.” Robert: “A bit of shouting — everyone shouts here — it’s the national sport.” Jimmy: “We all need to be heard at the same time.” The soft-spoken Robert is in Northern Ireland trying to make a new life for himself but is stuck in the same rut. “I didn’t come over here to be a barman — Belfast isn’t barman mecca — not the fucking capital of the barman world — I came over to work and ended up a barman because I was one before,” he tells Jimmy, who is lost in his own drama. The situation explodes almost immediately when Ian (Declan Conlon) enters the pub. Although both Ian and Jimmy are fifty-two and well aware of each other’s existence, they have never met before, despite their involvement in an event thirty-six years earlier that profoundly altered both their lives. “I’m here because we’re the same age,” Ian says. “You’re not my fuckin age — my age has to do with the life I’ve led — you haven’t led my life,” Jimmy responds, to which Ian adds, “I led a life — my life.” As the facts slowly start coming out on what happened on that fateful day of July 3, 1974, the tension builds to a shattering conclusion.

The award-winning Abbey Theatre production, being staged at the Irish Rep in association with the Public Theater, is a sizzling drama zeroing in on how politics, religion, status, and birthplace can tear people apart, leading to senseless violence no matter what side you’re on. It’s also very much about forgiveness, specifically referencing the controversial truth and reconciliation process. Conlon (The House, Terminus) is rock solid as Ian, carefully balancing pride and regret, and Zawadzki (The Shoemakers, Who Is That Bloodied Man?) is calm as Robert, who is caught in the middle. But Quietly belongs to the Belfast-born O’Kane (The House, As the Beast Sleeps), who won several UK best actor awards for his compelling performance. O’Kane commands the stage, whether sitting with crossed arms on a barstool, drinking a pint of Harp, or confronting Ian face-to-face. (Catherine Fay’s set is based on a real pub that McCafferty used to live near and which was blown up by the Ulster Volunteer Force.) You can almost see the heat rising from O’Kane’s bald pate. It’s a memorable performance in a gripping play, tautly directed by Lyric Theatre executive producer Jimmy Fay (The Risen People, Here Comes the Night). And it ends with a final reminder that, in this increasingly polemic, xenophobic world, anyone could be next.

SHINING CITY

Recently widowed John (Matthew Broderick) shares his haunting tale with his therapist, Ian (Billy Carter), in Irish Rep revival of Conor McPherson’s SHINING CITY (photo by Carol Rosegg)

Irish Repertory Theatre
132 West 22nd St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 3, $50
212-727-2737
www.irishrep.org

The Irish Rep has inaugurated its newly renovated space in its longtime Chelsea home with a play very much about, appropriately enough, home. Back in the Stanwick Building on West Twenty-Second St. following a season at the DR2 Theatre in Union Square, the Irish Rep is currently presenting a thrilling version of Conor McPherson’s Tony-nominated Shining City, a haunting psychological tale of dislocation, lack of communication, guilt, and the search for one’s place in the world. Matthew Broderick, in full Irish brogue, gives a thoroughly impressive performance as John, a fifty-four-year-old Dublin catering-supply rep who is seeing a therapist for the first time because he claims to have seen the ghost of his recently deceased wife in their house. Frightened and confused, John has temporarily moved into a bed and breakfast, but his disconnection began when his wife was still alive. “I started pretending I had to stay down the country, for work, you know, overnight, but I was really just staying in places so that I didn’t have to deal with the terrible pressure of going home, you know?” he tells his therapist, Ian (Billy Carter), a former priest who has left the house of God for a cozy third-floor office. Ian, meanwhile, is reconsidering his future with his wife, Neasa (Lisa Dwan), and their baby, who live with Ian’s brother. “I have nowhere to fucking go!” she screams at him when he talks about leaving her. “It’s their house! What right do I have to stay there if you’re not there?” Later, Ian meets Laurence (James Russell), a destitute man who has taken to the streets to try to survive after being kicked out of his cousin’s flat. “I don’t even want to go back, though, but I need an address,” a haggard Laurence tells Ian. Nearly everyone the four characters reference in their various stories relate to the concept of home, from a builder and a hotel executive to the B&B owners and women in a house of prostitution. Over the course of one hundred minutes, the four lost souls examine their loneliness and try to find a way out, to reconnect.

Shining City — which was nominated for a Best Play Tony for its Broadway debut in 2006, directed by Goodman Theatre head Robert Falls and starring Oliver Platt as John, Martha Plimpton as Neasa, Peter Scanavino as Laurence, and a Tony-nominated Brían F. O’Byrne as Ian — is a brilliantly written work, an intricate and endlessly inventive investigation into the hearts and minds of John and Ian, who are mirror images of each other; even their names are the same, as Ian is the Scottish version of John. John, a traveling salesman, often speaks in long monologues filled with the adjective “fucking” and the rhetorical phrase “you know” — the latter is spoken more than two hundred times throughout the play, and not just by John — during which Ian merely nods or makes quick comments; one entire scene is essentially a riveting soliloquy delivered exquisitely by Broderick in a breathless tour de force. Carter (McPherson’s Port Authority and The Weir at the Irish Rep), Beckett specialist Dwan (Not I / Footfalls / Rockaby), Russell (Port Authority, Juno and the Paycock), and two-time Tony winner Broderick (Torch Song Trilogy, Brighton Beach Memoirs) beautifully perform McPherson’s fragmented dialogue, maintaining its graceful poetic rhythm under the smooth direction of Ciarán O’Reilly (The Weir, The Hairy Ape). Charlie Corcoran’s therapist-office set subtly evokes the concept of home as well, with several boxes strewn around that hint at either someone moving in or moving out, and John settles in a little more with each visit even as Ian feels more uncomfortable. Shining City is an impeccable, haunting piece of theater and a deserving drama to welcome the Irish Rep, well, back home.

THE BURIAL AT THEBES

The Irish Rep’s version of Seamus Heaney’s adaptation of ANTIGONE continues at the DR2 Theatre through March 6 (photo © Carol Rosegg)

Irish Repertory Theatre
DR2 Theatre
103 East 15th St. between Irving Pl. & Park Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through March 6, $70
212-727-2737
www.irishrep.org

In 2003, Dublin’s Abbey Theatre asked poet and translator Seamus Heaney to do a new version of Sophocles’ Antigone, a kind of follow-up to the Irish Nobel laureate’s only other play, The Cure at Troy, a 1990 adaptation of the Greek playwright’s Philoctotes. Heaney, who passed away in August 2013 at the age of seventy-four, hesitated in accepting the request until he found an angle that intrigued him: focusing on the treatment of the body of Polyneices, one of Oedipus’s two sons who killed each other while fighting on opposite sides of battle. King Creon decided to give Etocles a proper hero’s burial, while he ordered that Polyneices was to rot in the desert and that anyone who attempted to bury him would be executed. Heaney was ultimately inspired by his memories of the death of hunger-striking IRA prisoner Francis Hughes in 1981 as well as President George W. Bush’s determination to invade Iraq following 9/11. “Basically Creon turns Polyneices into a non-person, in much the same way as the first internees in Northern Ireland and the recent prisoners in Guantanamo Bay were turned into non-persons,” he said in a 2004 Jayne Lecture he gave at Harvard. “By refusing Polyneices burial, Creon claims ownership of the body and in effect takes control of his spirit, because the spirit will not go to its right home with the dead until the body is buried with due ceremony. When Antigone refuses Creon’s ruling and performs the traditional rites, her protest is therefore a gesture that is as anthropological as it is political, and it was only when I saw it in this light that I found a way out of the cat’s cradle of political arguments and analogies the play has become and could re-approach it as a work atremble with passion, with the human pity and terror it possessed in its original cultural setting.”

Unfortunately, the Irish rep’s current production, its last at the troupe’s temporary home at the DR2 Theatre, doesn’t take full advantage of Heaney’s powerful, poetic words in a staging that is woefully given short shrift, as if cobbled together at the last minute. Three-time Tony winner Tony Walton’s set feels like an afterthought, a tiny space with a couple of rocks, twelve strands of frayed rope descending from above, and a backdrop that changes colors throughout the show’s eighty minutes, occasionally oddly displaying an audience watching from behind. Linda Fisher’s drab costumes and Charlotte Moore’s barely there direction don’t add anything to what should have been a compelling investigation of honor, loyalty, and family. The ethical and moral conflict between Antigone and Creon fails to catch fire; Rebekah Brockman is too meek as the former, while Paul O’Brien, who stepped in late for the previously announced John Cullum and then Larry Bryggman in the role of Creon, never captures the poetry of Heaney’s words. The cast, who all seem to speak in different accents, also features Ciaran Bowling as Haemon, Creon’s son, who is engaged to marry Ismene (Katie Fabel), Antigone’s sister; Winsome Brown as Eurydice, Creon’s wife; Robert Langdon Lloyd as Tiresias, the blind soothsayer; Rod Brogan as the messenger; and Colin Lane, who fares the best as the squirmy guard. “What are Creon’s rights / When it comes to me and mine?” Antigone asks her sister at one point. The same can be asked of Heaney and the audience’s rights from this usually reliable troupe, which has done much better work in its twenty-six-year history.