Theatre review: Portia Coughlan

One of those instances where I probably should have trusted my instincts, rather than booking everything at the Almeida to make the most of my membership, I definitely had a feeling Marina Carr's Portia Coughlan might not be my thing. As it turns out the only thing I can find fault with in Carrie Cracknell's production is the choice of play itself - Carr's 1996 tragedy certainly has some things to say about the expectations for women even at the end of the 20th century, but the way it does so is so relentlessly grim it qualifies for this year's occasional theatrical meme of misery porn. It follows the titular Portia (Alison Oliver) on the day of her thirtieth birthday, a day she spends the same way as the previous 15 years: Haunted, metaphorically and perhaps literally, by her twin brother Gabriel, who drowned himself the day after their 15th birthday.

Portia is married to Raphael (Chris Walley,) a catch because an industrial accident chopped his foot off and he got a hefty compensation payout; they have three sons she's never been able to feel anything for.

In between day-drinking sessions she likes to taunt her husband by telling him she slept with Conor MacNeill's greasy barman Fintan (she didn't, although she's been having an affair with Charlie Kelly's Damus for pretty much all her marriage.) Various family members visit over the course of the day to wish her a happy birthday, through the medium of not actually wishing her a happy birthday and reminding her they blame her for her brother's death.

Like I say it's hard to fault Cracknell's production: The performances are stunning, Alex Eales' set is spectacularly dramatic, with the living room walls blasted open to reveal the rocky riverbank behind, and Maimuna Memon's atmospheric songs are hauntingly sung by Archee Aitch Wylie as the ghost of Gabriel. Things are lightened up for fleeting moments by Kathy Kiera Clarke's tart-with-a-heart Maggie May, while Sorcha Cusack plays Racist Granny Who Gets Wheeled Around The Stage So She Can Call Everyone Cunts To Their Faces.

But with characters whose sole purpose in life seems to be telling each other how much they hate them, and a plot that runs the gamut from siblings fucking by accident to siblings fucking on purpose, this relentless evening of despair wasn't for me.

Portia Coughlan by Marina Carr is booking until the 18th of November at the Almeida Theatre.

Running time: 2 hours 30 minutes including interval.

Photo credit: Marc Brenner.