Theatre review: The Weir

Before nabbing that big franchise cash with The Hunger Games Conor McPherson rounds out his big year of paying the bills by directing his own plays with a revival of The Weir, the 1997 play that made both his name as a playwright, and his reputation as someone who should just write an unambiguous ghost story and get it the hell out of his system. In a rural corner of Ireland, most of whose community are struggling, Brendan (Owen McDonnell) runs the makeshift local pub that has Guinness on tap but only if the pump's working (it's not,) requires him to dig out old Christmas bottles if someone orders a wine, and only has room for a handful of customers but is unlikely to ever need more (except in the summer when the German tourists, who might actually be Norwegian, descend on the area.)

Mechanic Jack (Brendan Gleeson) is a regular, and is in tonight celebrating a small win on a horse race, with his friend and sidekick Jim (Seán McGinley.) They're sharing the latest gossip about pretty much the one person who seems to be actually thriving from the local area.

Finbar (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor) is a married businessman, but this hadn't stopped him from shamelessly latching onto a young Dublin woman who's moved to the area, to show her the sights. Sure enough, this takes in a visit to the pub, and Finbar soon arrives with Valerie (Kate Phillips.) The tone is light and comic, but as the men try to give a flavour of the mysticism and tradition of the area, this starts to turn into tales of ghosts and fairies.

These spooky stories are the heart of The Weir, working both in their own right and as windows into the characters, and one thing I could have done with more of is a sense of the chilly winter they're being told in: Mark Henderson's lighting is just gloomy enough to make Rae Smith's set shadowy without making the action impenetrable, but while the silence as the ghost stories are told can be eerie, whenever the wild wind outside is mentioned it's a reminder that Gregory Clarke's sound design isn't giving us those particular shivers down the spine.

Still, the ghost stories are there to bring out something in the characters, and when we get to Valerie's own story we find out why some of the elements in the earlier tales might have been disturbingly triggering for her. Gleeson gives us the gruff but sympathetic, lonely and ultimately haunted in his own way father figure of the town, Phillips real emotional depth, McGinley a mix of confusion and sharp wit, and it does feel a bit mean that the barman doesn't get to tell a story of his own.

Vaughan-Lawlor's performance is brash and flashy and could have become irritating, but instead all his dancing around the stage telling stories about the dangers of playing with a "Luigi Board" and getting the words wrong to Fairground Attraction's "Perfect" (Valerie gently correcting him by singing along just goes to illuminate her own likeable character) only highlights the neediness under his cocky exterior. I could have done with a little more atmosphere to the spooky tales on the surface, but the deeper revelations beneath them are done perfectly.

The Weir by Conor McPherson is booking until the 6th of December at the Harold Pinter Theatre.

Running time: 1 hour 50 minutes straight through.

Photo credit: Rich Gilligan.