From left, Matthew Broderick, Michael Mellamphy, Andy Murray, Tim Ruddy and Colin McPhillamy in “The Seafarer” at the Irish Rep. PHOTO BY CAROL ROSEGG
By Orla O’Sullivan
This review started with me waking before dawn to jot down what transpired to be largely illegible markings when I awoke hours later. It was very fitting for “The Seafarer,” a play that leaves one wondering, “What was that?” But, this is in the best of ways.
Conor McPherson’s darkly comedic yet touchingly hopeful play prompted by his struggles with the demon drink stays with you and may even disturb your sleep.
Watching it, it feels as if you have been up all night drinking with the characters and aren’t quite sure what happened at the party by the time the sun, and the curtain, rise.
Was that really the Devil (Matthew Broderick) who joined the binge-drinkers poker game on Christmas Eve?
For the mortals pitted against the Devil’s supernatural might, it is almost literally a case of the blind leading the blind. The host, in whose home the five players have gathered, lost his sight less than two months beforehand and his poker partner, who is supposed to guide him, lost his glasses during the previous night’s drinking.
The spirited host, Richard (Colin McPhillamy) is paired with a friend Ivan (Michael Mellamphy), who is slightly clueless, but kindness itself.
The other two in the incongruous gathering are Richard’s downtrodden brother, Sharky (Andy Murray) and another of Richard’s friends, Nicky (Tim Ruddy). Nicky is no friend of Sharky’s, having stolen his woman. With his reflective sunglasses and slicked hair, Nicky is, as his working-class Dublin peers might say, “a greaser.”
It is Nicky who brings the surprise guest back from a pub crawl, the perfectly named Mr. Lockhart. You can sense the chains constricting the heart (if it’s there) of this unlikely three-piece suit wearing acquaintance with the highly enunciated Cavan/Monaghan accent.
The extreme restraint in Broderick’s performance is one of the ways he conveys that there’s something very odd about Mr. Lockhart. (Think of Dr. Evil’s tightly-held ways but without the laughs)
And, inebriated though the other characters are—to the point that Ivan can’t even remember whether he brought his car—there are a couple of moments where even they sense Lockhart is seriously off. When he professes his hatred of music or muses on the countless poker games he has played, all along “the seaboard,” almost wistfully adding, “It’s always the same moment.”
Realistic, yet mysteriously other worldly though the two-time Tony-winning Broderick is, and great though each performance is, it is McPhillamy who steals the show.
Granted, he has a fantastic character in Richard. Not crushed by being blinded in an accident we presume was of his own drunken making, he berates Sharky for whining that he can’t go on. It is Richard who leads ferocious charges against the “winos” in the lane outside and who, without a hint of irony, insists Sharky admit he is “a hopeless alcoholic.”
Even through his stink (washing is an issue) he conveys some sophistication, sings in Latin, has great one-liners and loves a party.
And, most surprisingly, it is he, who seems to blindly trust in the Sacred Heart. That image of Jesus hangs prominently on stage and whether the candle before it flickers off or flashes on as a comment on whether Good or Evil is winning is one of the nice directorial touches of Ciaran O’Reilly.
The Devil has come for Sharky’s soul and Richard is the best match for him. Crib though he might about his brother, Richard conveys that blood, alcohol, or whatever runs through their veins, is thicker than water.
And the play makes a good case for Richard’s very flawed but tenacious stance; his faith in himself and, seemingly, something greater.
“The Seafarer” at first seems an odd title for this play, which strictly has nothing to do with the sea. But, this night is like a dangerous crossing. Buried deep, everyone has shameful secrets, even the ultra-innocent Ivan—and the Devil knows them all. Maybe it’s not just Sharky who may have to pay with his soul for a long-forgotten bargain.
Rather than being a fiery place, hell is leagues under the sea, in McPherson’s characterization; a brilliantly described psychological state, a freezer of isolation and self-loathing. Lockhart’s famous monologue to Sharky includes: “You’re hoping you won’t meet anyone you know because of the blistering shame… the thought that someone might love you [given] all the pain you always cause.”
Let the drinking begin.
Just opened at the Irish Repertory Theatre at 132 West 22nd St., “The Seafarer,” by Conor McPherson, has already been extended to May 24. It stars Matthew Broderick and is directed by Ciaran O’Reilly. Tickets from www.irishrep.org.
