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The
blind lead the blind: (l-r) Judd, Rogan and Deenihan
in The Seafarer.
Photo:
Joe Schuyler
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The
Holy Game of Poker
By
Kathryn Geurin
The
Seafarer
By
Conor McPherson, directed by Terence Lamude
Capital Repertory Theater, through Nov. 1
Tis the season for harrowing tales, myths and marauders, the
season for challenging darkness, for exploring the eternal
struggle between humanity and evil—the legendary confrontation
between man and the devil himself. And the current production
of Conor McPherson’s Tony-nominated play, The Seafarer
at Capital Repertory Theater tackles the contemporary take
on a classic Irish fable with devilish, if occasionally histrionic,
delight.
McPherson’s tale—spun from stories of Ol’ Scratch gambling
for souls—delves into the darkest of comedy, as a quartet
of cantankerous, damaged and drunken friends gather for a
night of poker and debauchery on Christmas Eve in the dingy
Baldoyle basement of recently sightless and perpetually plastered
Richard Harkin (Timothy Deenihan) and his newly sober brother
and begrudging but dogged caretaker “Sharky” (Peter Rogan).
McPherson has crafted a relationship between the pair that
is as comical as it is complex, and Deenihan and Rogan pack
their performances with compelling intricacy. The two walk
a precarious tightrope between viciousness and gruff affection;
their banter offers the play’s best laughs and its most excruciating
twinges.
Their bumbling friend Ivan Curry (Michael Judd) stumbles through
the time and space in various degrees of convivial stupor;
a treacherous combination of drink, hangover, and lost eyeglasses
find him boisterously navigating a perpetual fog. Judd’s performance
is far from subtle, but he manages to avoid caricature, creating
a lively character whose broad persona functions as both performance
and protection. The hapless trio’s antics comprise the core
of the show—the final two characters serve as an intentional
disruption—and each of the three are portrayed by Irish actors,
which lends a powerful authenticity to the production. They
wear the language and locale like a favorite sweater, and
McPherson’s words purr in their natural brogue.
When Nicky Giblin (Declan Mooney), an old friend who has managed
to commandeer seemingly everything of Sharkey’s—his ex, his
children, his car—arrives with a dapper stranger introduced
only as Mr. Lockhart (Edward James Hyland), they bring an
edgy disquietude to the already chaotic home. Mooney offers
a dynamic Giblin, and manages to layer the cocky cheese monger
with poorly veiled insecurity and, in turn, sympathy. Like
Judd, Mooney’s performance borders on self-aware, but the
unease works for Giblin, who is as uncomfortable in his own
skin as he is in Sharkey’s home.
Director Terence Lamude draws focused and forceful performances
from his cast, and lets the humor of McPherson’s script play
with well-timed and understated ease. However, he makes an
extreme misstep in his direction of Hyland’s Mr. Lockhart.
He succeeds as a warm and welcome stranger, but in the pivotal
scenes where he reveals his true self and true intensions
to Sharky, Hyland twists into an inexplicably overwrought
and melodramatic fiend. While talk of the anguish of Hell
is far from soothing, McPherson’s script calls for control
from Lockhart. Lockhart must play against the text in order
to offer Sharky the only calm moments in the overwhelmingly
high key house—moments which should become seductive, not
wildly theatrical. At one point Lockhart even conjures flashing
lights and billowing smoke, in a sinister and sensational
parlor trick that clashes with the general sincerity of the
production.
In general, Lamude works strongly with his production team,
guiding them to create a consistently ragged reality. Duke
Durfee’s set is tired and warm, as beaten as the characters
that inhabit it but, like them, imbued with an underlying
comfort. With the exception of the aforementioned trickery,
John McLain’s lighting plays perfectly with Durfee’s set,
casting a dingy amber pall in the smoky basement and tightening
ever so subtly on the characters in their flickers of intimacy.
The costuming, by Capital Rep regular Barbara Bell is understated
but wonderfully specific, creating character in every detail
from Richard’s mismatched socks to Nicky’s flaunted “dogskin”
jacket.
The
Seafarer offers some of the best performances seen on
the Capital Repertory stage in recent years. Sadly, the mischaracterization
of Lockhart drains much of the potential for reflection and
resonance from McPherson’s tale, but the ensemble’s carefully
crafted relationships and well-played humor make the production
worthwhile.
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