Lost souls seek redemption
in ICTC's "Shining City
Colin Dabkowski, News Arts Critic
The Buffalo News

"Shining City," the haunting, atmospheric play by Conor McPherson set in a Dublin therapist's office that doubles as an echo chamber for lost souls, is an eight-cylinder engine of melancholy fueled by a full tank of high-grade regret.

Which is to say that this show, a 100-minute one-act that opened Thursday night in the Irish Classical Theatre Company's Andrews Theatre, is a knowing and masterful expression of the Irish condition. And this production, imbued with perfectly naturalistic language by McPherson and a maximum of emotional depth and sophistication by visiting director Gordon McCall, lets those souls have their say.

*******

"Shining City"
3 and 1/2 stars

Presented through May 22 by Irish Classical Theatre Company, Andrews Theatre, 625 Main St. Tickets are $32-$42. Call 853-4282 or visit www.irishclassicaltheatre.com.

*******

Each of the characters in "Shining City," like many of its viewers, is confined to varying degrees inside the decisions they have made. Each has built a kind of cage out of their own guilt or regret over their actions or thoughts, and you get the sense that they're grasping together, however feebly, toward a coordinated jailbreak.

"Lost soul," as a descriptor, doesn't begin to do justice to the play's most engaging and complex character, a middle-aged Dublin businessman played with harrowing humanity by Vincent O'Neill. The first time O'Neill's character, John, enters the shabby office of his psychologist, Ian (Chris Kelly), he is a hobbled mass of nervous energy. And understandably so -- he believes he's just seen the ghost of his recently departed wife wandering around the house they shared.

As Ian attempts to help John sort out his problems, which are based in some part on an ill-advised dalliance with another woman out of which a crippling sense of self-loathing has grown, we begin to understand just how terribly unmoored John has become in mind and spirit. We watch as he gradually regains his footing, sputtering and stuttering along the way, and finally prepares to launch himself off into a new world of mistakes and regrets.

Not that Ian, whom the gifted Kelly plays with a captivating mixture of intense self-consciousness and emotional fragility, is much better off. The therapist is in the process of separating from his wife (played, in a typically overwrought performance, by Kelly Meg Brennan), herself a walking nerve ending living in her own peculiar little guilt-house. Ian has abandoned the priesthood, for which he seems to carry a lingering guilt that he later tries to extinguish via a mildly dangerous liaison with a street hustler (Michael Renna). In vain, of course.

Aside from McPherson's walking representations of crushing guilt juxtaposed with in-built desperation for redemption and connection, what qualifies this play as extraordinary is McPherson's considerable skills with language. As master of the monologue (see "The Weir") McPherson, like an earthbound version of Brian Friel, shines brightest when he allows his characters to speak uninterrupted about their inner lives. When McPherson's damaged men and women interact with one another, those interactions are intentionally stilted.

McPherson's suggestion is that only we can truly know ourselves, punish ourselves and finally forgive ourselves, however inborn our desire to relate to other people might be. And lofty as it may sound, that's the paradox at the heart of "Shining City," at the heart of much great Irish drama and literature, and at the heart, in some undeniable way, of the human condition.

cdabkowski@buffnews.com

Lost and Found in Dublin:
SHINING CITY by Conor McPherson
- Neil Garvey, Buffalo Rising

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." - Hamlet, scene v

The Irish Classical Theatre Company opened Director Gordon McCall's taut and finely tuned production of playwright Conor McPherson's masterful ghost story SHINING CITY.This psychological  thriller concerns "displaced characters" who "inhabit a world haunted by what might have been and by the possibility of what might be."   "Haunted" is the operative word. John, a middle-aged salesman, has recently lost his wife in a terrible auto accident. Guilt-ridden by the long, slow and painful marital estrangement which preceded her death, John is now literally scared out of his wits by the appearance of his wife Mari's ghost.

No longer able to even stay in their home, John seeks the assistance of therapist Ian, a former priest who has just opened his new practice in one of Dublin's rougher neighborhoods. Ian has his own baggage to attend, besides his loss of faith, he has a clinging fiancé, Neasa, and together, they have a baby daughter. Ian's journey of self- discovery will eventually include a sexual encounter with Laurence, an unemployed laborer turned street hustler.  

This is a beautifully written story - Mr. McPherson has an unparalleled ear for dialogue, which is swift and lyrical, but also natural and human. And, as Director McCall notes, the author's gift for nuance provides that rare theatrical device, allowing for: "what his characters don't say as much as what they do."  There are some poignant moments of silence here which speak volumes.

Mr. McCall, who is head of the Directing Program at Purdue University, is a new and most welcome addition to the small club of directors in Buffalo. He clearly understands his material, and as important, he resists the urge to micro-manage. This director knows when to guide (the pacing is stellar) and when to give his actors free rein. SHINING CITY, writes Mr. McCall, is " ... an actors' play, full of gloriously rich and complex characters yearning for something just out of reach but yearning and hoping nevertheless."  

And the actors in this cast know where they are going.  Vincent O'Neill, as John, arrives  in Ian's unpacked and sparsely furnished office as a barely held together wreck of a man, one can almost see the tremors of fear pulsate beneath his suit. From the start, Mr. O'Neill set the hook sharply and the audience bit with relish. This was no small feat. The play is presented without intermission, yet the audience remained attuned and pretty much on the edge throughout, waiting for each new revelation.  

SHINING CITY touches upon all sorts of human insecurities, but at its core, the play is focused upon man's isolation,  that feeling we are apart no matter where we go, either on the outside looking in upon others who are living "real lives", or trapped on the inside, living a poor imitation of life which we have created through our own dull and subservient choices.

We've all had that feeling, that standing on the sideline, but these characters have trapped themselves in extreme circumstances. Their very foundations have crumbled, quite possibly to the point of delusion. Rebuilding the shattered lives, the step by step realizations of where it all went wrong is what keeps us on the edge of our seats.

All is not sturm und drang, however, as Mr. McPherson punctuates the journey with lightning fast flashes of black humor. It's the kind of spontaneous dark wit the Irish do so well and you will laugh out loud.   

Chris Kelly, as the neophyte analyst Ian, assumes his first case with a brave face, but as John unravels before Ian's eyes, Ian understands he is a mere candy-striper facing a major trauma. Still, as John's story unfolds over a series of meetings, Ian forges ahead with a grim determination, ever more confident in his ability to see things through. Their chemistry is the key to this play, and the key here opens up many a mystery.

Mr. Kelly gives us a thoughtful performance. He has matured into a very solid actor. His Ian exhibits subtle psychological ticks, almost imperceptible, but which are part and parcel to Ian's ability to deal with his own doubts and organize the uncertain world around him. Mr. Kelly's Ian also displays a palpable ability to watch and listen, a trait which eventually channels the audience's own powers of observation.

Kelly Meg Brennan, as Ian's one-time confidant and fiancé, Neasa, is an actor who has a penchant for breathing real life into hard luck women, and once again, she succeeds admirably here. If you can't feel Neasa's pain and her isolation, it's time to put down the bottle of Advil.  Ms. Brennan's very effective portrayal strikes a chord, and leaves us to wonder if we are to condemn Neasa or if we should sympathize.

Laurence, the down on his luck hustler, is played with a quiet strength by Michael Renna. In some ways, his Laurence, the character who has the least going for him, is the one who is most in touch with himself. Nice job.

Meanwhile, Vincent O'Neill, the old pro in this group, offers what can only be termed a tour de force, in particular in the remarkable scene wherein John describes at length his unhappy tale of disappointments, failures and betrayal. We know we are watching an actor at the top of his game, but if there was a bag of tricks involved, we never saw it. John's sustained apologia became an exercise in honest revelation. John became real. His story was real, his pain and his fears were real. And upon the scene's conclusion, the house was breathless.

All these characters, each of whom is more or less homeless, are wounded souls. They are victims of bad choices, social impositions, the luck of the draw or a combination thereof. Yet Playwright McPherson imbues each with that aforementioned  grim determination which leads them, and us, to a sort of light at the end of the tunnel.  

Was Mari's spectre real? Or was it an apparition borne of John's deeply traumatic need?  Ah, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your psychology.

“Shining City”
By Conor McPherson
At Irish Classical Theater Company
Review by Willy Rogue Donaldson

Here we are in modern Dublin, in a psychiatrist’s new office, Ian’s trying to set it up and make it look nice for his patients, the bell rings, he speaks into the intercom, he lets a man in, his name is John, he has been sent by his regular doctor.

John is all upset and can’t sleep. It seems his wife has died in a terrible car crash. But he doesn’t know why she was all dressed up, where she was driving or why. She never said anything to him about going anywhere, he was just notified by the police when he got home from work. They have him go and identify her body. It’s all a huge shock and a shaky mystery to him.

Not as big a shock as when days after the funeral, John comes home and sees his wife across the room. She’s a ghost, not speaking or moving. He’s scared out of his wits, and runs out to a bed and breakfast. He returns the next day, she’s still there. He moves to the B&B and is too scared to even go back in the house at all. His doctor sends him for psychological help, which is why he is now in Ian’s office.

They’re a little bit uncomfortable at first, John has never done anything like this before, but he’s really desperate and starts telling his tale. Ian gets more details out of him, and then John is coming back for more sessions.

Ah, but the telling is in the details, isn’t it. As John unwinds the story of his marriage and his life, it isn’t one story, it is many. And author McPherson uses the one room and the main actor to put the audience under a spell. For this to work, the stories have to be fascinating and plausible. And the actor has to be exceptional.

So here at Irish Classical, actor Vincent O’Neill as John chalks up another stunning throw your hat in the air performance, earning himself many pints of applause from the wondering audience. They don’t necessarily realize the leaps in the journey they’ve been on, as it all seems quite seamless; it helps that no one is more amazed at the unfolding events than the character of John. O’Neill takes his dialogue, pauses it, punches it, wraps it, tromps on it, polishes it and scatters it on a golden tongue into the audience.

A secondary storyline in the play involves Ian, who is married to Neasa and has a baby with her. They are all young, but Ian breaks up with Neasa, who is angry and hurt, and doesn’t understand why. The audience comes to understand why when Ian later brings a man, Laurence, back to his office for sex. Ian is still coming to terms with himself- he’s been a priest, then he left that and got involved with Neasa, then left her to act on his lust for men. He’s nervously paying Laurence to initiate him into this forbidden territory, but Laurence has to calm him down, which he does quite tenderly. The lights come down.

Later, we see Ian confidently and happily packing his stuff to move to the country. Is it with somebody? Or is it just for apples and fresh air? John comes by for a last visit and to give Ian a thank you present. John no longer sees ghosts, has married a woman who lived in the B&B, and is happily thriving. They discuss the vicissitudes, bid a warm goodbye, and John leaves.

Wouldn’t you know there’s a little updraft more after that. Ha! I know and you don’t. And you don't know all the rich brickbat detail from a barebones plot.

Chris Kelly gives a fine, sturdy, transforming presentation of Ian. His wife Neasa was played by Kelly Meg Brennan, she makes Neasa’s frustrated hope and confused pain clear and sharp. Michael Renna plays Laurence with a worthy edge, he kept him an unknown, possibly violent, character.

Guest Director Gordon McCall has trimmed some sails and made Conor McPherson’s play scoot over the shoals of discordant lives and come to shore.

Review by Willy Rogue Donaldson
Copyright 2011 all rights reserved
Except first printing in Night-Life Magazine in May2011