London misunderstands The Playboy of the Western World
“An unmitigated, protracted libel upon Irish peasant men, and worse still upon Irish girlhood” – so began one of the original reviews of The Playboy of the Western World when it first premiered in 1907. JM Synge’s comedy-drama of patricide was seen not merely as an affront to public morals, but as an insult to the Irish nation itself. Dublin nationalists were incensed: this was not the rural West of Ireland they chose to imagine, a West untouched by colonial influence. Synge, however, had no interest in depicting their idealised vision of County Mayo. Only 60 years prior, during the Great Famine, the county had lost roughly 30 per cent of its population, making it one of the worst-affected regions. Synge had been struck by what he called the “psychic state of the locality,” a region still scarred by poverty. At the premiere in Dublin, the clash between Synge’s unflinching realism and nationalist sensibilities erupted into full-blown riots, with audience members turning on one another.
Some 120 years later, the play finds a very different – and somewhat more receptive – audience at London’s National Theatre. Director Caitríona McLaughlin has assembled a cast featuring some of Ireland’s most prominent recent exports, including Nicola Coughlan (Derry Girls, Bridgerton), Éanna Hardwicke (Normal People) and Siobhán McSweeney (Derry Girls, Amandaland). Coughlan plays Pegeen Mike, a sharp-tongued, lecherous landlady engaged to her second cousin, Shawn Keogh (portrayed by Marty Rea). Her carefully ordered life is upended when the insecure, penniless Christy Mahon (Hardwicke) bursts through the door, claiming to have just killed his father. The audacity of this confession becomes irresistible romantic fodder for the women of Mayo. Pegeen soon finds herself competing for Christy’s affections with the formidable Widow Quin (McSweeney). It’s far more drama than most West of Ireland shebeens are likely to witness in a lifetime.
Coughlan is largely convincing as Pegeen, though her accent occasionally falters against the strength of other cast members. Lorcan Cranitch plays her father with a lilting west-coast lyricism that dances through Synge’s vivid, poetic Hiberno-English, and especially shines in a monologue delivered while he is – as we Irish would say – absolutely steaming. Acting drunk can easily become tiresome, but Cranitch drew waves of laughter from an audience that at times seemed adrift. Hardwicke’s Christy is an eerie, lowly sort of heartthrob, but his descent into sheer madness makes for a delightfully unsettling performance.
Quin is the perfect foil to Pegeen – the two women bounce off each other in a series of sharp, wickedly funny exchanges. As the Widow, McSweeney emerges as an audience favourite, her comic timing effortless and impeccable. Rea’s Shawn Keogh also brings a Chaplin-like charm and physicality, providing welcome levity amid the chaos.
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As director, McLaughlin emphasises the liminal, almost pagan aura of Ireland’s wet and windswept western coast. In more joyous and inebriated moments, production designer Katie Davenport dresses the characters in elaborate straw costumes for a mumming – a form of festive folk entertainment traditionally associated with Christmas in rural Ireland. The play is bookended by a caoineadh (or “keening”), the traditional female-only ritual of structured mourning once practiced in rural Ireland – a deep, guttural, almost otherworldly lament. In the opening scene, the women appear as shawlies, cloaked entirely in black, a deft nod to peasant traditions of the west coast. The final scene, with Coughlan collapsing into a heartrending wail at centre stage, lands somewhat awkwardly – a dissonant note after a play otherwise swift and electrifying.
Much of this may be lost on a London metropolitan crowd. Early reviews have criticised the actors for overplaying the accents. “Though I’m probably outing myself as an insular English ponce to say this, Synge’s dialogue – where English follows the syntax and cadences of Irish – takes some getting used to,” wrote one reviewer of this production. Another remarked that the early scenes of the play “feel like you’ve crashed into a County Mayo pub midway through a conversation you have no hope of catching up on.” Perhaps they expected something less authentic, but this is the most famous play set on the west coast of Ireland, and I was struck by the familiarity and richness of their accents and cadences. Like those Dubliners in 1907, some city folk may never fully grasp the play. For those willing to make the effort to immerse themselves, however, the production remains a vivid, uproarious and haunting portrait of rural Irish life.
The Playboy of the Western WorldThe National Theatre, London SE1
[Further reading: Ambika Mod is luminous and feral in Porn Play]
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