This is the first show in 15 months on the Abbey’s main stage. An audience of 50, scattered throughout the auditorium, attends for this realist comedy about death and dying. Abbey debut playwright Una McKevitt has worked in the past with verbatim dialogue styles and documentary subjects and these experimental sensibilities are here translated into a traditional well-made play.
e have the central locus of Irish drama, the kitchen. Not the traditional hearth, but a modern fitted space with a coffee-and-cream tiled splashback and a touch of heritage wallpaper. Set designer Colin Richmond creates a neat, cottagey style with an Arnotts feel. Frank (Bosco Hogan) has emphysema and is heavily dependent on oxygen for daily functioning. He is also dying for a cigarette.
His wife Brenda (Catherine Byrne) is a long-suffering modern saint, keeping the family going. Their daughter Fiona (Liz FitzGibbon) has recently moved back home, having resigned her job with an insurance company.
The second daughter Aoife (Aoibhéann McCann) is on a trip home from London for a wedding. Thus, the family find themselves in a domestic forcing jar. Aoife’s old childhood friend Ciarán (Shane O’Reilly), whose beloved grandmother lives next door, drops in and out. During the course of the play his 98-year-old grandmother is rushed to hospital.
The two sisters bicker in an amusing fashion. The pressure on Brenda manifests itself as a lament that her family “has more problems than everyone else”. A highlight of the show is a ‘boomer’ speech, cunningly performed by Byrne, on how her generation used to keep quiet about their problems: “You told nobody nothing because nobody wanted to know.” Behind the humour hovers the spectre of death.
The later stages of life’s journey, the endgames, don’t get much discussion in Irish society. The idea that kindly medical staff might help a departing soul on their journey is one that frightens and confounds. Social timidity in the face of this topic is mirrored by the play’s subtlety. Director Emma Jordan leans into this quality and the resultant ensemble playing is too broadly spread. Serious moments flit by very fast and the power of this fascinating subject becomes overly diffused on the comic air.
Institutional trauma gets a compelling voice
The Saviour, The Everyman, Cork Midsummer, online until June 27
This Landmark Productions world première from playwright Deirdre Kinahan tackles big themes. Máire, a widowed grandmother, is in bed following a surprising night of passion with a new boyfriend, Martin. We get her backstory as she chats to Jesus in a postcoital haze: her cruel upbringing with the nuns in the Stanhope Street laundry, the early happiness and later suffocation of her marriage. She is a damaged soul.
New man Martin is dedicated and committed and they both share a love of Jesus. It sounds too good to be true. Her son Mel arrives to deliver a birthday gift along with some unwelcome news about Martin.
Marie Mullen gives a searing portrait of a damaged survivor. Brian Gleeson is a commanding, lucid Mel. Once Mel appears and presents an alternative view to Máire’s self-exculpating narrative, the story deepens and complicates. Louise Lowe expertly directs Mullen’s emotional high-wire act.
But the narrative spins off into the theme of child abuse, involving offstage characters, and the more interesting family dynamic of the effect of Máire’s dark depression on her own children fades. This leaves the survivor’s story somewhat swamped by the off-stage melodrama. But this is still an important work of the imagination, where the lifelong damage of institutional trauma finds a compelling dramatic voice.