It has long been a personal travesty that I’d never seen a production of a J M Synge play. I’ve always been fascinated by the story of the riots at the opening performances of Playboy of the Western World in Dublin in 1907, where the honest Dubliners were affronted at the perceived slight on decent Irish womanhood that Synge dishes out. Synge wanted to show a warts and all representation of Ireland, despite the fact that his Irish patrons didn’t want to see that at all. In Britain, only the personal intervention of the Lord Chamberlain himself allowed the play to be performed in London – his advisers expected the play to provoke similar bad reaction from the crowds in Britain as in Ireland. But they overestimated the extent to which British audiences cared about the decency of Irish women, and the play went down rather well as a comedy drama.
In County Mayo, young Christy Mahon turns up at a scruffy bar, dishevelled, tired and dirty. He claims to have murdered his father, which sparks a fascination with him, leading to his becoming a surprise local celebrity. Pegeen Mike, who works in the tavern, despite the protestations of her fiancé, falls in love with him. However, when Christy’s father also turns up, and is revealed not to be dead after all, the townspeople turn against Christy for his deceit. In an attempt to regain his popularity, he has a second go at killing his dad, but this doesn’t make matters any better.
We all know that girls prefer a bad boy. You can deny it as much as you like, but deep down you know it’s true. Playboy can come across as the ultimate proof of that belief, with Christy’s criminality seemingly being a turn-on for the village women. But that is to miss the point. It’s not that he’s a bad boy that makes the girls swoon – it’s that he can spin a great tale. When his craic turns out to be false, it’s the ultimate turn-off. And trying to recreate the crime just makes it worse. The irony is that Christy never intends to be a Playboy – he’s really just a blundering oaf who accidentally becomes popular. No wonder he’s clueless how to put it right.
It’s a cliché to invoke the description a curate’s egg, but in this instance, it nails it. There’s a lot of excellent work here. Katie Davenport’s set and costume design, for example, is outstanding – you can truly believe this is a rural backwater and Catriona McLaughlin’s direction equally makes you believe in the people who live there. The performances are nuanced and strong. Let’s face it: a cast led by the likes of Nicola Coughlan, Siobhan McSweeney and Eanna Hardwicke is always going to turn in a powerful performance. In our show, Old Mahon was played by understudy Donncha O’Dea and he was superb.
The overall impression one gains from the entire production is one of resolute authenticity, from the keening of the village women to the straw costumes for the mumming scenes. And of course, some very strong accents. However, this authenticity is also a problem for a London audience. This production provides a lesson in early 20th century Irish drama that the audience might not realise they need. There’s no doubt that the accents are very, very strong – and if your familiarity with Irish inflections goes no further than Father Ted or Mrs Brown’s Boys you might find yourself completely failing to understand much of the first Act. Regrettably, it was no surprise to anyone that there was a considerable number of no-returns after the interval.
The production is very reverential of Synge’s original work; slow-building, solid, respectful and an authoritative portrayal of that Western World of north-west Mayo in 1907. The trouble with this reverence is that, as a result, it forgets that it’s a comedy; we miss the humour and only concentrate on the characterisations and plot. Many subtleties are lost, including Synge’s gifted use of language, and the reason why Christy gains and loses his popularity so drastically. Unfortunately, that’s really what the whole play is about.
Despite its best intentions and the undoubted expertise of its cast and creative team, this production fails to communicate the essence of the play. It comes across as a historical curiosity rather than a timeless tale with a message for today. Sadly, for me, the negative aspects of this production outweigh the positives. I can’t imagine anyone watching this as their first Synge and then committing to discovering more of his output – and that’s not just a shame, but a disservice to a great writer.
Two Disappointing For More!