The regulars gather in a small bar in a rural backwater of Ireland, Jack serving himself, disgruntled that the draught Guinness has run out and he has to settle for the bottled stuff, Jim, a few shekels short of a shilling, and the taciturn landlord, Brendan.
Life has somehow bypassed them all, like the new road that has taken most of the business away from Jack’s failing garage.
But he has dug out an old suit, for tonight will be different, tonight not only are they expecting the return of Finbar, local boy made good, but accompanying him Valerie, who has just bought a house up the road from him. "And him a married man too."
McPherson wrote his classic play, considered one of the greatest of the last century, at a time of economic boom, the Celtic tiger, but his is about another Ireland, one of myths and memories, where the veil between life and legend is a thin one, where a fear of the unknown might apply to the future as well as the past.
Fuelled by alcohol, the drinkers tell ghost stories that reveal a little about their own characters, Jack haunted by loss, Finbar driven away by an apparition, Jim telling a tale about a girl in a graveyard that hints at his own hang-ups. Then Valerie stuns them all into silence as she reveals her own tragic psychosis.
McPherson’s monologues have the sparkle of a freshly-pulled pint, the punch of a whiskey dram, the sadness of a hangover filled with remorse. Each of the speakers recalls tiny details, like the making of a sandwich in a moment of distress, what might be irrelevances as they meander through their stories, but which give them and their tellers a strong sense of authenticity.
The play was a sensation when performed in 1997 in a small room above a London theatre, and is ideally suited to the tiny Coach House Theatre, where its 100 minutes are played without a break. The impressive set by Dan O’Neill and Seedbed Studios, the sound of the wind outside and Andrew Whittle’s tight direction make it feel as if one is watching from the saloon bar—not that this simple pub where the ladies is out of order would have such a thing.
John Deeth as Jack leads an excellent cast, his regrets and resentments bursting out yet always revealing a good man at heart. Here to There stalwart Morgan Rees-Davies's superbly timed delivery brings out the vulnerability of Jim, while James Parsons is a fast-talking, brittly confident Finbar, whose tale, however, occasionally slipped me by.
Sarah Feltham has to wait for her moment but knocks them dead with her haunting tale of woe, and Oliver Byng shows the virtue of a good landlord—and a sympathetic actor—by being a good listener.
None of the cast as far as I know are Irish, so credit must be due also to dialect coach Ellie Forrest for their finely tuned accents, with a touch of the big city where appropriate. The printed programme is first class, better than many produced by larger companies.