The Weir review: Unmissable play returns after three decades
The Weir | ★★★★★ | Harold Pinter Theatre
Conor McPherson’s 1997 play The Weir has taken on an almost mythical status in the years since it was first staged. It’s now spoken of alongside Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem and Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman, a seminal moment in modern British and Irish theatre and a formative work for a playwright who would go on to help shape the industry we know today.
McPherson returns not just as writer but director, bringing with him the megawatt star-power of Brendan Gleeson and a fantastic supporting cast of Owen McDonnell, Seán McGinley, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor and Kate Phillips.
For those who missed it the first time around it’s a quiet, thoughtful play set in the cosy surrounds of a rural Irish pub. Here regulars Jack and Jim pass the time with barman Brendan as they wait for local-lad-done-well Finbar to swing by with an attractive young “blow in” from Dublin, to whom he’s renting one of his houses.
The three of them shoot the breeze, ribbing each other good-naturedly about everything from farmland to the lack of Guinness at the bar. It’s all so naturalistic, the set so perfectly true to life, that it really feels like you’re sitting in a shadowy corner of a pub, enveloped in cigarette smoke, eavesdropping on the locals. As the drinks begin to flow, the three bachelors are surprisingly frank in their acknowledgement of their loneliness, preempting a conversation that’s become mainstream in the decades since the play was written.
When the beautiful Valerie floats in with Finbar, the group passes the time telling stories about local folklore and supernatural experiences. While the tales verge on the unsettling – the wind howls outside the darkened windows – the stories are delivered with bathos and good humoured Irish craic. A bond is forged over confessions and whisky and the stories become increasingly personal, building up to an emotional climax that hits you square in the gut.
The writing is razor sharp but it’s carried by a series of exceptional performances, none better than Gleeson himself, who seems to physically transform as the whisky takes hold and the memories threaten to overwhelm him. Landing somewhere between Beckett and Bennett, The Weir is an examination of the human condition – regret, acceptance, wry humour in the face of despair – that hasn’t aged a day since 1997.
McPherson is having a moment, with the revival of his Bob Dylan musical Girl From the North Country playing at the Old Vic this summer and his immersive adaptation of The Hunger Games opening at Troubadour Canary Wharf later this month. The Weir is a chance to see his stellar breakthrough work – don’t miss it.
• The Weir is on now at the Harold Pinter Theatre