The Kerryman at Glass Mask Theatre, Dublin Review
Written by Ciarán for Theatre and Tonic
Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review. All views are our own
Glass Mask Theatre is a welcoming, atmospheric place to watch a show, easily one of the nicest in Dublin. It’s dark, intimate, and cosy – tables and chairs are crammed in against each other, food and drink is served right up until showtime, and even if your view is ever obscured, you’re compensated by being so close to the small stage at the end of the room. Tonight, a flyer on the tables in welcomes us to “a summer festival atmosphere,” promising a break from “a period of tough, gritty and controversial dramatic plays.” This was an intriguing promise; typically Glass Mask produces intense plays that make you wish you had ordered another drink before the curtain came up – in the best possible way, of course.
So it was hard to know what to expect from Eva O’Connor’s The Kerryman – to consult the flyer again, we’re promised to meet Cáit (Lauren Larkin) and Eoin (Sean Fox), who are “pulled into a can’t eat, can’t sleep, rollercoaster romance” and learn that “we don’t get to choose who we fall for – but it’s the choices we make afterwards that can turn our entire world upside down.” This sounds a little breathless and a little tragic, but I’m even more curious.
We meet Cáit first – a working-class woman in her early 30s, whose friends have all suddenly started getting engaged, while she’s back – wanking, she stresses multiples times –in her childhood bedroom, working as a barista during the day and dancing on bars at night. She’s dressed in Adidas and regulation “Up de Flats” jersey, and is assertive, quite possibly abrasive to some people. Eoin, meanwhile, works in actuary – that’s insuring insurance, I’m pleased to finally learn – and lives in a soulless city centre apartment, that has a fridge bursting with portions of cooked chicken. He’s also perfectly dressed; browns shoes, blue suit trousers, slightly different blue shirt. Perched on two white cubes, they take it in turns to tell us their stories, filling us in on their home lives, past relationships, personal problems, dreams, aspirations. As they begin to describe how they met, they interact with each other, and the show proceeds at a pleasingly hectic place; there’s no space or desire for unnecessary digressions here.
The immediate feeling is a fear that we’ll be watching two stereotypes bouncing of each other for 70 minutes, without getting to the heart of who these people are, how they feel, and why they make the decisions they do. However, due to the combined skill of O’Connor, Larken, Fox, and Costume Designer Miglé Ryan, this quickly evolves into a moving, funny, and in many ways quite serious investigation of desire, love, attachment, and the fear inherent in deciding to be there for somebody else. While these characters are archetypes, O’Connor ensures they are saved from cliché by being utterly believable, and evidently rooted in the author’s own experiences and knowledge. Larkin and Fox also have enviable chemistry, both comedically and physically. They bring O’Connor’s characters to life with electricity and heart – Cáit describes Eoin’s “lovely wrists,” and it’s the kind of line that will bomb if you don’t 100% believe her. The line does not bomb.
From that first, excruciatingly awkward encounter, Cáit and Eoin’s relationship moves quickly into obsession – the descriptions of their sex, and the impact it had on the pair is again funny, and also affecting. Another great strength of the work is on display here, as very little is one-dimensional, almost every line or story or movement works on numerous levels. As they grow closer, Cáit’s health becomes an issue, as does Eoin’s devotion to his home county, Kerry, which is about as far away as you can get, in many different ways, from Dublin. These moments allow O’Connor to showcase her ability in writing painfully uncomfortable, genuinely heartbreaking scenes. In an attempt to revive their relationship, Eoin takes Cáit out for dinner, and it is truly painful, if not heartbreaking, to watch. It’s vital to stress that none of this is bought easily; our emotions aren’t being toyed with in an easy, sentimental way – this scene is horrid to watch because we know these people, we believe them, we care about them, and it’s perfectly possible that we’ve been in similar situations ourselves.
The Kerryman is a delightful, heartfelt, and true piece of work, and showcases O’Connor’s skill with dialogue and creating characters with substance and believability. Larkin and Fox are kinetic with each other on stage, and both clearly talents. There is a limitation to the story in that it was narrow and perhaps only resonant for certain groups of people. There could also be more of a visual element; the two white cubes are the only other things on the stage, and the walls are also white – while this means the space is changeable and helps Larkin and Fox create many different rooms and spaces, it feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. These are only minor quibbles, though – The Kerryman is overall a lovely evening’s entertainment, and a pretty good excuse to sit inside in the dark on one of the warmest nights of the year.
Plays at Glass Mask Theatre, Dublin, until 13th June.
★★★★
