Conor McPherson’s Olivier Award–winning 1997 drama The Weir (which the New Repertory Theatre staged last year) is set on a dark and windy night in a small rural pub in the northwest of Ireland, where a group of the village folk have gathered for a pint and a story. This custom of facing down the dark hours with a friend has been passed on to them by their parents and will no doubt continue for the generations to follow.
But instead of pinning the action to a plot line, McPherson deals in atmosphere and metaphor to convey the sense of a place where change is seldom the condition and the arrival of a newcomer is an event to be savored. The title derives from a picture hanging on the pub wall, a photograph of a weir that was placed across the local river more than 50 years ago. Among the tiny figures are one of the characters as a child and the father of another. It’s safe to say that nothing as momentous as the building of the dam has happened since.
Jack (Dennis Robertson), the owner of the garage, arrives first, joined by Jimmy (Stephen Crossley), his mechanic and the local handyman. Brendan (Derek Stone Nelson), who is younger, keeps the bar. The three men are bachelors, but before the evening is out they’ll have revealed the various reasons they live alone. Jack may no longer be young, but he still has some spirit left, and when the alcohol kicks in, he makes an eloquent master of ceremonies. Dennis Robertson delivers a controlled performance, disclosing his secrets slowly, as if he were letting go of a rope that he’s held so tightly, his hands burn with its release.
With the arrival of a young woman who’s rented a house nearby (a " blow-in " in local parlance), the gathering ratchets up in intensity, no doubt fueled by the pumping of hormones along with the graciousness of the men’s hospitality. A waif-like presence who looks scarcely old enough to be out on her own, Gina Nagy’s Valerie is introduced by the landlord, who grew up in the area, moved away to make his fortune, and now has returned as the local real estate tycoon. Colin Lane’s Finbar is a restless man, filled with pride but intent on maintaining his friendship with his childhood friends. He’s also married, which raises some questions about his interest in Valerie as well as remarks about his posture as a Romeo.
As each man relates an anecdote to entertain Valerie and make her feel at home, we learn something of how life unfolds in these parts. The men’s shared religion may be as familiar as Jack’s old tweed jacket, but it doesn’t exclude the fairies and ghosts that walk among the hills and through the churchyards. The anecdotes digress into " shaggy dog " stories that suggest an acceptance of things that go bump in the night. When Valerie discloses her need to believe in spirits that cannot be explained, she becomes one of the company. McPherson weaves the simple tales into a dramatic fabric that shimmers with suppressed longings threaded by regrets. It’s a masterful piece of playwriting that depends as much on words unspoken as on the poetry of the language.
The ensemble’s collective performance has been fine-tuned by director M. Burke Walker, who understands the importance of subtext in dialogue between people who have known one another all their lives. The actors’ accents occasionally obscure the words, but it’s the cadence of their voices that allows them to conjure an aura of time and place. By the end, when the neighbors melt back into the night, you’re left wanting to join them in a pint or two — and in the camaraderie.
