BWW Reviews: SCR's 'THE WEIR' Regales With Spooks & Shots

Defined as a scaled-down version of a dam—meant to control the ebb and flow of a river's waters—a weir usually serves as a liquid fence between the calm, but deeper areas of a river and the more tumultuous surfaces it overflows to below. Without it, rivers will crest with unpredictability and the danger of flooding threatens the villages that line them. Thus dictates the symbolic title of THE WEIR, Irish playwright Conor McPherson's moody, chills-inducing stage drama filled with somber and alternately bittersweet stories, now enjoying a thought-provoking revival production at South Coast Repertory through April 3.

Set in a time- and culturally-worn neighborhood pub in a rural village in Ireland (circa 1997, the same year the play's London production was first produced), THE WEIR presents the sharing of ghost stories egged on not by campfire, but by seemingly bottomless glasses of alcoholic beverages. Spirits—both liquid and supernatural—haunt the aged walls of this place, and its comfortable, familiar patrons have no shortage of tall tales that they willingly regale. But as grim as their stories seem to be, are any of them based in any kind of reality... or, better still, sanity?

On this particular night, the wind howls outside with an eerie fierceness, much like the creepy calm before a perfect storm—which proves to be a foreshadowing of things to come. Oh, the weather outside is indeed frightful, but inside, men from the neighborhood—the pub's barkeep/owner Brendan (Tony Ward) and two regulars, cantankerous car mechanic Jack (the terrific Richard Doyle) and sheepish Jim (Daniel Reichert)—are busy drinking and discussing the latest talk of the town. Of particular interest today: married local businessman Finbar (James Lancaster) has been seen about town with newcomer Valerie (Kirsten Potter), who has recently moved here from the big city, in this case, Dublin.

Here, in what seems like the outskirts of the rest of the world, time seemingly stands still in this tiny village, and thoughts of how much Titanic made at the box office probably don't even factor in its residents' minds. Its very rural nature suggests it's a rather small town where everybody knows everybody—and, perhaps, that residents who are born here tend to remain here. (On a separate note, Valerie's outfit is the first visual sign that this play is set within at least the last two decades). So understandably, any newcomer into their remote hamlet—much less a younger, attractive one—presents a plethora of curious speculations. Why would anyone choose to move here out of their own volition?

Soon Finbar himself shows up with Valerie, and everyone does their friendly best to make her feel welcome... even gruff Jack. In an attempt to perhaps draw out her mysterious reasonings for moving to their neck of the woods—or just a way to one-up each other as men tend to do around a pleasant member of the opposite gender—they take turns (except for nice-guy-next-door Brendan) sharing stories with a particularly spooky slant with Valerie—herself visibly bubbling under with a secret of her own. What the men do not count on, however, with their scary-story hour is its inspirational springboard for Valerie to open up with her own ghost story that trounces all of theirs. Nonetheless, whether any of the stories are true or just colloquially-tinged tall tales are up to the audience to filter.

For the men, their stories aren't just spooky ghost tales, they also reveal their own personal struggles, inner demons, and overwhelming melancholy of life within the confines of their Irish rural community. Much like a weir itself, what lies beneath the surface is more than what it seems. A weir is a wall to confine and control a deep body of water in, and for the men—all lifelong residents of this sleepy remote town—their stories also let on that they too feel confined in their respective rural livelihoods. They all at one point had opportunities to leave behind this isolated place, but somehow circumstances force them to chose not to do so. Ironically, it is Valerie—the modern-dressed girl from the big city—who has now come to their village seeking the very refuge and isolation that's a source of bubbling disappointment for the men.

After a successful run in London that was then followed by a much-lauded Broadway production in 1999, South Coast Repertory's revival of THE WEIR is directed by Warner Shook with a particular authenticity that honors the Irish tradition of shared folklore, interwoven with a newer, late-Century sensibility. Even before the actors step on-stage, the realistically-weathered set designed by Thomas Buderwitz sets the tone for the production right from the start. There's also an interesting balance of humor, pathos, and spookiness that both the playwright and its actors excel in through most of the play. Even though the stretched, verbose monologues tend to be a tad long-winded (as fireside/barside chats tend to be)—which become a bit of an anguished struggle to sit through, specifically during the play's sluggish start and its, perhaps, unnecessarily extended final coda—the play manages to evoke the right chilly mood it set out to accomplish overall.

Things finally do pick up once Potter enters the scene as Valerie, bringing a nice shot (no pun intended) of estrogen to this cocktail mix. Her shocking, late-play revelation is so stirring and, perhaps, the most connectable with the audience, mostly because Potter plays the role with a moving realness that is rooted in a mother's anguish rather than just a supernatural confusion. The rest of the cast is just as excellent. As the gruff old man with a softie soul, Doyle is the play's riveting center, turning in quite a compelling performance. Lancaster does a great job playing the harmless but charming village gadabout. And in subtle but compellingly engrossing performances, Reichert and Ward turn in genuine characters that feel like people we may know—and that we actually like being around us.

Overall, South Coast Repertory's production of THE WEIR succeeds in transforming the Julianne Argyros Stage into a real deep-in-the-woods Irish pub, where the libations flow freely, and the stories are plenty spooky.

Photos from THE WEIR by Henry DiRocco/SCR. From top to bottom: Kirsten Potter (left) listens to Richard Doyle; Potter (center) recalls her own frightening past as James Lancaster, Daniel Reichert and Tony Ward hang on to every word; Doyle and Lancaster square off.

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Performances of Conor McPherson's THE WEIR continue at South Coast Repertory through April 3, with Tuesday through Sunday evening performances at 7:45 p.m. and with Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2:00 p.m. Discounts are available for full-time students, patrons 25 years of age and under, educators, seniors and groups of 10 or more. There will be an ASL-interpreted performance on Saturday, April 2 at 2:00 p.m.

Tickets, priced from $20 to $66, can be purchased online at www.scr.org, by phone at (714) 708-5555 or by visiting the box office at 655 Town Center Drive in Costa Mesa.

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