The Weir

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

With the wind howling outside, Jack (Pete Nelson) shivers into the dimly lit bar, makes his way to the Guinness draft, mumbles because nothing comes out, grabs a bottle, digs for money placing it into the cash box, never turning on the lights, you know at once, this is more than just a neighborhood bar. It’s his second home.

Conor McPherson’s award-winning Irish pub play, The Weir, nestles comfortably in the Denver Victorian Playhouse under Terry Dodd’s warm and sensitive direction.

The Weir demands an intimate theatre, and The Vic provides the perfect setting for a captured moment in Leitruim, Northwest Ireland.

Without a plot to wrap ones mind around, the Weir demands a cast of exquisite storytellers. Compelling storytellers is definitely what this production holds in the palm of its hand.

Brendon, the bar’s owner, (Joel Sutliff) scuttles in with an armload of wood to feed the fireplace, lights the fire, turns on the lights before either man mumbles a greeting. Undoubtedly, this is a nightly occurrence. Both calm, cool, relaxed chatter about nothing, about everything.

There is definite warmth to the bar. A plain elegance emulates around it. Plain in appearance, the bar flaunts no stylish sophistication enticing visitors beyond its door. It doesn’t need to and doesn’t particularly want to. The tables and chairs have been there for quite some time. The bar itself, as bars frequently do, glistens with bottles and glasses. Made of fine wood, and polished frequently, the bar itself takes center stage with a quiet dignity; its own secret stories lining the wood grain. An illusion, of course, it’s a stage set, but an illusion that reads.

Pictures of the town’s history, line the walls with their secrets and stories encased in frames.

Sarah Roshan designed the set with a delicious flair making one want to forget it’s a set for a play and join everyone on stage for a Guinness.

The conversation busy, going nowhere in particular, doing nothing, roaming through town gossip. The setting reminds me starkly of the wonderful British comedy on late night PBS Last of the Summer Wine set in a small Irish village, filled with day-to-day antics of the locals enhanced with smiles and charm of human nature. This production of The Weir claims exactly the same: charm, intrigue and enchantment.

In a multi-colored sweater and boots with broken laces, disinterested, Jim (Gregg Adams) wanders in. He‘s there, he’s there every night, but a far away look gives the impression his mind floats a million miles away. Broken laces concern him not.

Curiosity bubbles throughout the conversation about a visitor. Who is she? Why is she there? What would bring Valerie to this small quaint town? Each one staunchly captivated by strong opinions, each one having heard the other’s opinions frequently.

Smashingly dressed with vest, tie and coat, Finbar (Wade Wood) escorts Valerie (Laura Norman) in to introduce her. Finbar carries with him a confident smug atmosphere as though he is the chosen one to accompany Valerie in the midst of these unattached men living their lives alone, living their lives with each other in the bar, fencing a façade of contentment, with their eyes bearing cracks of isolation and loneliness. Finbar has just sold a house to Valerie.

Valerie’s comfort wears an edge of vulnerable discomfort, not necessarily because of the bar or the men, but because of something else. When she first enters, Jack, Brendon and Jim remember their manners; stand quickly making sure hair is slicked down. Laughter breaks apart when she asks for white wine. Of course, Brendon has a bottle of white wine somewhere in the back room. The gentleman, Finbar, cuts the nervousness with a gracious superiority offering to buy drinks for everyone.

Stories begin to flow. The weir, a dam built in 1951 supplies power to the community, which leads to reminiscing about the faeries who inhabit the Irish countryside and unexplained ghostly events. Finbar takes the lead showing Valerie the photos hanging on the wall.

The performances by the five actors are simply jaw dropping astonishing.

Nelson takes a back seat to the macho, opinionated rough around the edges Jack hiding loneliness and aloneness with masculine bravado.

Sutliff falls prey to Brendon’s amiable youthful nature respecting his bar and respecting the codgers surrounding him.

There is a mystery to Jim with his distant separated disconnected demeanor, and Adams fills his untied boots with an honest grasp.

Wade shines and at the same time disappears inside the vest of Finbar, with an audacious confidence that does not go unrecognized by the others, nor taken seriously enough to pose any threat.

Norman loses herself in the mysterious Valerie aware of the men’s curiosity, feeling no need to reveal anything to anyone, maintaining her polite mannerisms, intrigued by the ghostly stories, until the time comes when she spills her heart and soul into her glass of white wine, knocking the four men into shock, disbelief, and compassion they wouldn’t even have admitted they controlled.

The stories hold a common theme and are so well told there is a wanting for them to tell more.

The hour and a half one-act play takes the breath away. In the midst of the monologues that have a way of rambling, as most bar stories ramble, the others just don’t pretend to listen, they do listen in their own characteristic way. They are so honest and believable you tend to forget you are in a theatre.

Following Valerie’s gut wrenching admission to the why’s and wherefore’s she came to this tiny village, the gates of revelation open for Jack allowing The Weir to sneak in a sharp right turn coming out of nowhere.

As they close up the bar, signaling the end of the eavesdropping on the bar is about to come to an end, Brendon adds a special touch of unexpected rightful humor breaching the chilling night of wind, ghosts and honest musings of respect for human nature.

Because it is what it is, an inside look into the lives of five very distinct human beings, The Weir is probably one of the most difficult plays to execute.

Dodd, Nelson, Sutliff, Adams, Wood, and Norman carry it over the top assisted with Rachael Lanning’s integrated lighting design and El Armstrong’s eerie sound effects.

To see actors at their finest, and storytelling at its best, this is definitely one production not to be missed. The Weir is an escapade into a remote rural Irish bar engulfed in knocks on doors with no one there, a scratchy phone call from a child who died, and a sacred haunted faerie graveyard refusing to be forgotten, surrounded by present day confessions of love, loss and loneliness punctuated by tense silences.