Image credit: Manuel Harlan
In his new play The Brightening Air it feels like Conor McPherson is reaching for profundities that are just out of his grasp. The play takes its title from the W.B. Yeats poem The Song of the Wandering Aengus and the phrase, its author and director tells us in the programme, 'encapsulates that moment where dreams meet reality and our most important illusions fade away'.
That’s a rather ephemeral notion that isn’t fully realised in a family saga that frequently swerves towards raucous laughs at the expense of deeper themes.
McPherson admits he was inspired to write it after adapting Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya for a 2020 West End production that he was unable to see because of Covid shutdowns, but the only truly Chekhovian thing about it is the structure.
Set in 1980s Ireland, it’s a mix of the mystical – with magical waters, folklore and religious fervour – and the mundane. The latter wins out in often hilarious ways as warring siblings, their spouses and suitors converge on a dilapidated family farmhouse for bickering and physical altercations.
As the biggest name in the cast, Chris O’Dowd makes a rare return to the stage from movies and TV shows.
As the heavy-drinking, argument-picking Dermot he’s electrifying from the moment he strides into the home he left long ago.
His seemingly stoic brother Stephen (Brian Gleeson, another very talented member of the Gleeson acting dynasty) and his straight-talking sister Billie (a brilliant Rosie Sheehy, a shoo-in for an Olivier Award) are rubbed up the wrong way by his larky antagonisms, as is his estranged wife Lydia (Hannah Morrish).
Throw in a bunch of supporting characters ranging from a blind priest with radical ideas about the existence of God to Dermot’s way-too-young girlfriend, who may or may not be a witch, and you’ve got a recipe for a dramedy in which insults fly along with the occasional fist.
McPherson expertly marshals his superb cast in a play that moves at a fast clip and, given all the infighting, is never dull. But its loftier musings are sometimes baffling and I felt like I was watching it from a distance, intrigued but emotionally uninvolved.
There’s a sense that something magic is going on around the characters but it never crystallises, with even the writer admitting he’s not sure he’s managed to balance folklore and family drama. To my mind he hasn’t, but a play that’s infuriatingly unfocused is also very funny.
And no-one can deliver an F-bomb like O’Dowd when he’s ranting at full force.
The Brightening Air is at the Old Vic, London, until 14 June.
Saga has teamed up with London Theatre Direct to offer you tickets to this at the best prices.
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