A Whistle in the Dark

Dublin: Abbey Theatre
October 2 - December 1

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    Irish playwright Tom Murphy’s debut is still a forceful piece of realist theatre forty years after its first staging. It has been superseded in form, content, and aesthetic expression by Harold Pinter’s The Homecoming, which followed three years later and bears strong resemblance to it, but it still hits home. The play concerns the lives of an Irish family living in Coventry in the early 1960s. The eldest son, Michael Carney (portrayed by Declan Conlon) has tried to escape the influence of his brothers and father; combative, squabbling, downright atavistic thugs more eager to fight their way through any obstacle than find ways around it.
    Three of the clan are already in partial residence in his home, the imposing Iggy (David Herliy), the uncouth Hugo (Gary Lydon) and the menacing Harry (Don Wycherley). They have already intimidated Michael’s young English wife Betty (Cathy Belton), and have begun to test Michael’s tolerance and patience. In the course of two days of a visit by his youngest brother, Des (Barry Ward) and the patriarch himself (Clive Geraghty), things come to a head. It seems that another local Irish emigre family, the Mulryans, are boasting of their ability to keep down the troublesome Carneys, so Dada and Des have come to even up the numbers and settle the score (aided by London resident family friend Mush (Phelim Drew)) . Michael, an aspirational pacifist, is forced to confront his darkest fears about himself and his family and, by implication, the Irish race on the whole. Is it really just about ‘us’ and ‘them’, or is the violent streak more introverted and innate?
    Firmly rooted in a realist mode of representation, Murphy’s play addresses moral and philosophical precepts through the constraints of straight drama. It has obvious themes which are addressed directly through story and character without any recourse to the quasi-surrealism of Pinter’s absurdist variant on the same basic story. Murphy’s dialogue is vivid and varied, exploring nuances in expression and language which allow him to establish character dynamics. There is a particular divergence between Michael’s ‘intellectual’, often circumspect way of raising issues and avoiding confrontation and brother Harry’s vicious and unpolished but perceptive directness. Dada is then shown to be a kind of combination of the two, full of bluster and aggression, yet equally filled with hot air and evasion when it suits him. Young Des is shown to be at an uncertain point in his moral and social development. Michael’s stated mission is to see his brother escape in a way he realizes he has not, an ambition one senses early on is destined to be frustrated.
    The play bristles with physical energy. Violence explodes frequently and explicitly on stage which is in marked contrast with the method chosen by Pinter, who repressed the violence in order to heighten our involvement and implicate us in it for desiring catharsis. Murphy’s methodology is more basic, but no less effective. It is as chilling and unsettling a representation of atavism as you’re likely to see, directed with muscularity by Conall Morrison. There is a tangible sense of barely repressed brutality from the opening scene. Characters prowl around the stage like caged animals, and it's clear that it is only a matter of time before blood is spilled. An open-plan set designed by Tim Reed allows maximum freedom of movement while still suggesting enclosure. A tiered back wall with three exits gives the impression of rooms in a home but really acts as a simple backdrop to the ‘arena’ where the action takes place.
    The play is roughly divided into two halves, the first detailing the build-up to the tribal faction fight, the second documenting its aftermath. The second is where much of the brutality becomes explicit. Though they have won the fight, it will not be long before the brothers turn on each other to vent their internal frustrations. There is a satisfying symmetry to this, and it does provide the expected catharsis and tragedy. Though it is effective, this is once again in contrast with where Pinter went with the same basic ingredients, and in laying things out as schematically as he does, Murphy is occasionally guilty of minor narrative contrivances and character hiccoughs which require a paradoxical suspension of disbelief (given the realism of the rest of it).
    The current production at the Abbey boasts fine performances from a well chosen cast. Conlon makes a suitable Michael, not quite Al Pacino in The Godfather but fulfilling a similar moral and narrative role. The actor conveys a sense of self-inflicted frailty which suggests how Michael has opted out of his family’s violent tradition, but it is no surprise when he eventually becomes drawn into a world he has never left. Wycherly is excellent as Harry, deftly conveying the sense of his character’s absolute rootedness and self-belief, a surety which nonetheless masks a sense of hurt and grievance at how he is seen by his older brother. The actor generates a good deal of physical menace, and his vocal styling is perfect: a kind of semi-slur heavy with malevolence. Geraghty is also superb as Dada. He is able to convey a sense of the old man’s hypocrisy from his first appearance, and he handles the performance within the performance very well. This man affects a persona of the fighting Irishman, but he is an absolute coward inside, a bully who uses his sons to bully a world which he himself has been beaten down by. Collectively the Carney boys make a formidable presence, yet even in the ensemble scenes there is an admirable precision to the performances for which Morrison must be applauded. Belton struggles a bit with an English accent, but she rises well to the difficult job of playing the only female in this hotbed of patriarchal destructiveness.