The Playboy of the Western World
October 9, 2009
The Irish playwright J.M. Synge, whose play, The Playboy of the Western World, recently opened at the BTE’s Alvina Krause Theatre, was a child of privilege. Educated in private schools at the end of the nineteenth century, he was a college graduate in days when coming across a college graduate was about as common as finding a four-leafed clover.
In his work you’d expect him to be concerned with high society, like an Irish Noel Coward perhaps, but you’d be wrong. Synge was, in fact, an example of the artist as anthropologist. After some early and thankfully abortive attempts at poetry (I’ve heard his verse was baroque beyond repair) the young Synge was casting about for a focus for his creative energies, and on a tip he traveled to the Aran Islands—a group of islands off the western coast of Ireland inhabited largely by poor, traditional Irish farming communities. There he found the setting, people and language that would occupy his writing for the rest of his life.
It’s easy to dismiss Synge’s research as a kind of presumptuous slumming, but the evidence shows he didn’t indulge himself in salt-of-the-earth type platitudes or any of the other tone-deaf dreck that usually results from the highly educated taking an interest in the highly uneducated. And what evidence it is! Six plays make up the whole of his theatrical work, each one as sharp and multi-surfaced as a finely cut stone, and out of all of them, The Playboy of the Western World is without doubt the centerpiece—and, according to some critics, the finest Irish play ever written.
Strangely for a play so highly regarded now, The Playboy of the Western World was met with honest to goodness rioting upon its debut in 1907, and was protested wherever it was staged for years afterward. Like any pivotal work, it’s hard to see the fuss in hindsight, but that’s because it’s so easy for modern viewers to overlook Synge’s formal innovations. Generations of slang have deadened our ears to it, but at the turn of the century a play written in the language that common people actually spoke was truly revolutionary. What Synge did in his plays was to write in the Irish equivalent of ebonics. It was a gutsy move, and with his masterpiece, Playboy, he perfected a way of making the language sparkle, putting the wit and depth of Shakespeare into lines that sounded comfortable coming out of a potato farmer’s mouth. It’s a delicate balancing act and it is only the depth of the characterizations that keep it from collapsing into caricature. Of course the shock at hearing such common language articulated from the stage kept some of the initial audiences from seeing that depth—what they saw instead was a slur on Irish citizens and the Irish national character in general, hence the rioting.
Greeted with misunderstanding at its debut, is it any wonder that The Playboy of the Western World had a rocky initial reception here in Bloomsburg? Thankfully, this time around the Irish national character seems secure–what concerned the local newspaper about the BTE’s production was the accents the actors employed. Well I can’t speak for what any reporter saw in previews, but when I caught the play about a week into its run the accents were nothing to be scared of—anybody who grew up watching “Darby O’Gill & The Little People,” or anybody who has no problem understanding a Lucky Charms commercial should have no trouble understanding the play. Unfortunately, the damage there is probably already done—being panned as “incomprehensible” will keep some people away who would have otherwise gone. It’s a shame too, because in my opinion, the BTE put on one of the strongest shows I’ve ever seen them do. Maybe the local newspaper pan put some of the fightin’ Irish into the Ensemble, because they dig into this play with a fiery and full-bodied performance that conveys both the deep drama and uproarious humor with equal force.
Pub regulars, Pegeen, and Daniel Roth as Pub Owner Michael Flaherty
In a little Podunk town near the western coast of Ireland a stranger wanders into the local pub one night. This stranger is exhausted from wandering, bedraggled and obviously carrying some sort of emotional burden, and the townspeople, their curiosity piqued, eventually coax him into telling his tale: His name is Christy Mahon and he’s on the run after having murdered his own father in a fit of passion.
What happens next is surprising. Instead of casting him out, calling the police, or even recoiling in horror from this revelation, the townspeople are fascinated and ultimately impressed by the young man. Perhaps bored by their own drab lives and their inability to change their circumstances, Christy’s act seems to strike them as a kind of glorious acting out. They think they could never be capable of such a boldly violent and decisive action, but the joke is that Christy isn’t really capable of it either. He’s a timid young man mistaken for a strutting antihero, and part of the fun of the play is watching him as he stretches himself to try and inhabit his new role. Particularly in his halting courtship with the pub owner’s daughter Pegeen Mike, an appealingly bashfulness imbues the character.
The scenes between Christy, played by Richard Cannaday, and Pegeen Mike, played by Cassandra Pisieczko, are where the story morphs from social satire to something deeper and more personal, and the tragedy of these two characters is the tragedy of the play.
Cassandra Pisieczko and Richard Cannaday as Pegeen and Christy
Both actors bring a wonderful chemistry to these scenes, and the sense of surprise they convey at the budding romance (as if both expected disappointment from the start and is shocked that any other outcome is possible) is contagious. Their part of the story gives the audience a hook to hang their emotions on and offers a breather between the belly laughs provided by the supporting cast, especially Elizabeth Dowd as a widow who’s in the market for a new husband but would settle for a new goat, and Daniel Roth as the drunken pub owner.
The set, which consists of the pub and two layers of background hills visible through windows and to the side of the building is simple but very effective. And there are numerous touches that show the thought and craft that went into its construction, particularly the slight angle the pub is built at. It’s a small detail, but adds immeasurably to the audience’s perceptions of the set as a physical space.
Village girls, Christy, and Elizabeth Dowd as the Widow Quin
A real pitfall for actors when putting on a play like Playboy, with its overabundance of zesty speeches and back and forth dialogue, is to quickly ascend to the highest plane of excitement or anger and remain in that shrill key for the rest of the play. Search the New York Times archives for The Playboy of the Western World and you’ll find that’s a trap Broadway productions of this play fell into more often than not. But the BTE production gets the tone nearly perfect. Trying to describe it, you’re bound to come up with seemingly contradictory phrases. It’s a tragic comedy. It’s wordy, but physical. Intellectually weighty, but has moments of comedy that verges on the bawdy. But most importantly it’s a hugely entertaining production by the BTE, and that’s no contradiction at all.
Nick McGaw lives and works in Bloomsburg. He is a graduate of Alfred University and the co-owner of Endless Records.
October 12, 2009 at 10:02 am
I found BTE;s performance of “The Playboy of the Western World” to be hugely entertaining, well executed, and masterfully done. The set, though simplistic in design, was very rustically realistic,creating a perfect backdrop for the story to unfold. Costuming was well executed and realistic, adding a polished touch of realism to each character.
The cast skillfully portrayed their characters, Irish brogue and all, in a delightful performance that captured the dramatic and comic with depth and precision. I loved it! Standing ovations to all involved in this production!