HOME | BOOMERAMA | TRAVEL | EATS & DRINKS | THEATRE | MUSIC | ISSUES | HEALTH | NESTS & NEST EGGS | BOOKS | FASHION | ART & MUSEUMS

HOME > THEATRE > ARCHIVES 2009 >

Travis Cotton and Toby Schmitz in The Lonesome West. Photo: Heidren Lohr.

POSTED: 23 AUGUST 2009

The Lonesome West, by Martin McDonagh

(Arts Asia Pacific & B Sharp | Belvoir Street Theatre, Surry Hills, Sydney | Until 13 September)

I have a confession to make ... although I’m not Catholic. Whenever I see a production that involves foreign accents, I find myself imitating that parlance for a few days afterwards, especially if I loved the production, to be sure.

Martin McDonagh’s The Lonesome West is set in Leenane, County Galway, Ireland. It forms one part of the Connemara Trilogy that also includes The Beauty Queen of Leenane and A Skull in Connemara. B Sharp and Arts Asia Pacific have brought this bleak, black and fiercely funny play to Downstairs Belvoir, and it’s well worth a visit, so it is (sorry).

In reality Leenane is situated in an area of staggering natural beauty, but the characters in McDonagh’s plays are largely brutal, bitter and belligerent. Charmingly Irish turns of phrase, delivered in that distinctive lilting brogue, turn savage in an instant. Laughter frequently turns to gasps of disbelief and delighted horror. And then there’s all the feckin’ swearing …

Most of the action takes place in the house of constantly feuding brothers Coleman (Toby Schmitz) and Valene (Travis Cotton). As the story begins, they are returning from the funeral of their father. The local parish priest Father Welsh (Ryan Johnson) joins them for a drop or two of the local moonshine, poitin (pronounced ‘pocheen’), ably supplied by young Girleen (Sibylla Budd).

It all seems relatively normal to have a drink with the priest after the funeral of your father — except in this case, and unbeknownst to Father Welsh, the brothers’ ‘Da’ was shot in the head by Coleman after he insulted his hairdo … and Valene has blackmailed his brother into signing over all their father’s belongings to him in exchange for maintaining it was an accident!

The brothers’ relationship is so entrenched in dysfunction, it makes Cain and Abel look like poster boys for fraternal harmony. Valene flaunts his meagre wealth in front of Coleman, from his beloved figurines of the saints to a new stove — all carefully marked with a “V”, just in case Coleman ever forgets who owns what. An argument over potato crisps ends in blows. In fact, the only things that the brothers seem to agree on are football, and vol-u-vents.

The increasingly helpless Father Welsh can’t seem to stop his parish from either murdering one another or themselves. As he sinks into a poitin-and-Guinness fuelled despair, the sassy but fragile Girleen tries in vain to boost his morale and the story takes a tragic turn.

Director Peter Carstairs has elicited finely tuned performances from this excellent cast. Schmitz and Cotton interact perfectly as the quarrelsome brothers ... watch for the exquisite micro-expressions as they confess their past misdeeds in increasingly horrific detail.

Johnson sensitively balances the tragi-comedic aspects of Father Welsh, and Budd portrays the brashness of Girleen with a brittle undercurrent of schoolgirl infatuation.

Nods must also go to dialect coach Danielle Roffe for assisting the cast in maintaining the demands of the accent, and fight consultant Trish Cotter for the vicious and believable battles between Schmitz and Cotton in such a contained space.

Accompanied by a haunting and evocative score by Geoffrey Russell, and set in a space dominated by a beautifully lit iron crucifix — where else would you house your rifle? — The Lonesome West certainly challenges the stereotype of lovable lads sipping Guinness and belting out another chorus of Danny Boy.

Ye’ll feel loike shite if ye miss dis. It’s feckin’ brilliant.