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Four Irish blokes exchange well-worn banter and ghost stories in front of a bemused young woman while getting steadily inebriated in a grotty rural pub outside Carrick. It’s not the most thrilling premise for an evening in the theatre. Yet Conor McPherson’s much-revived 1997 play is rightly considered a modern classic, and beneath the gentle comedy is a study of small acts of connection between characters who are lonely or grieving.
It’s aged better than other explosive early works by young writers that emerged from the powerhouse of the Royal Court in the mid-90s. If this current revival directed by McPherson seemed a little undercooked on opening night, The Weir retains its power to beguile and unnerve. It also proves a splendid vehicle for the mighty presence of Brendan Gleeson, making his West End debut at the age of 70.
