The anonymous epigram to
this play, The Seafarer (c. 755 A.D.), truly sets the stage: it is our fate to
be adrift, “wretched and anxious,” alone in an icy ocean of indifference,
braving the vicissitudes of existence.
Hence,
I’ll make no bones about it: ‘The Seafarer’ by Conor McPherson may not appeal
to everyone, particularly anyone seeking pure holiday cheer. The play unfolds over a Dublin Christmas Eve,
its mood reflected in the disheveled home shared by brothers Sharky and
Richard. Their artificial Christmas tree
hints a deeper bleakness. Both men are
alcoholics, Sharky temporarily on the wagon, Richard blind and apparently
making up for both of them with gusto. Irish
whiskey and potent Irish moonshine (poteen) are practically other characters in
the play, fogging memory, judgment, and hope for anyone in their orbit.
The Palm Beach Dramaworks set
is so striking upon entering the theater: every thread of the brothers’ lives
is visible on its walls, family photos, Irish football memorabilia, and religious
artifacts, all representing better past times. Ironically, horseshoes hang at an entrance, in
keeping with old Irish folklore meant to ward off evil. Anne Mundell’s scenic
design works its magic before the play even begins, with a special shout-out to
Jillian Feigenblat, PBD’s prop manager, and Celeste Parrendo, scenic artist.
‘The Seafarer’ is a play
firmly within the tradition of modern Irish drama, a vein Palm Beach Dramaworks
has tapped before: The Beauty Queen of Leenane, Dancing at Lughnasa, Outside Mullingar, and The Cripple of Inishmaan. PBD knows how to honor the
dark humor, dashed hopes, and battered resilience that define this territory. So while the play may not offer the familiar
comforts of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or ‘A Christmas Carol’, it has its own
rewards for those willing to lean into the shadows.
True to the lineage Sean
O’Casey carved out a century ago, McPherson gives us Dubliners on the edge,
irresponsible, alcohol-fueled, clinging to camaraderie, wit, and bluster. McPherson also adds something contemporary
drama has embraced, a touch of magical realism. Enter Mr. Lockhart; yes, the name is a hint,
whose interest in Sharky is more infernal than social. Offstage, Karen and Eileen, exasperated and
long-suffering, exert their influence, two women who have clearly had it up to
here with their men.
In the hands of director
J. Barry Lewis and an extraordinary cast, these characters emerge with
specificity rather than slipping into caricature. Casting has long been one of Palm Beach
Dramaworks’ strengths. Resident Costume
Designer Brian O’Keefe delivers masterful designs that reinforce each
character’s distinct personality.
 |
| Declan Mooney, Sheffield Chastain, Rod Brogan, Michael
Mellamphy, Rob Donohoe; Photo by Jason Nuttle |
Declan Mooney is Sharky
Harkin, our hapless protagonist, confronting the wreckage of his past while
attempting sobriety, on a holiday of all times, and facing a reckoning that
threatens nothing less than his soul. Mooney brings a confident familiarity to the
role, having served as understudy in the original Broadway production, directed
by McPherson himself. His portrayal of
Sharky’s tragic flaws, a life marked by failure, generates more pity than
hopefulness. He is stoic at times,
hyperventilating at others.
The always dependable and
versatile Rob Donohoe is his blind brother Richard Harkin, hell-bent on
gathering everyone for a drunken Christmas Eve card game. Richard lost his sight in a dumpster-diving
misadventure and now relies on, and demands, Sharky’s attention for his every
whim. Though often in a drunken stupor,
he has learned to manipulate his younger brother through humorous guilt trips
and accusations.
He is a central force in
this production, around whom the other characters orbit, except, perhaps, Mr.
Lockhart. Richard even enlists his
friends to go outside with him and his cane to chase away ne’er-do-wells, winos
who are even more unruly than he and his companions, and whom Richard feels he
can still intimidate. Conveniently, this
clears the stage for uninterrupted, more profound exchanges inside, but it also
reveals something essential, Richard’s need to believe there exists at least
one tier below him.
For further comic relief,
look to their friend Ivan, who is another step-and-fetch-it for Richard. Ivan is functionally blind himself, having
misplaced his glasses after a night of heroic drinking. Sheffield Chastain (PBD debut) plays a
hilarious, hopeless, and endearing Ivan Curry, with a gift for physical comedy,
stumbling through a myopic fog (which ultimately bears on the play’s
resolution). The playwright milks the
missing glasses for all they’re worth, as Ivan literally “feels his way
around.” Yet all is not mirth: Ivan
harbors “shameful secrets” known to Mr. Lockhart. Chastain delivers one of the play’s most
memorable lines with perfect timing and drunken profundity: “It’s Christmas for
fuck’s sake!” the play’s version of “God bless us, everyone!”
Richard has also invited
his friend Nicky, now partnered with Sharky’s ex-lover Eileen, to the card
game, much to Sharky’s dismay. Michael
Mellamphy (PBD debut) plays Nicky Giblin with an unsettling undercurrent of
feigned happiness and bravado. His Versace
jacket and driving Eileen’s car (really Sharky’s) represent high points in an
otherwise diminished life.
With free-flowing poteen
fueling tensions later in the play, conflict erupts in a flurry of swings and
shoves. In the aftermath, Mellamphy
showcases his comic flair with a line delivered to Richard: “Sharky’s left hook
is nothing compared to Eileen’s, I’ll tell you.” Richard responds, “She wouldn’t hit you,
Nicky.” Mellamphy fires back with a
humorous but revealing retort: “It’s the force of her words, Richard! Fucking
pin you up against a wall.”
Nicky arrives accompanied
by Mr. Lockhart, who believes he has come to collect what Sharky owes him. Rod Brogan (PBD debut) is an elegant Mr.
Lockhart who, as the evening wears on, conspicuously holds his drink, his
composure sharply contrasting with the others’ inebriation. Brogan’s actions and reactions are quietly
demonic, often accompanied by a knowing smirk and a sense of omniscience.
The card game becomes the
arena in which he intends to collect on a bet Sharky made twenty-five years
earlier in a jail cell on another Christmas Eve, a promise of a rematch for his
soul (apparently a busy time for Mr. Lockhart, resting until Good Friday for
the past two thousand-plus years).
 |
| Declan Mooney, Michael Mellamphy, Rod Brogan, Rob
Donahue, and Sheffield Chastain; Photo by Jason Nuttle |
Brogan leans fully into
the demonic nature of the role, delivering Lockhart’s long monologue with
careful, menacing articulation. On death
(“you go over a cliff so silently and the dusk swallows you so completely, you
don’t ever come back”), on eternity (“time is bigger and blacker and so much
more boundless than you could ever have thought possible with your puny broken
mind”), and on hell itself (a “permanent and crippling form of self-loathing”
thousands of miles beneath an icy sea, in a coffin-like space). Lockhart is entirely in his element with these
proclamations, preying on self-destruction, turning a poker game into a battle
for a soul.
The stage is thus set for
discord and confrontation that yield McPherson’s themes: addiction, guilt, and
the possibility of redemption, all rendered in rhythmic, darkly comic dialogue
that captures the cadence of Irish speech. The play is bleak, funny, and at times unexpectedly
moving, a Christmas story for those who find the season more complicated than
the usual carols might admit. Perhaps
that is why ‘The Seafarer,’ for all its shadows, feels oddly comforting, it
understands the holiday more honestly than most.
This is a stunning
ensemble production, a collective triumph, with Director J. Barry Lewis guiding
both cast and creative team toward something more ambitious than a
straightforward staging. That is no
small accomplishment, given the complexity of the themes, and at a time of year
when mistletoe is generally preferred over existential angst.
Lighting design is by
Genny Wynn, and sound design by Roger Arnold, whose omnipresent chilling wind,
rising and falling, adds to the play’s otherworldliness. David A. Hyland is the fight choreographer and
Jennifer Burke the dialect coach.
We move inexorably toward
the ending we expect, followed by a sudden deus ex machina, a Christmas gift of
a double ending: an apparent redemption, or merely another chance to relive the
same mistakes. In a world defined by
regret and missed chances, McPherson allows the play to close on something
quieter and more human, a moment of grace among friends, and an unmistakable
bond between brothers. It is not
salvation, exactly, but it is connection, and for these men, that may be
miracle enough.
