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.
