‘The Seafarer’: A Christmas of Shadows and Spirits at Palm Beach Dramaworks

 

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.

 

Palm Beach Dramaworks Production of 'The Humans' Captures the Angst of Our Times

 

Stephen Karam’s ‘The Humans’ is a gripping 90 plus minute exploration of the existential post 9/11 dread of the 21^st century, the equivocality of the human condition, touching the tenuousness and tenderness of family ties. While it has many humorous moments, this production is both profoundly philosophical and deeply human. Director J. Barry Lewis and the PBD ensemble of actors and technicians make this a memorable theater experience.

 

It takes place in real time, at a family Thanksgiving dinner in a rundown basement duplex in Manhattan’s Chinatown. Parents of the Blake family, Eric and Deidre, drove from blue-collar Scranton, PA, with Eric’s 79-year-old mother, “Momo” who suffers from dementia, to the “new” apartment of their younger daughter, Brigid, and her partner, Richard.  Also attending is their older daughter, Aimee. 

 

The dinner begins pleasantly with light family banter until emotions begin to ebb and flow, becoming a cauldron of confrontations and hurts, revealing well-worn family pressure points and secrets.  These are “the humans” who are trapped in conflict with external forces and within the family structure.  Their interactions, punctuated by wit and pathos, reveal layers of disappointment and anxiety: families know how to push emotional buttons. Strange sounds emanating from the building are foreboding, the gloomy apartment another character in the play. 

 

Each character in this Chekhovian gem of heightened realism reflects one or more of the play’s themes.  The cast’s chemistry makes their interaction feel authentic and deeply connected.

 

Laurie Tanner, Andy Prosky, Anne-Marie Cusson, Lindsey Corey, Casey Sacco, and Daniel Kublick. Photo by Jason Nuttle

Andy Prosky (PBD debut) is Erik Blake, the family’s patriarch, now mired in a middle-class financial crisis, having recently lost his job as a school custodian. Anxiety, regret and guilt hang heavily in Prosky’s performance.  Brigid now lives near ground zero after 9/11 which has heightened his concern for his daughters’ welfare.  He also has issues which threaten his marriage and his very dignity while fears of mortality and nightmares stalk him.  Prosky’s interpretation deeply resounds:  pensive, anxious, he looks off in the distance asking, “don’t you think it should cost less to stay alive?” His troubles and morally ambiguous nature make him a classic antihero. His is truly a bravura performance.

 

His wife, Deirdre Blake, is equally hauntingly played by Anne-Marie Cusson. Her long suffering as a wife prevails in her performance, as well as her Catholic upbringing and traditional values, frequently putting her at odds with her daughters. Religion and marriage are at the core of her beliefs, lacking in both her daughters.  Even when not talking, her knowing looks are both sad and comic.

 

Laurie Tanner (PBD debut) portrays Fiona “Momo” Blake, Eric’s mother, suffering from dementia.  Most of her dialogue is monosyllabic gibberish, but with occasional breakthroughs of clarity such as this brief monologue which could describe all the characters in the play and has Theatre of the Absurd insight:  “where do we go? Where, where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go?“  Tanner’s is a mostly sad visage, but she explodes into the play’s resolution. The rhythm of her language has allegorical meaning as do the non-sequiturs.

 

Casey Sacco plays Brigid, the younger daughter who is hosting the dinner. She takes pleasure in playing this adult role for her family and yet reveals her profound disappointment as a marginalized millennial. She aspires to be a musician but is bartending. Yet Sacco tries to show her character’s brave positivity as being the “new adult” in the family, even her excitement about having a large window upstairs, although it looks down at an enclosed backyard dump.  Her depression about her career is countered by Eric’s impassioned plea that she display the “Blake bounce back” as if it was only so simple.

 

She tries to distance herself from her parents’ values, living with, but not yet married to Richard Saad, twelve years her senior, played with concerned likability by Daniel Kublick (PBD debut). While he has a disturbing dream world in common with Eric, the comparison stops there as his demeanor is calmer, analytical, and as he is from a family of privilege, symbolizing the financial disparities between classes.  Richard effectively keeps the flow of the dinner when he senses the family is off track.  Whereas Erik is lost in the sea of stress, Richard advocates coping strategies although one can see from Saad’s mannerisms and glances that he is still struggling to find purpose. 

 

Lindsey Corey’s performance as Brigid’s older sister, Aimee, is heartbreaking, negotiating many life changes, all negative. She suffers from ulcerative colitis, with the anxiety of its economic impact, and loneliness, longing for her former female partner.  Her position as an attorney is soon to be terminated; even the highly educated are subject to the precariousness of professional life.  Ironically only Deidre is fully employed, as an office manager, but underpaid and underappreciated. 

 

All these humans are in the same boat of life’s fragility, both literally and philosophically.  If the Theater of the Absurd sought to reveal the absurdity of existence, ‘The Humans’ looks at the condition from the vantage of the everyday lives we lead. 

 

By the time the toasts around the dinner table take place (a family tradition under the amusing rubric of “Smashing the Pig”), emotions escalate, from Richard’s that he is joining a new family, to Eric’s thanks for unconditional family love, and then a change of tone: Brigid blurting out that she wants to be cremated when she dies, to Deidre’s expression of religious horror at that thought, to Brigid’s rejoinder that no one in the family can handle honesty.  But Aimee contradicts that by speaking honestly “in a year where – I lost my job, my girlfriend, and I’m bleeding internally… really a banner year… I’m thankful for what’s right, okay? I love that in times like this I have a home base, a family I can always come home to.”

 

The dinner culminates in a reading of an email Momo wrote to her granddaughters when she was first diagnosed with her illness four years before, a tear jerking monologue read aloud by Deidre.  Then Director J Barry Lewis introduces a long silence to let this sink in with the family and the extended family of the audience.  Soon afterwards, Deidre breaks down in silence, solitary on stage, Cusson’s sadness palpable. 

 

From there the play’s context shifts to the cosmic nature of the human dilemma, the ominous sounds escalating as the lighting fades with Erik’s motions and interrupted monologue resembling his nightmares of faceless figures in a tunnel, expressing his guilt and fear of irrelevance -- until complete darkness settles like the black hole of a quasar.

 

Director J. Barry Lewis orchestrated a dynamite cast in developing this play, taking it from its realistic roots into the uncertainty of absurd theatre. He skillfully meets the challenge of directing actors in multiple stage locations sometimes engaged in separate discussions; it is purposely disquieting, the tension building until finally released in a sense of bewilderment. We recognize the characters as ourselves.

 

The scenic design of the two-story duplex with a spiral staircase is by Anne Mundell, a tour de force, squeezing the second level onto the compromised PBD stage.  The monotone set captures the grunge of a NYC basement apartment in a turn of the century building with exposed pipes, electric meter and circuit breaker, a worn kitchen, stage left.  It is in just moved in condition, with mismatched folding bridge tables, open unpacked cartons, paper plates and cups at dinner, a perfect setting for the themes of this play.  Although it is dark and dank place, it is not inhabited by ghosts, except the ones trapped in the characters.

 

Brian O’Keefe’s costume design is another sign of the random nature of life. What would these people wear getting together for this particular Thanksgiving meal, a happenstance that one gets the sense will not be repeated?  No costume changes required; only our attention to real life characters in a realistic play.  

 

Lighting design by Kirk Bookman had to cope with the two-level set and the anomaly of tired light bulbs in the apartment slowly popping off and the fading light at the conclusion.  The lighting hones in on Eric’s tunnel dreams as an ambiguous denouement develops.

 

Roger Arnold’s sound design includes the jarring sounds from the old building, a sudden thud from the apartment above, the banging pipes, the trash compactor; the groans build as the play evolves. These sounds are especially grating to Eric, the character most vulnerable to paralyzing unease. He has an immediate, instinctive, reaction to them as a perceived threat in his state of anxiety.  There is deep rumble as the play opens, that thud from upstairs, a flushing toilet. Frequent overlapping dialogue is a sound challenge successfully addressed by the designer.  There is the obligatory barking dog but no outside noise of the city.

 

'The Humans' is another great play selection by Palm Beach Dramaworks and its execution flawless, capturing the temper of the times.  Emphatically, this is theatre to think about.