Brian Friel was a master of the subtle reveal. In Molly Sweeney – the fourth and final revival in the Irish Repertory’s Friel Project this season, directed by Rep co-founder Charlotte Moore – the three characters scarcely move. Heeding the author’s recommendation, each may occasionally stand up from his or her signature chair (set design by Charlie Corcoran) to hover or pace a bit, but they never stray beyond their personal space; nor do they overlap verbally. Thus, the text never develops into a conversation, though at heart it is one: a triptych of interrelated narratives centered on the strictures and challenges of the human condition.
At center – physically as well as thematically – is Molly. Sarah Street conveys both the solidity and the fragility underlying the character’s calm resolve. Molly starts off by recalling an early childhood memory: how her father introduced her to his garden, through scent and touch. Within a few sentences, we realize that we’re listening to the reminiscences of someone who was blind at the time, and still is. Molly came into the world sighted, only to lose her vision to an illness in infancy.
On Molly’s left (stage right), slouching in rare state of repose until it’s his turn to pick up the narrative, is Molly’s husband, Frank. With 26 previous Irish Rep credits, company stalwart John Keating has never been better cast than in this role of a autodidact given to what Molly’s physician, Mr. Rice (Rufus Collins, perfection), will snottily dismiss as “the indiscriminate enthusiasms of the self-taught.” Frank’s theories geyser out of him. He’s bug-eyed, punchy, as he describes his shambolic past: raising Iranian goats, for instance, on a chilly Irish island off the Mayo coast. Frank’s latest project? Restoring Molly’s sight. He was happy enough to court and marry her just as she was (he does welcome a challenge), but he now views her as a work in progress.
[Read David Finkle’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Frank has his hopes set on the skills of Mr. Rice, a one-time ophthalmological global superstar who, for reasons as yet unrevealed, has alit in the sleepy town of Ballybeg (Friel’s fictional Donegal locale). Will Rice risk taking on this challenging case? He notes that such a procedure has succeeded only a score of times worldwide. And will the feat restore his trampled self-esteem?
Those are the stakes, with Molly as the test subject. Acknowledging his debt to Oliver Sacks’s essay “To See and Not See” among other sources, Friel – by way of Mr. Rice – explores some intriguing theories about the mysteries of sight: physical, emotional, symbolic. Molly’s eyes may be ready, but her psyche is not: “My life,” she frets post-op, “no longer cohered.”
This is not a flashy show (despite Michael Gottlieb’s occasionally over-lurid lighting). It’s a deeply engaging look at how our five senses shape our personas and our perception of the world. The suspense lies not so much in whether Molly will regain her sight, but in what it may mean for her very being if she does. If you’ve witnessed this modern classic before, you’ll see the outcome looming. Forewarned or not, prepare to be glued to your seat.
Molly Sweeney opened May 23, 2024, at the Irish Repertory Theatre and runs through June 30. Tickets and information: irishrep.org
