The year is 1828. There are no paying customers as yet in the
dimly-lit dining room of Melody’s rustic rundown tavern, a few miles
outside of Boston. A lone seated man is playing the Uilleann pipes.
The plaintive melody gradually becomes more insistent and aggressive,
and we hear, as in a distant memory, the beating of a regimental drum,
the whinnying of frightened horses amid the clatter of battle. The
short prelude stirs the soul just enough to feel the presence of a
former glory that has not been allowed to dissipate, but remains as a
constant in the ether of the tavern and in the illusions of its owner
Cornelius Melody (Gabriel Byrne). It is a glory that permeates “A
Touch of the Poet,” the only play of his planned 11-part American
history cycle that Eugene O’Neill managed to complete.
Born into wealth in the old country, Con is a continually drunk
ex-Irish officer in Wellington’s army who suffered a disgrace while
serving in the Peninsula Wars. His immigration to the new world has
forced on him a life he cannot identify with or make a success. He has
come to America with his wife, Nora (Dearbhla Molloy), and daughter,
Sara (Emily Bergyl), only to fall upon hard times when his remote
tavern fails to attract customers. Unable to cope with his loss of
prestige and honor, he nevertheless strides about the tavern in his
bright red military garb, pompously confusing his dreams of the past
with the sad facts that define the present. Unable to show any love
for Nora, his doting, supportive, hard-working peasant wife, he
instead constantly assails her.
He berates his daughter for wanting to marry a young gentleman of
means but is incensed when the boy’s parents make an offer of cash to
prevent the wedding. For her part, Sarah scornfully rebukes her father
for his failure to face reality. The principal conflict occurs when
Sara falls in love with Simon, the well-to-do American who has fallen
ill and remains unseen in an upstairs bedroom. Con takes offense to
the negative response by Simon’s parents, notably his mother (Kathyrn
Meisle), and the family attorney (Nicholas Gadsby), and effects a
revenge that turns out a bit differently than he expects.
This exemplary, beautifully staged and acted revival, under the
direction of Douglas Hughes, comes close on the heels of the
well-received “A Moon for the Misbegotten” (produced during the 2000
season), and a lot of credit must go to the dynamic portrayals by
Byrne, the star of both.
As much as the late Jason Robards distinguished himself as the
definitive O’Neill interpreter, may I respectfully submit that Byrne
is picking up the mantle with authority, presence, and perhaps even a
bit more panache. It is the lightness of touch that Byrne weaves
throughout his character’s otherwise melodramatic excesses that
validates those who consider the play, in part as a parody of “The
Count of Monte Cristo,” the vehicle that supported Eugene’s father,
James O’Neill, throughout his career.
In “Poet” Eugene O’Neill integrates generosity and selfishness, as
only the Irish-American master of epoch-scaled blarney could do. In
doing so, he creates a classically structured portrait of a family
bound by a love-hate relationship. Although the play needed neither
flowery lyricism nor desperate dramaturgy to reveal itself as a closer
look at the inner O’Neill, it is nevertheless generously full of it
and happily so.
Boring moments exist in all O’Neill plays, but in “A Touch of the
Poet” they seem to disappear quickly. The slow and methodically
crafted story cleverly exposes the almost humorous contradictions of
Con’s behavior. In this well-cast and excellently staged production
the wordiness and flaws so often noticed in O’Neill’s plays are almost
instantly forgotten.
Notwithstanding the contribution of director Hughes for bringing
nuance and detail, relevance and clarity to this play, there is much
to say about the superior quality of the performances. All reflect the
obligatory melodramatics even as we respond to the humor. That there
will always be room made in an O’Neill play for a few drunken
incoherencies and a certain amount of vague motivation doesn’t disturb
the maturing O’Neill’s complex consideration of Con.
Byrne stunningly brings into perspective Con’s world of self-delusion
and introspective digressions into the past, often while gazing
narcissistically into a mirror and reciting poetry. He alternates this
without a missed beat with the bombastic and arrogant verbal abuse of
his wife and daughter. It is a feat that Byrne pulls off brilliantly
through a finely-tuned brogue. He never allows Con to become
despicable or unsympathetic. His drunkenness never becomes a crutch,
but an anchor he could drop at will. He remains in total control while
he maneuvers in and out of every port of dreams. Humiliated at a duel
of honor, Con loses the last vestiges of his dream world and seeks
final refuge with his cronies at the bar (excellently portrayed by
Daniel Stewart Sherman and Byron Jennings, Ciaran O’Reilly and Randall
Newsome).
Bergyl is marvelously feisty as the strong-willed daughter, Sarah, but
she also earns our attention with a wide range of emotions that could,
when necessary, be unleashed with hurricane force. As Nora, Molloy
poignantly reveals a woman who could love for its own sake but never
be totally shattered by its frustrations. Meisle affects a coyly
insinuating layer to her performance as Simon’s mother, whose
proprieties are momentarily shaken by the charismatic Con. Beautifully
designed (setting and costumes) by Santo Loquasto, this dramatically
harmonious, immensely humorous production is a splendid and welcome
addition to the Broadway season.
