The Weir
Intiman Theatre, Seattle Center, 269-1900. Thurs-Sat at 8; Tues, Wed, Sun at 7; Sat-Sun matinees at 2; $27.50-$42. Through Oct 14.
ON NIGHTS WHEN the wind makes a lonesome sound as it tears through the trees and batters itself against the door, it’s best not to be alone. The company of friends is required, and old friends at that, who’ve heard your stories and your lies and will toast to them both with a stiff drink raised high. With worn floors, a stove that burns bricks of peat, and a bartender who listens more than he talks, the pub conjured up on the stage of the Intiman for Conor McPherson’s The Weir is just the right place to gather for this comforting ritual.
Though no Irishman needs an excuse for a pint, the eerie weather and the rare appearance of a lady in their remote village has everyone in an uncommon state of agitation. The local fellow Finbar (played with charming braggadocio by Kurt Beattie) has made good in the hotel business and rarely ventures back to visit, but has in tow this night a Dublin woman (played by Delia MacDougall) who has recently and rather mysteriously purchased a house far from town. Jack (played by James Greene with lyrical intensity) has dragged out his one good suit, and Jim (a sweet-natured laborer played by Todd Jefferson Moore) sports an optimistically bright sweater. Brendan, the young bartender (played by Daniel Tierney), merely rubs his rag over every surface, trying to coax a long-gone luster. Galled that the only one among them actually married should be enjoying the company of a young woman, they gently vie for her attention with a series of ghost stories. By the time she tells one of her own that leaves both them and the audience stunned, this production has shown the miraculous power that storytelling has–not just to frighten, but also to bind us to one another.