Conor McPherson Plays: Three

Conor McPherson

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9781848422094
• eBook ISBN: 9781780012315
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

This volume of Conor McPherson's collected plays, covering a decade of writing, celebrates a fascination with the uncanny which has led him to be described as 'quite possibly the finest playwright of his generation' ( New York Times ).

In Shining City, a man seeks help from a counsellor, claiming to have seen the ghost of his dead wife. The play, premiered at the Royal Court, London, is 'up there with The Weir, moving, compassionate, ingenious and absolutely gripping' ( Daily Telegraph ).

The Seafarer, premiered at the National Theatre before going on to become a Tony Award-winning Broadway hit, tells the story of an extended Christmas Eve card game, but one played for the highest stakes possible. 'McPherson proves yet again he is both a born yarn-spinner and an acute analyst of the melancholy Irish manhood' ( Guardian )

Setin 'the big house' in 1820s rural Ireland, The Veil is McPherson's first period play. Seventeen-year-old Hannah is to be married off in order to settle the debts of the crumbling estate. But when Reverend Berkeley arrives, determined to orchestrate a séance, chaos is unleased. 'A cracking fireside tale of haunting and decay' ( The Times)

The Birds, hauntingly adapted from the short story by Daphne du Maurier, is 'deliciously chilling, claustrophobic, questioning, frightening; and with a twist' ( Irish Independent ). It is published here for the first time, as is The Dance of Death, a new version of Strindberg's classic, which premiered at the Trafalgar Studios in London. 'A spectacularly bleak yet curiously bracing drama that often makes you laugh out loud'( Daily Telegraph ).

Completing the volume is a Foreword by the author.

THE SEAFARER

He knows not
Who lives most easily on land, how I
Have spent my winter on the ice-cold sea
Wretched and anxious, in the paths of exile
Lacking dear friends, hung round by icicles
While hail flew past in showers…

Anonymous. The Seafarer, c.755 AD,
translated from Anglo-Saxon by Richard Hamer

The Seafarer was first performed in the Cottesloe auditorium of the National Theatre, London, on 28 September 2006 (previews from 20 September), with the following cast:

MR LOCKHART	Ron Cook
IVAN CURRY	Conleth Hill
JAMES ‘SHARKY’ HARKIN	Karl Johnson
NICKY GIBLIN	Michael McElhatton
RICHARD HARKIN	Jim Norton
Director	Conor McPherson
Designer	Rae Smith
Lighting Designer	Neil Austin
Sound Designer	Mathew Smethurst-Evans

The play received its American premiere at the Booth Theater, New York, on 31 October 2007, with the same artistic team. The cast was as follows:

IVAN CURRY	Conleth Hill
MR LOCKHART	Ciarán Hinds
NICKY GIBLIN	Sean Mahon
JAMES ‘SHARKY’ HARKIN	David Morse
RICHARD HARKIN	Jim Norton

Characters

JAMES ‘SHARKY’ HARKIN, erstwhile fisherman/van driver/chauffeur, fifties

RICHARD HARKIN, his older brother, recently gone blind, late fifties/sixties

IVAN CURRY, old friend of the Harkins, late forties

NICKY GIBLIN, a friend of Richard’s, late forties/fifties

MR LOCKHART, an acquaintance of Nicky’s, fifties

Dialogue in square brackets [ ] is unspoken.

Setting

The action takes place in a house in Baldoyle, a coastal settlement north of Dublin City. It is an old area which could hardly be called a town these days. It is rather a suburb of the city with a church and a few pubs and shops at its heart. From the coast one is looking at the north side of the Howth peninsula. Howth Head (Binn Eadair) is a hill on the peninsula which marks the northern arm of Dublin Bay. Due to its prominence it has long been the focus of myths and legends.

Act One takes place on Christmas Eve morning and late afternoon.

Act Two takes place late on Christmas Eve night.

ACT ONE: THE DEVIL AT BINN EADAIR

Scene One

The grim living area of a house in Baldoyle in Dublin. The house seems to be built into a hill. The main entrance is down a flight of stairs from the ground floor, giving a basement feel to the room. There is a window with a net curtain and threadbare heavier curtains drawn over it. At the back wall is an opening to a passageway giving access to a yard. Off the passageway are a mostly unseen kitchen and a toilet.

The place lacks a woman’s touch. It has morphed into a kind of a bar in its appearance. Those who live or pass through here are so immersed in pub culture that many artefacts in the room are originally from bars: a big mirror advertising whiskey, ashtrays, beer mats, a bar stool or two somewhere. There is a cold stove. The furniture is old and worn. An armchair, a couch, mismatched chairs, a dresser with very old mugs, cups and various chipped plates, a little table more suited for playing cards than for eating at…

As the play begins the room is more or less in darkness. Some light seeps through from the kitchen, from the door to the yard, from down the stairs and through the threadbare curtains. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here. An old stereo plays low music. A scrawny artificial Christmas tree haunts a corner.

SHARKY comes down the stairs, pausing to tap a red light under a picture of the Sacred Heart which has gone out. It flickers to life for a second but goes out again as he descends and surveys the scene. He is in mismatched pyjamas with a sweater over them and wears a pair of runners. He is not a big man, but is wiry and strong. A very tough life is etched on his face. His eyes are quick and ready. He has a small plaster at the bridge of his nose and a few plasters on the knuckles of his right hand. He opens the curtains to let in the morning light which reveals the squalor. He goes to the stereo and shuts it off. He then realises the phone is ringing. He lifts the receiver.

SHARKY. Hello? Hello?

He hangs up. As he does so, RICHARD, his older brother, stirs awake. He has been asleep (passed out)on the floor where we didn’t notice him or took him for a bundle of rags. He wears a black suit, one slipper, an ancient baseball cap and a filthy white shirt. He is unshaven and looks terrible. He has recently gone blind. He rises up behind SHARKY…

RICHARD. Who’s that? Sharky?

SHARKY (startled). What are you fucking doing?!

RICHARD. What happened?

SHARKY. Nothing – I just turned off the radio. I thought you told me you’d go up to bed!

RICHARD. Yeah, I meant to, but I’d no one to help me up the stairs!

SHARKY. Where was Ivan?

RICHARD. I don’t know! He must’ve gone home.

SHARKY. I thought you said you could feel your way up!

RICHARD. Ah, Sharky! Not when I’m jarred!

SHARKY (going to RICHARD, picking up a slipper). For fuck’s sake, Richard…

RICHARD. Ah, don’t be at me now, I’m not able for it. What time is it?

SHARKY. It’s half ten.

RICHARD. Oh God, I’m bursting… give us a hand, where’s me stick?

SHARKY, slipper in hand, looks around for RICHARD’s stick, while RICHARD shakily holds on to the chair, one slipper on, one slipper off.

Sharky!

SHARKY. I’m here!

RICHARD. God, it’s freezing! Where’s me stick?

SHARKY. I don’t know! Where did you put it?

RICHARD. If I knew where I put it, I’d have it!

SHARKY. Ah, don’t fucking start, I’m looking for it, if you’d’ve let me bring you up to bed last night you’d have everything…

RICHARD. Ivan was here! What was I gonna do, leave him sitting in here on his own?

SHARKY. No, you were to...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Foreword
• Shining City
• The Seafarer
• The Birds
• The Veil
• The Dance of Death
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information