There is a wonderful scene in Brian Friel's play when an English lieutenant, George, part of an ordnance survey mapping operation being conducted in a remote area of Donegal in 1833, tells local Irish girl Maire of his love for her. The two lovers cannot speak each other's language, yet their ability to communicate the joy of love is totally unimpaired.
The beautiful thing about this scene, indeed the whole of Friel's magnificent 1980 play, is its subtle irony. George has fallen in love with Ireland and the Irish and yet he is actively engaged in sweeping away an ancient culture, replacing the old names for villages and features of the landscape with anglicised versions.
Friel piles on the salt by setting the play in a hedge-school, where after a day in the fields bringing in the harvest, the Gaelic-speaking community learn Latin and Greek. The incoming English soldiers despise them as illiterate peasants because they cannot speak English, but unlike the English these "peasants" can quote Homer and Virgil. English, suggests one, is a language without poetry, best suited for the purposes of commerce. But it is also the language of the conquerors, of what is set to become the dominant culture. The greatest irony of all, perhaps, is the fact that the play is written in English. Its cleverness is in convincing the audience that the English speak only English and the Irish converse in their language.
There have been plenty of plays written about England's Ireland in the past 30 years, but none as perceptive and moving as Friel's. Lawrence Till, Watford's new artistic director, treats this play with the quiet respect it deserves, delivering an intelligent and beautifully acted production that is like a long slow burn. Searing stuff.
Until May 6. Box office: 01923 225671. Then touring to Salisbury Playhouse and the Belgrade Theatre, Coventry
***** Unmissable **** Recommended *** Enjoyable ** Mediocre * Terrible
