The geology of Connemara is unique in its combination of sedimentary, volcanic and metamorphic rocks. It's a landscape Martin McDonagh has consistently tapped for his sentimental, volcanic and metaphoric plays.
The Beauty Queen of Leenane was the initial work in which McDonagh dug beneath the thin crust of thwarted, rural Irish lives. But though it's of as recent a vintage as 1996, Marcus Romer's revival already has the look of history about it.
Among McDonagh's major concerns is the ancient pattern of Irish exodus: "That's Ireland for you - always someone leaving," one character laments. But since the adoption of the euro, one could argue that Eire is now closer to her European neighbours than beholden to England or America.
There are further aspects of the play that have begun to date. The reliance on the plot device of a letter gone astray seems clumsily naive, and the garrulous, though mellifluous interplay has the genial feel of a temperate pot-boiler, until it explodes with a hysterical incident involving a boiling pot.
Whether the simmering resentments of the first half warrant the scalding retribution of the second is a close call; and it remains critically dependent for its credibility on some exceptionally accomplished acting. Happily, Romer is served by a quartet of outstanding performances. Tessa Worsley is superb as the sour old relic Mag and Marianne March excels as the mentally fragile daughter she tyrannises. Jamie Beamish's St Vitus-like inability to sit still belies a volcanic desire for escape, and Paul M Meston brings an overbearing weight of lovelorn dignity to the role of Pato.
Liam Doona's dilapidated set is both squalid and solid - every time a door is slammed it refuses to shake. If only the plot were as stable.
· Until November 27. Box office: 01904 623568.
