It's no surprise that actors should be drawn to a play about theatrical illusion. Tony Kushner's loose adaptation of Pierre Corneille's L'Illusion Comique is full of mock-heroic exchanges, in which the poetry and prolixity of the neoclassical original are parodied as well as celebrated. Rhyming couplets are juxtaposed with colloquialisms; classical references provide fuel for comedy. The recently formed Dublin company Randolf SD have added their own improvisations and, under Wayne Jordan's direction, fling themselves into the fun.
When the Lawyer (Will O'Connell), troubled by his conscience, visits the Magician (Kate Nic Chonaonaigh) to see if she can reveal the fate of his banished son, she conjures up a series of scenes, showing him his son (Philip McMahon) as an ardent lover. With variations of names and details the scenes recur, always featuring his son's beloved lady (Natalie Radmall Quirke), rival suitors and a cunning maidservant. Trysts and threats, sword fights and subterfuge ensue, brilliantly performed by the cast, who race around and leap over the low rectangular platform that is the sole piece of scenery. On this the Lawyer stands, anxiously looking on and commenting, while the Magician controls the action, occasionally rewriting the plot of the unfolding play within the play.
After much histrionic talk of love, it is, it seems, always an illusion. But then, "the art of illusion is the art of love and the art of love is the blood-red heart of the world". The heart of this play seems less than blood-red: the Lawyer's concern for his son is the closest we get to an emotional core, but it can easily evaporate. Only make-believe has any reality.
The theatrical metaphors and distancing effects are overworked, both by Kushner's elaborately constructed text and by Jordan's production, which opens with the actors languidly studying scripts. These versatile performers are much more engaging when they're creating illusions rather than knowingly subverting them.
