It's not surprising that "Woman", the central character in Marina Carr's play, has taken to her bed. The weight of cultural reference that she carries would be enough to exhaust her, even if she hadn't brought up eight children. Echoing ancient myth, operatic deathbed scenes and Irish plays from Beckett to Enda Walsh, Woman (Olwen Fouéré) ruefully looks back on her life as she lies "dying of bitterness", resenting her husband's infidelities and goaded by Scarecrow (Barbara Brennan), her furious alter ego-cum-guardian angel.
For the play's impressive Irish premiere - the Royal Court in London gave it its first performance last year - director Selina Cartmell takes it as far away from domestic realism as possible, creating striking stage images that fill out Carr's occasionally awkward dramaturgy. Paul Keogan's lighting and Conor Murphy's beautiful set evoke an otherworldly domain, as Woman hovers on the threshold of death.
As Brennan's wickedly louche angel of death plies Woman with alcohol, her Auntie (Bríd Ní Neachtain) torments her, and her husband (Simon O'Gorman) pleads with her to absolve his guilt, Woman remains implacable. Fouéré's remarkable capacity to seem ageless and timeless, androgynous and childlike, brings depth to this difficult role. Most moving when she is remembering small moments of lost tenderness rather than pondering metaphysical mysteries, she seems to crave tragic status while also refusing it.
Carr returns again and again to this question: can our ordinary lives have tragic significance? If so, the tragedy is suggested here in Woman's simple statement: "I refused to be happy."
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