A mirror up to nature

I'm still ruminating over last week's opening of Conor McPherson's "Shining City" at the Huntington Theatre Company here in Boston. It takes place in a therapist's office in Dublin, where a bereaved patient named John struggles to exorcise his guilt and grief after losing his wife. In a heartbreaking performance by John Judd, the patient is as ordinary and banal as his name, and he stutters and stammers his way through the talking cure. This is a run-of-the-mill middle-aged man who fumbled about in a passionless - and childless - marriage, while searching aimlessly for Something More. But in the end, it is his acceptance of his very ordinariness that sets him free.

This isn't really the stuff of laughter, but there was one moment in the theater that still resonates. In Scene Three, John falteringly confesses his inept attempt to get some action at a house of ill repute. He is so ashamed he can barely even spit out the words. "Brothel,'' he finally says, regurgitating the word as if it bears the bitter aftertaste of his own vomit. And from the audience? Snickers. Guffaws. A scattering of full-throated laughter. The word alone evoked thoughts of that other real-life drama, the tale of Client 9 and the call girl Kristen, also known as the downfall of Gov. Eliot Spitzer. In this case, the collective consciousness of the audience could have stopped the actors cold, but Judd didn't flinch, and the play went on. Awkward and slightly inappropriate, yes, but it was one of those moments that can only happen in a theater, and it reminded me of why we do what we do. Life imitates art, and vice versa.

One more thing: This being St. Patrick's Day (or Evacuation Day, here in the provinces), I have to say that I am gratified that I haven't come across much of the old Celtic Twilight verbiage in reviews of this McPherson play, which is a thoroughly modern psychological exploration of transference and countertransference. A Chicago review of this production, which opened in the Windy City, did liken it to "hearing a tall tale told over a pint and a bag of crisps,'' an old stereotype that has precisely nothing to do with the play. But thankfully, I haven't come across a single mention of "a terrible beauty" or other overused phrases that used to pop up in writing about anything Irish, apropos or not. And that, my friends, is a good thing indeed.