The little brother in question in Eoin McAndrew’s Verity Bargate Award-winning dramedy is Niall (Cormac McAlinden), who at the beginning of the story phones up his big sister Brigid (Catherine Rees) at 3am and tries to make inane smalltalk with her. She is, nonetheless, patient with him and they agree to go for a walk together at the weekend. Then he sets fire to his hand, an incident that understandably reverberates throughout the play.
Which sounds a bit bleak – and indeed is bleak – but Little Brother has a very definite comedic tone, as evidenced by the second scene in which Brigid is at the hospital discussing Niall’s injury with a wildly eccentric nurse (Laura Dos Santos) who burbles on about Northern Ireland’s abnormally high numbers of self-immolations and also how great the hospital water is.
The meat of the play’s story concerns the vulnerable Niall coming to live with Brigid while he tries to get his life back together. Despite being busy with work, she has a sweet dedication to her brother that’s touching, if occasionally absurd. The nurse asks her to hide every potential source of flame in the house, which she does, but Brigid is aghast to come home one night and discover her brother is watching The Wicker Man.
Compilations arise in the shape of Conor O’Donnell’s Michael Doran. Insisting on going by his whole name, he’s Brigid’s boyfriend, who she initially tries to conceal from Niall before introducing him gently. A big, awkward, childishly self-interested man, he’s quite sweet in a way but he never gels with Niall, which leads to problems.
A peculiar thing about McAndrew’s play is that while Michael Doran is undoubtedly annoying, it’s possible to sympathise with his lack of comprehension of Niall’s situation because we never really understand him either. Little Brother refuses to get under its title character’s skin: we never really get a sense about what’s going on in his head. On the one hand, it’s refreshing to have a character with unusual psychological problems that we never get to the bottom of – at most we can surmise that his actions are linked to depression. On the other, it feels timid to give a character such unusual, plot-driving psychological problems and then not grapple with them at all.
Directed by Emma Jordan in a production that wisely embraces the text’s amusing side, Little Brother is sweet and funny. It has a lovely multilevel, multicompartment set from Zoë Hurwitz. It shows promise and has some fine comic turns – especially from O’Donnell as the bumbling Michael Doran – but a little more depth would have gone a long way.
