The Playboy of the Western World

Unless you’re fluent in turn-of-the-twentieth-century Hiberno-English, John Millington Synge’s The Playboy of the Western World requires proper, eyes-wide-open concentration. And even more so in this NT revival, in which director Caitríona McLaughlin celebrates the lyrical language of the play in all its glory. At its best, hers is a production that rewards attentiveness, weaving in beautiful, affecting images of County Mayo folklore alongside some standout acting performances. But despite the play’s undeniable importance within the Irish canon, it feels like a strange choice for the National Theatre’s 2025 programme, and the production comes across as a hodgepodge of competing ideas.

Not all of that is down to McLaughlin. There’s the rambling, stretched-out plot in which young Christy Mahon arrives at a small local pub, claims he has killed his father, and then, rather than being shunned, becomes something of a village celebrity. What follows are strings of repetitive scenes in which the truth about Christy’s story threatens to come out. Despite an assured, characterful performance, Éanna Hardwicke makes Christy a constantly wowed dufus. Which begs the question: could this really be a man who has hordes of women running after him?

It is one of many confusing directorial decisions from McLaughlin, who attempts to lean into both the comedy and the pathos in Synge’s script. Crowds of mummers in traditional dress appear between the scenes, while mourners dressed all in black wail and weep as well. Rain falls too, for no other reason than it looks cool. With costumes designed by Katie Davenport that nod to both past and present – there are cowboy boots and leather coats alongside more classic belts, corseted dresses, and Aran sweaters – our sense of place is utterly disjointed.

Still, most of the audience will likely have bagged tickets to see the outstanding Nicola Coughlan, and they will not be disappointed. The Bridgerton megastar looks right at home as the feisty barmaid Pegeen, who falls suddenly and deeply under Christy’s charms. Coughlan’s Derry Girls co-star Siobhán McSweeney makes Widow Quin flirtatious yet purpose-driven; her rich, cackle of a laugh closes act one and rings with genuine menace. And it is sometimes a struggle to understand every word of Lorcan Cranitch as Pegeen’s alcohol-fuelled father, he gives a convincing, powerhouse interpretation.

It is a real shame, then, that the production feels so tonally muddled. When the play originally opened at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre in 1907, it caused riots for its subversion of the romanticism of Irish rural life. Now, though, its once sparky, provocative nature has lost much of its bite. It is a tough play to know how to handle. Perhaps it is better left in the history books.