“This visually striking play explores the bleak reality of pyromania, and the complex burden of familial duty in a slow-burn setting”
A comically unsettling atmosphere was instantly created in the pre show- retro songs referencing the use of fire. I distinctly recall Billy Joel’s overly catchy We Didn’t Start The Fire as an early offering. Make no mistake though; this is an incredibly bleak play. Two Northern Irish siblings have their lives upended when younger brother Niall (played by Cormac McAlinden) tries to set himself on fire, forcing his older sister Brigid (played by Catherine Rees) to dedicate her life to caring for him and ensuring his recovery does not lead to relapse.
It is an emotionally messy but ultimately realistic tale of modern mental health that is no doubt replicated in households across the nation and indeed the world. The complexities of dealing with a family member who is suffering such mental anguish they descend to pyromania as a method of coping is deftly explored her by writer Eoin McAndrew. Zoë Hurwitz’s grayscale Mondrian-evoking set perfectly offsets the fiery characters within. A composition of three multilevel monochromatic rooms, 2 above the other, all angular and uninviting are used to convey bedrooms, hospital rooms, underpasses, corridors and entertainment spaces. Blank and bleak, the severe use of acute points in the walls defies Pythagoras in how uncomfortable everything looks. This is contrasted by how human, how emotionally squishy the characters are within them, filling them with the weight of familial duty.
Brigid appears successful and independent of her brother; busy and modern. Niall appears lost and listless, constantly seeking approval and companionship. We are not shown the reason for Niall’s despair, which is an opportunity missed. He moves in with Brigid, whose new boyfriend Michael (played by Connor O’Donell) is a source of slight farcical humour and the voice of reason. His opinions cut through the sulking drama, acting as the outside voice looking in on the audience’s behalf. When he questions the constant presence of Niall in Brigid’s homelife and the strain this is having on her and their relationship, he genuinely sounds reasonable; it is a reasonable assumption and question to ask- will your brother ever be better enough so that we can live our lives like we used to? The key topic here really is to test to phrase “blood is thicker than water”. Brigid ultimately chooses her brother over her boyfriend, deciding that a stressful life with him is better than a life without him in it at all. The irony in the phrase is in its misquote- the original phrase refers to experiences forged through shared experience are ironically stronger than those formed through birth.
Whilst Brigid’s character development is strongest, we never really get to the heart of Niall’s illness, nor is it really explained why Brigid has to deal with this secretly by herself- what’s the issue with their parents, for example? This is a darkly funny production with strong visuals and even stronger performances, but the script needs to explore Niall’s backstory, as well as perhaps lending time to the sibling’s wider familial problems, particularly because in the final scene, after two years he appears to just get better with no further explanation. It does a sterling job of representing the symptoms but less time is given to the cause. Ultimately, this is an excellently grim play well worth your time and contemplation. It’s a slow burn, so to speak, but its sparks pay off in the end.