Kathy Kiera Clarke in The Dry House at Marylebone Theatre. Photo Manuel Harlan.The house is evidently pitching itself as a new champion of the intelligent arts scene with much made of the fact that Sir Mark Rylance has been brought on board as a patron of the venue. Tucked up the road from Baker Street tube station, the theatre forms part of the larger Rudolph Steiner property (home to the Anthroposophical Society of Great Britain) and retains many of the original features, which have been gracefully incorporated into the recent renovation. The theatre itself, is a fairly standardised affair with minimal trappings or distractions and for this production (by deploying black-out framing) designer Niall McKeever has effectively letter-boxed the stage, focussing the audience’s attention on the grubby living room in which we discover the shaky-handed, sweating and frightened Chrissy, — a chronic alcoholic since losing her daughter in a car crash.
It comes as no shock to learn from the programme that O’Hare is something of a renaissance man. An actor and a poet, he writes grittily real episodes observed through the sort of lyrical despondency which spawned generations of Irish playwrights. Imagery comes thick and fast through the leitmotif of a dead daughter who repeats the same scene multiple times, each fresh with lightness, apparently oblivious to the impending disaster about to befall her. The women are a lesson in naturalistic style and deliver the story of two fragile sisters trying to be strong for each other with agonising pathos and total conviction. The irony of lines referencing Solpadine dropped in gin flow into the psyche and slap the hearer’s brain as we learn of Claire’s huge vested interest in helping her sister successfully embark upon an eight-week rehabilitation programme at the establishment which gives the play its title.
Facts and scenarios are subjected to twists and revelations and during one poignant address the ghostly Heather reveals the hitherto unknown depths of the situation which led to her untimely death. It’s the sort of writing for actors which gets under the skin of an audience and there was a palpable mix of excitement and shell-shock as the first night audience rose to its feet. It’s hard-going, but worth the effort if you’re capable of observing human fragility at the miserable end of the spectrum without feeling triggered.
