Buffalo Theater: Who can write about what is at heart of the story

By Bella Poynton
(Photo above by Sheri Santi)

Dan O’Brien’s An Irish Play, at ART of WNY, directed by Matt LaChiusa, and playing until March 28, was a unique and unexpected night of theatre for me. I made the rare decision to go in not knowing anything about the play beforehand. Because I was unfamiliar with the playwright, and Irish theatre is not my specialty, I let the experience unfold without preconception, and it paid off.

Before the play began, LaChiusa’s director’s note stood out to me as particularly thoughtful. He reflects on a colleague’s joke about his previous Artie-winning project, The Informer, calling attention to “the irony of an Italian-American guy writing about Irish culture.” LaChiusa defends the right of playwrights to imagine stories beyond autobiographical material, and the question he poses lingers: does restricting ourselves to what we know limit not only our subjects, but our imagination? It is a question that has circulated through playwriting circles for years, and LaChiusa’s willingness to foreground it as an inspiration for choosing this play provides a compelling framework for the evening.

The play opens in Cork, Ireland, in 2002, at the first rehearsal for a community theatre production about famed Irish king and legend Brian Boru. The group is familiar with one another; it quickly becomes clear that the relationships in the room are both intimate and potentially explosive. Trevor Dugan’s Ed Deevey leads the rehearsal with directorial authority and ease, while Catherine Burkhart’s Martha anchors the room with a quieter, more measured presence as the stage manager. Both performances are excellent, exuding an effortlessness that makes the audience initially comfortable. Around them orbit a collection of other characters whose relationships are charged with history and backstory.

What follows is less of a rehearsal and more of an emotional roller coaster ride. As the evening progresses, the actors reveal themselves through a series of half-comedic, half-shocking conversations that move between friendly razzing and personal attack. This is a play about theatre people talking about theatre, but also about what lies beneath that rehearsal talk: insecurity, jealousy, ambition, fear of irrelevance, and the constant lingering question of who has worth. I found myself squirming at several moments, not because the writing faltered, but because it felt so close to lived experience.

At times, the cruelty on display is startling. For example, whenever anyone brings up the terminally ill wife of Willie Boyle (Starzynski), I was shocked at the viciousness and lack of decency. O’Brien’s tactic is to let these characters tear each other apart, often under the guise of honesty or joking. O’Brien’s choice to foreground this cruelty is striking, particularly in contrast to the more polite environment often associated with American theatrical culture. Here, the tolerance for harshness feels almost cultural, at least for this town, or this theater company. Deevey (Dugan) remarks that Irish culture has a high tolerance for “mystery,” which he suggests really means “bullshit.” What the play ultimately suggests is a tolerance not for mystery, but for emotional brutality. The result is both compelling and uncomfortable.

The ensemble work together with skill and intensity, rising to the demands of the script’s relentless dynamism. Burkhart’s Martha is a grounded and rich performance. She shapes her deeply insecure character with subtle and believable shifts in voice and posture; it’s an excellent showcase for her talent.

Dugan’s Deevey provides structure and warmth, guiding the room but also breaking down periodically with his own personal problems.

John Della Contrada’s Declan is particularly affecting; he’s volatile, but also undeniably fragile as a person. Described as a “fallen hero” by LaChiusa himself, this character broke my heart but is also so unhinged that it’s impossible to feel badly for him. Della Contrada strikes a perfect balance between the wounded young boy and the angry young man.

Rick Lattimer brings sincerity and humor to Michael O’Shaughnessy, layering his charm with a quiet awareness and acceptance of how others perceive him.

Brooke Georgen is lovely as Cynthia Reagan with a performance as the aging ingenue who must work to maintain her desirability through subtle power negotiations.

For me, the star of the evening is Michael Starzynski as Willie Boyle. He cuts through the competitive energy of the other characters with a more tender, heartfelt performance. Starzynski delivers a monologue in the second act that is among the strongest moments I have seen on a Buffalo stage this year. Starzynski is one of Buffalo’s great actors, and is, I have noticed, particularly fantastic at monologues. The moment alone is worth the price of admission.

Finally, Robert Humphrey plays Joachim Sampson, the young Black Irish American man who is new to the community theatre and has been given the role of Brodir the Viking. He gives a controlled, but powerful performance as the outsider of the group, and serves as a control for the insanity we witness across the events of the show; the audience can tell by watching Humphrey’s reactions that so much of what is happening is toxic and needs to change.

In the second act, the play sharpens its central question: who has the right to tell certain stories? How Irish is “Irish enough” to be involved in an Irish play? Joachim is indeed Irish American, and while he was not raised in Ireland, he was born there. This seems to be justification enough for everyone except Declan, who believes the role should have gone to him. The casting conflict exposes these questions but also reveals deeper fractures among friends. Declan’s response, driven by resentment and personal history, pushes the play toward its most difficult moments. His unraveling, in real time, is painful to watch, but it’s also one of the most important sequences in the production.

In an article from The Irish Times in early 2025, O’Brien himself describes the play as “exuberantly messy, heedlessly emotional … funny and angry and sad – often all at once,” and that description feels apt. The play resists formalist, Aristotelian, or even episodic structure. It does not offer resolution in the traditional sense. Instead, it leaves us with fragments, with questions, with the uneasy sense that these characters might continue on exactly as they are, the next day.

While the ending feels just a bit abrupt, that lack of closure is intentional — something O’Brien wants us to ponder: in what ways are we stuck? What unresolved issues do we continually circle around over and over in our own lives? The play is less interested in resolution than in exposure and reflection.

What stayed with me most was not just the cruelty, but also the absence of support. These characters seem desperate for affirmation, for someone to tell them they are doing a good job! Yet, somehow, they are unable to offer it to one another. The result is a cycle of harm that feels both specific and universal. It raises a quiet but persistent question: what might these lives look like if encouragement replaced competition? And I think this axiom can be applied to most if not all theatre communities … including our own.

This is not a perfect or predictable piece of theatre. It is unruly, challenging and occasionally uncomfortable. But it is also deeply engaging. LaChiusa’s choice to produce a lesser-known work like this speaks to his commitment to artistic risk, and the uplifting of unknown voices. I left the theatre still thinking about these people, their choices, and the ways they might have found something better for themselves. That, more than anything, is what made the experience worthwhile.

An Irish Play has three performances left at the Compass Performing Arts Factory, 545 Elmwood Ave., Buffalo, on March 26, 27 and 28.

Dr. Bella Poynton is a playwright, dramaturg, actor and theater historian from Buffalo. She teaches at SUNY Oswego.