Review: THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD, starring Nicola Coughlan and Siobhán McSweeney

Pegeen Flaherty’s life takes a turn when a young, handsome stranger crashes into her family’s pub confessing to the murder of his father. Charismatic and interesting, Christy knows how to tell a story. Soon enough, the townspeople are hailing him as a hero. But the truth lies just around the corner. When John Millington Synge’s The Playboy of the Western World opened in Dublin at The Abbey Theatre in 1907, it was faced with protests.

The riots were started by a group of Irish nationalists and republicans who thought it was an insult to Ireland and Irish morals (among the various shades of criticism was the portrayal of the Western counties of Ireland and the representation of their people). Now, the current artistic director of The Abbey Theatre, Caitríona McLaughlin, brings a brand new production to The National Theatre, reuniting Derry Girls’ Nicola Coughlan and Siobhán McSweeney for a comic spectacle of pathetic men and feral women.

Coughlan and McSweeney might be top-billed, but this is very much an ensemble play that features Synge’s dialogue and its thick lilting accent as its supporting cornerstone. Its comic bleakness is brought forward, even at its darkest and most distressing moments, to build a show that defies any labelling. McLaughlin approaches the text with pure naturalism. She leans into the humour, but counteracts it with creepy disturbance. At the hand of Éanna Hardwicke, Christy is an impish figure, a devilish narcissist who chuckles and stalks and teases like a displaced fae from a fairy tale.

Unreadable but attractive, he charms everyone with his narrative, introducing himself as the humble underdog who’s slain a vicious enemy. He moulds himself to what they expect from him, so he turns brave and loquacious with an underlying air of arrogance. But lying is worse than patricide in Synge’s world: when the script flips, Hardwicke uncovers Christy for the coward he truly is. The wrath of the villagers explodes in a burst, and we’re left to imagine the pieces that need to be picked up as Coughlan wails, heartbroken.

She gives a thrilling performance. Vain and opinionated, she tries hard to resist the stranger’s allure with upfront wariness – but even her fiery feistiness bends. She’s gripped by his stories, but doesn’t fawn over him (unlike the other women in the cohort, helmed by the impressive Marty Breen as Sara Tansey, who bring him food and treat him like a modern rockstar). Pageen taunts him at regular intervals, asserting her dominance. Coughlan adds humanity to her armour with secret looks and quick covetous glances from across the room. Her rivalry with Widow Quin (McSweeney) materialises in the doubling down on her apparent distance.

On her side, McSweeney is thoroughly amusing. She overdoes her flattery and leads bosom-first, flirting with anything that moves in her mourning attire. Sex and the promise of sex nearly become a threat. Her Widow Quin offers her compassion at last when she attempts to save Christy from the savagery of the town, only to be met with his maniacal laughter and almost psychotic conceit. 

The men are equally remarkable: Lorcan Cranitch drives the charge as Michael Flaherty, Pageen’s dad, easing his gruff comedy with a deadpan delivery. Marty Rea is simply lovely as Pageen’s suitor, Shawn. Grounded and earthy, he measures his words and pines for Pageen, stooping and essentially begging for her attention. Finally, Declan Conlon steals the show as Old Mahon with a gaping wound on his skull and an intimidating posture. The company work in sync to create a sophisticated dynamic, passing around the metaphorical limelight so that no one is left behind and wanting.

As a whole, McLaughlin’s vision is rooted in ritual and tradition. She employs mumming and keening in the background to spice up the scene and add mystery to the mix. It reinforces the geography that Synge wanted to challenge and establishes the idea of a land that doesn’t fully conform to earthbound rules. Katie Davenport’s design furthers this take, opening up the Flaherty tavern into a crude landscape of grey skies and yellow straw. County Mayo looks expansive and desolate: fertile ground for erratic behaviour and the trappings of societal insulation. 

Considered the first Irish “state of the nation” play, it’s now turned into a historical vignette imbued with hoarse black comedy. Its long placid rests are interrupted regularly by blazes of humorous energy: it entertains, but the pacing is slightly too slow for it to be full-on engaging. It’s a worthy curiosity.

The Playboy of the Western World runs at The National Theatre until 28 February 2026.

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