Review Roundup: THE HAIRY APE at The Irish Repertory Theatre

Irish Repertory Theatre officially opened Eugene O'Neill's The Hairy Ape. Directed by Ciarán O'Reilly, The Hairy Ape will run through November 15, 2026.

In 1922, Eugene O'Neill set the theatrical world on fire with his provocative and expressionist play, The Hairy Ape. This journey of a dark-souled, brutish ship laborer known as Yank is a riveting story of a common man's search for belonging in a world controlled by the rich and powerful.

As head coal stoker on an ocean liner, Yank is in his element: he rules his dark world-he powers the ship-he belongs. But when the beautiful, spoiled daughter of the ship's owner visits the engine room for a thrill, she is at once repulsed and terrified by Yank and what she sees there. Half in love with the unattainable and half blinded by rage, the bewildered Yank blunders violently through Manhattan, seeking both revenge and a place in a society which continually refuses him.

The cast features Jon Beavers, Jonathan Crimeni, Nayib Felix, Joanna Glushak, Ariyan Kassam, John Keating, Hassiem Muhammad, Adam Petherbridge, Elizabeth Teeter, Harrison Tipping, Audrey Cardwell, and Richard Hollis. See what the critics are saying...

Sandy MacDonald , TimeOut New York: Alexander Woollcott found The Hairy Ape “a monstrously uneven piece, now flamingly eloquent, now choked and thwarted and inarticulate.” Irish Rep’s effort to keep it in the forefront—as the class gap grows ever wider—warrants respect, but the passage of more than a century has not greatly improved the work’s luster.

Elysa Gardner, New York Sun: It’s not hard to guess what prompted Charlotte Moore and Ciarán O’Reilly, the co-founders of Irish Repertory Theater, to revisit “The Hairy Ape.” When Mr. O’Reilly helmed a 2006 production of Eugene O’Neill’s study of a stoker on an ocean liner who finds himself deemed utterly worthless in the world, artificial intelligence was known most widely to many for being the subject of a Steven Spielberg movie.

Thom Geier, Culture Sauce: It’s no accident that the word belong appears more than 40 times in O’Neill’s drama. Beaver’s Yank is a physically imposing man who suffers from dual frustrations: Not only does he never seem at home anywhere but he also struggles to be seen. Though he commands the respect of his shipmates, outside of the boiler room he suffers from either knee-jerk fear or, worse, invisibility. Nobody takes him seriously, or recognizes his contributions or worth to society. While there’s a schematic quality to O’Neill’s narrative, there are flashes of poetry, too, and a social consciousness that still speaks to Americans a century later. Plus, this production benefits from a gritty, red-blooded performance by Beavers, who captures Yank’s brutishness but also his resentment at being seen as just a brute.

Sara Holdren, Vulture: The play turns a distorting lens on its characters: Everyone is stretched, blurred, heightened, their outlines grotesque and bestial. Dialects are as thick as old paint; symbols go up like flares. Approach all this raw meat timidly or with too much self-seriousness and it will start to stink. But O’Reilly and his company dig in: Inside the none-too-big Irish Rep, his actors get gnarly and sweaty, and his designers pull off a series of ingenious maneuvers, maximizing the space’s potential while also playing up its claustrophobia.

Michael Sommers, New York Stage Review: More crucial was an adequate but not especially compelling performance by Jon Beavers as Yank. Admittedly, Yank is a technically challenging character to portray between his many extended speeches, its awkward dis-and-dat waterfront lingo, and the need to project a soulfulness beneath a brutish exterior, so an actor has much to accomplish. It is possible in future performances, of course, Beavers will develop into a more vocally and emotionally varied Yank. Still, much as the make-up designer may try to dirty up his good looks, Beavers, although a strapping fellow, does not physically suggest any kind of an ape.

David Finkle, New York Stage Review: Certainly, this The Hairy Ape has its effects. Yank’s anger about being a gorilla in the eyes of at least one beholder feeds his mounting fears that a hairy ape is all he really is. O’Neill’s finale bluntly gets this across in the writing, but it’s up to any production to match his intention. The more gorilla-like the production’s Yank is, the truer it is to O’Neill. In other words, the hairier the better. It all comes down to that popular contemporary pastime: Optics.

Alix Cohen, Theater Pizzazz: Stoker ensemble work is immensely effective. Mildred (Elizabeth Teeter), is aptly obnoxious, her aunt (Joanna Glushak) credibly frustrated. As noted, John Keating (Paddy) makes every moment come alive.

Zachary Stewart, Theatremania: In O’Neill’s day, an older generation could, on its way out the door, mourn a world swept away by the creative destruction of capitalist modernity. A century later, one need not have reached the age of 40 to begin sounding like an old harp. How many of us will be singing Paddy’s song when artificial intelligence obliterates the jobs that offer so many Americans not just sustenance, but purpose and community? To the proponents of so-called superintelligence, we are all hairy apes, to be caged or crushed.

Juan A. Ramirez, Theatrely: Beavers has the brawn (we’ll overlook his hairless torso), and nails the initial scenes in which Yank, utterly secure in his station ("I start something, and the world moves!”), holds court against an older worker’s (John Keating) inkling of consciousness. But Beavers retains that surety throughout, even as Yank’s speech, as written, becomes more babble than bravado. There’s little there to suggest a man losing his grip, much less his place in the world. It’s a game performance, regardless, as are the rest from the (rather sizable) cast, and O’Reilly presents the material truthfully and memorably enough to overcome flaws–even two which might otherwise sink a staging. The Hairy Ape, at least at Irish Rep, is never out of place.

Average Rating: 72.2%