'The Veil': Not Much to Un-Veil by Annie Tang

                                Outside the National Theatre, location of The Veil.

The usually lauded playwright Conor McPherson does not have much of a laurel to rest on with his debut production of The Veil.  After much anticipation upon hearing about the author and his writing prowess, I was expecting a theatrical version of The Sixth Sense with dramatic, unsettling revelations, but instead I received a play version of Nicole Kidman’s The Others with its barely suspenseful thrills.  Set in a decrepit estate in 19^th century rural Ireland, McPherson attempts to write a ghost story in which it is not the supernatural that really scare the occupants (though there is a specter or two, to be sure), but rather the ghosts of memory that haunt the every waking moment of these depressing souls.

            First, let us focus on the main redeeming aspect of the play: the set.  Not only does it adhere to period accuracy of the time, but there is a certain multi-faceted dimension shown to the audience.  The set is essentially one large cross-section of the Pembroke manse. There is the one main parlor room for entertaining the guests of the house, which is the largest in scope and size for which the play’s audience sees the most action.  Then there are the smaller adjoining rooms, the hallways hidden in darkness.  It is not just a simple room theatre-goers see, but a whole house that interacts with the actors and audience.  There is a tired, agedness to the set that brings believability to the fact that it is not only the estate that is crumbling, but the people who live on it are crumbling inside as well.    

            Other aesthetics especially sound design and lighting should be given recognition.  As mentioned, adjacent sections of the manse are revealed or cloaked in darkness, depending whether it is day or night.  The dark, spooky hallways—except when lit by candles—are there to accentuate the illumination of the main room and stage.  Yet one cannot help but sometimes look to the corners of the set to those darkened areas, and wonder if something—or someone—will appear.  Additionally, the ghostly sound effects, though predictable, gave enough of a shock to the theatre-watchers to wake them from their contemplative stupor.

            Alas, to the crux of the matter: the writing.  McPherson seems to do better in a contemporary Irish setting, for his period writing does not quite seem to resonate as much as his more modern storytelling.  Without giving too much away, the characters even by the end of the play still seem stunted in growth, with not much change to their characterization.  Each of them in one way or another, from the maid to the aristocratic lady of the house, are almost as unhappy as they were at the start.  But at the least the author seems to give a hint of a new, albeit awkward stumbling beginning for these sad ‘blokes’ and ‘gels’.

            As for the acting, it is difficult to get a stellar performance out of the actors with this script, but the actors do try.  The standout acts include Adrian Schiller’s Charles Audelle and Peter McDonald’s Mr. Fingal, an almost unlikable pair of pitiful men in the play.  Schiller as a houseguest of the Lambrokes manages to convey the anguish of a man wracked by years of past guilt and manages to drag sympathy from the audience as well as derision for his drug-induced ways.  McDonald’s Mr. Fingal likewise imbues the same qualities, the difference being he’s haunted by unrequited love and drowns his sorrows in drink.  These two actors stuck out the most in an otherwise lackluster production which could have been so much more, but instead was so much less than expected.