Thank the Banyan for the cool theater and gripping drama that provide relief from Sarasota's summer heat outside and claustrophobic air of the bleak Connemara cottage recreated inside. Dimly lit, with living room-kitchen cabinets and walls turned a tint like bile, Jeffrey Dean's meticulous set holds props that act as spokes on a wheel. At its command center of table and rocker reigns lumpy, squinting, gray Mag Folan (Kim Crow), continually at war with daughter Maureen (Jessica K. Peterson).
To keep the sex-starved 40-year-old in her service, Mag acts more infirm than she is. The place smells from her furtively emptying her potty in the sink each morning. She decries lumps in her Complan and porridge, delivered in a ritual that belies Maureen's preference for neglecting her. A burn scar on Mag's hand indicates Maureen may have won a bout in their constant bickering and mutual insults. She taunts Mag over TV news about a stranger's murder of an old woman: If only the same would happen here! Maureen might then realize her daydreams of a man coming to love and take her away.
Typifying efforts to keep Maureen isolated, Mag keeps secret an invitation brought by flippant young villager Ray Dooley (Gordon Myles Woods) to his uncle's emigration "do." But Maureen finds out and ends up there connecting with Ray's gentler, middle-aged brother Pato (Derry Woodhouse). In from London where he's overworked, underpaid, and an object of anti-Irish disdain, Pato's wanting to leave but knows Leenane lacks jobs. Besides, he's not keen on a place where everyone knows everyone's business and a 20-year grudge can be maintained just for "kickin' a cow."
Pato takes Maureen home, romances her, and agrees to spend the night. The next morning, after he meets Mag and Maureen flaunts herself in black bra and half-slip, Mag hies to produce papers that had once released a mentally disturbed Maureen to her. After Pato leaves, Maureen is sure he'll not return.
In a letter -- revealed by wonderfully expressive Woodhouse in a stunning monologue, Pato asks his "Beauty Queen of Leenane" to join him at a "do" of his own and then emigrate with him to America. Ray is to deliver the letter only into the hands of Maureen. When he has to wait for her in the presence of Mag, the suspense is almost unbearable. From here on, the inevitable conclusion yet will have many surprising twists.
That numerous foreshadowings can be recalled with effort substantiates the well-made nature of Martin McDonagh's play. Plotting is anything but hackneyed, however, as only the full circle part of the construction seems obvious. What's most intriguing to me is the question of which of the women is the villain.
Contrasts also intrigue: between the two brothers (both of whom here are authentic as Irishmen and in their roles); between Maureen and her unseen sisters who married and live away; between mother and daughter, of course. Within the drama itself, comedy and tragedy mingle darkly. Funny-"ha ha" and funny-peculiar bits are supplemented by the funny-edgy, so that what's melodramatic (such as the sealed envelope device and attention drawn to the poker) isn't mellow.
Jessica K. Peterson couldn't put a more expressive face on Maureen. That she's usually so vulnerable makes her violence absolutely terrifying. Kim Crow is better being victimized Mag than sneaking, lying, smirking. Derry Woodhouse compels as Pato, and Gordon Woods makes a perfect, shallow Ray, who yet brings the modern world, a changing Ireland, and callow youth onto the play's insular setting.
Gil Lazier's direction is sure throughout. Happily, none of his actors falls into the trap of using "stage Oirish" -- though some of the Irish expressions are uncommon and thus difficult to understand. McDonagh's sense of humor and facile way with language, however, make the effort involved in listening worthwhile.
Having seen this play in New York, I wondered if it would hold up after so much early praise and lauding of cast and director. I think it's still well worth reading and, in a production like the Banyan's, seeing.
Jessica K. Peterson, Kim Crow 
