Mr. Rice (Rufus Collins) recounts how he reviewed Molly Sweeney’s case file and decided to operate.
It’s often been said that the problem with talking about the disabled is that they are defined by their dis-abilities rather than their abilities. The profundity of this perspective emerges in a moving narrative about a beautiful, blind Irishwoman who is given the gift of sight and how that changes her life and that of her husband and her doctor. In Irish Repertory Theatre’s Molly Sweeney, the last of the Friel Project offerings, prolific Irish playwright and author Brian Friel aptly illustrates how that gift is a mixed blessing.
Friel has structured the play as three intertwining monologues for Mr. Rice, an ophthalmologist (Rufus Collins), Molly Sweeney (Sarah Street), and her husband, Frank (John Keating). But even though the play might be considered three solo performances, director Charlotte Moore has masterfully unified these poignant tales.
Molly (Sarah Street) frets over what she might be missing if she regains her sight. Photographs by Carol Rosegg.
In Ballybeg, a fictitious town in County Donegal, Molly’s somewhat codependent marriage to Frank seems relatively happy. Against the wishes of her mother (who has been in and out of institutions with mental problems), Molly’s father, a judge, has doted on and “mainstreamed” his daughter, rather than sending her to a school for the blind. He teaches her about the botanical world, which brings her great joy, but her vivid senses of touch and smell increase her apprehension of what she might lose if her sight is restored by Rice. This is possible only because Molly was not born blind but rather lost her vision at 10 months and because Rice has the medical expertise to repair her retinas as well as remove her cataracts.
Molly, a massage therapist, supports Frank, largely because his nonprofit, good Samaritan gigs, including charitable work in Nigeria and saving whales in Norway, have left him financially insolvent and aimless. If he persuades Rice to operate on Molly, and the operation is successful, he hopes it will strengthen their marriage, compensate for his financial dependency, and raise his self-esteem.
Rice’s career has plateaued, and he is haunted by losing his wife to a brilliant colleague. If he can restore Molly’s sight, then he can regain his status as one of the world’s most respected eye doctors.
Perhaps up here in remote Ballybeg was I about to be given … the chance of a lifetime, the one-in-a-thousand opportunity that can rescue a career no, no, transform a career—dare I say it, restore a reputation? ... if after all these years I could pull myself together and measure up to it, and if, Oh my God if by some miracle pull it off perhaps …
Both men relish the operation’s success, in part because of their own agendas, but with Molly’s sight restored, neither has bargained for the long-term outcomes. Shouldn’t such a successful surgery only bring great joy to all concerned? Yet half the play focuses on the subsequent downward spiral for Molly and its impact on Rice and Frank. Friel’s tight, expository writing and the cast’s consummate acting make this unanticipated result plausible.
One can perceive the growing distress that overtakes the newly sighted Molly, and despite ebullient congratulations and support from her boss, close friends, and therapists, both her vision and her mind begin to deteriorate. Molly’s descent into despair is at least partially propelled by her fear of losing an intensely pleasurable sense of touch. The flowers she experienced as beautiful are no longer as beautiful to her.
Frank Sweeney (John Keating) reminisces about herding and making cheese from Iranian goats.
The intertwined monologues and rotating emphases on the doctor, Molly, and Frank make their perspectives—and justification of their motives—somewhat more accessible. Charlie Corcoran’s set distinguishes the characters’ domains—each with a single backdrop panel, an armchair, and a window. Molly’s small window has a flowering plant; Rice’s has a much larger stained-glass one; and Frank’s is nondescript. In contrast to a predominantly tiled floor, there is a pale rectangular area rug under Molly’s chair only. The simple, conservative décor of each “pod” distinguishes each character’s space from another, and yet there is a unity of color and style.
Lighting designer Michael Gottlieb spotlights the speakers while the darkened, nonspeaking characters appear nearly statuesque, as if frozen in their thoughts. The actors show nuanced emotional fluctuations as they respond to a complex, multilayered and psychologically charged medical decision.
One may ask whether Molly’s psychiatric state results from the trauma of her surgery or is hereditary (because of her mother’s psychiatric problems), or both, but in practical terms, it’s irrelevant. The old adage “Be careful what you wish for” foreshadows the downside of an enormous medical victory.
Molly Sweeney runs at Irish Repertory Theatre (132 W. 22nd St.) through June 30. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday. Matinees are at 2 p.m. Wednesday and Saturday and at 3 p.m. Sunday. For more information, or to purchase tickets, call the box office at (212) 727-2737 or visit irishrep.org.
Playwright: Brian Friel
Director: Charlotte Moore
Scenic Designer: Charlie Corcoran
Lighting Designer: Michael Gottlieb
Costume Design: Linda Fisher
Sound Designer: Hidenori Akajo
