Time was, when you saw a play at Steppenwolf with three men standing around in a deserted rural bar, you knew something terrible was about to happen. That "something" varied–maybe an accusation, maybe a punch, maybe a free-for-all. Maybe one of them would pee on the floor. In any case, you braced yourself.
No such bracing is required for Steppenwolf's lovely production of "The Weir", the Midwest premiere production of Conor McPherson's play. We have those men around the bar, but instead of killing each other they take the opportunity to tell stories acknowledging that they're alive. Being quiet is risky for actors and directors alike: what if people can't hear what you're trying to say? What if they tune out? Director Amy Morton and her ensemble take the risk, letting the material speak instead of forcing it to shout. The beautiful result seems to me to demonstrate that having women direct at Steppenwolf is a step up the evolutionary scale.
Not much actually happens in The Weir: the barkeep and two of his regulars (John Sierros, Alan Wilder and Larry Brandenburg) await the arrival of an old acquaintance and his young female companion, newly moved to the area. When Finbar (Rob Riley) and Valerie (Amy Warren) arrive, the men take turns telling her ghost stories. What begins as peacocking for the newcomer, with a bit of local lore thrown in, evolves into revelations about what keeps each of the men in, or out of, Sligo, and ultimately an account by Valerie about what brought her there.
It takes a subtle talent to form an evening of stories into a play, one happily shared by McPherson and Morton. The director has also communicated her own light touch to the actors, evoking superb performances. Though it's a genuine ensemble piece, in the best traditions of the company, Steppenwolf veteran Alan Wilder is first among equals. As Jack, the most regular of the regulars, his gentle humor powers the play without overpowering it, and his climactic speech about the day his girlfriend got married is perfectly modulated, and heartbreaking. He, and all of them, suggest far more than they say. The setting is perfect but not so perfect that it pulls focus.
A weir is a dam, and images of water permeate the play, from the rain-soaked funeral described by Brandenburg's Jim to the swimming-pool tragedy narrated by Valerie. Morton's direction makes brilliantly clear all the ways in which the piece is about the phenomenon of water over the dam-those things in the past which can't be rectified and which determine who, and what, we are.
"The Weir" runs December 3, 2000—January 20, 2001