PLAY REVIEW: The Weir ★★★★

From the moment one steps into the Harold Pinter Theatre, The Weir envelops you in its tender, heartbreaking glow: a revival of Conor McPherson’s masterpiece that feels both timeless and urgently alive. Directed by McPherson himself for the first time in London, this production is a monument to subtlety, storytelling, and grace.

Brendan Gleeson’s West End debut as Jack is nothing short of remarkable. He carries the weight of regret, affection, and lost possibility in a voice that seems forged from memory; a man who laughs, protects his pride, yet reveals more in silence than most do in speech. Tom Vaughan-Lawlor brings Finbar’s flamboyant energy and nervous polish, balancing bravado with the soft crack of loneliness beneath. Seán McGinley as Jim offers a quieter, gruffer counterpoint—he listens, he observes, he wounds himself with grief even as he tries to hold the floor in drink‑spurred banter. Owen McDonnell’s Brendan, as the pub‑owner and host of the evening, is warm and grounding, small gestures and pauses revealing more kindness than many full speeches. And Kate Phillips as Valerie is luminous: the stranger from Dublin whose own story, both fragile and fierce, shifts the dynamics of the room. Her grief is never manipulated; it is earned, carried in glances as much as in words.

The creative team crafts a world you can taste. Rae Smith’s set design transports you to a rural Irish pub battered by wind and time—mismatched stools, dim corners, the knick‑knacks of lives lived quietly but fully. Mark Henderson’s lighting draws you close, bathing the room in amber warmth then coaxing shadows to dance. Gregory Clarke’s sound design gives voice to the wind outside, the creak of floorboards, the haunting echo of stories unspoken.

What makes The Weir so powerful here is how it resists spectacle yet refuses to relent: laughter trailing into regret, myth brushing up against real human loss, and the possibility of connection shimmering amid the darkness. In a crowded West End, this production stands out not by volume but by the vividness of its human truths. Five stars, and then some.