Brian Friel's oblique excursion into historical drama, "Translations"
, has not earned extensive production in these United States, though the play was well received several seasons ago here in Boston at the Huntington. Its subject is dark, its technique subtle, and its plot intentionally unresolved. The central dramatic device, that most of the Irish characters heard speaking English are actually speaking Gaelic, which the two Englishmen in the piece can't understand, requires attention to detail beyond many acting troupes. Add to that the classical Greek and Latin spouted by schoolmaster at the center of the action, and most companies will settle for the more contemporary ambiguities of "Dancing at Lughnasa".The Vokes Theatre of Wayland, one of the oldest semi-professional community theatres in the country, is therefore to be doubly commended for their successful production of this important modern play. Not that audiences haven't come to expect first-class theatre from this organization, housed in a miniature 140 seat proscenium theatre dating back to the beginning of the 20th century. Briefly, the Vokes theatre was build on a country estate by Beatrice Hereford, a pioneering English monologist, who married well in Boston. Such private venues were not that uncommon in the period, but few survive. The non-profit created in the 20's to manage and maintain the building has evolved into a substantial producing organization, the Vokes Players, whose shows have an enviable subscription rate close to eighty percent, a number most regional theatres would kill for. They employ local technical talent and cast from a large pool of seasoned actors, who often appear with other companies, but who have "kept their day jobs." The American Theatre could use more such dedicated effort.
As their audience assembles for this show, the front curtain is up, revealing Stephen McGonagle's spacious tall set with real timber framing fairly convincing stone work, a former barn turned into a 18th century hedge school filled with handmade stick furniture. This unsanctioned educational establishment teaches in Gaelic, even when the subject is classical Greek and Latin. Robert Zawistowski, one of the Vokes' stalwarts, is appropriately magisterial as Hugh, the schoolmaster drilling his flock. Grant Evans Wood as Manus, his younger son, accidentally crippled by his father, is almost heart-breaking as Hugh's assistant, far more concerned with the students than is his Latin spouting da.
The local scholars are a peculiar lot, almost too colorful at first, but so well realized by the cast that the audience's heart goes out to their ultimate misfortune. Francine Davis is convincing as almost mute Sarah, who Manus is coaxing into being able to say her own name. Ed Yopchick skirts low comedy, but makes us believe in rotund Jimmy Jack, an older man full of classical knowledge, besotted with the image of Pallas Athena. Brian McNamara's Doalty, on the other hand, is a boyo who can't quite keep his times tables straight, but who has been harassing the British surveyors by shifting their stakes. He's counter-balanced by Kate Mahoney's Bridget, a buxom farm girl for whom the school is the most excitement in her day. Melissa Sine, Manus's lovely erstwhile fiancé, Maire, from a nearby dairy, combines a longing for a better life -- perhaps in America -- with earthy common sense. But then she falls for Lieutenant George Yolland, played by Bob Williams, a decent sort who gradually becomes aware of the potential destruction the British presence will have on the way of life in this language besotted countryside
A pivotal figure between the English and the Irish country folk is the schoolmaster's older son, Owen, played with a nice ironic touch by James Barton. Owen, inexplicably called Roland by his employers, made his fortune in the city, but remains ever an Irishman. He's earning his keep translating for the surveyors, under the leadership of David W. Frank's Captain Yancey, an insensitive by-the-numbers taskmaster whose casual cruelty towards the end of the play underscores the playwright's message of insurmountable cultural conflict. Owen long ago realized the futility of the situation, but he keeps on in search of the main chance. All these diverse characters are helped substantially by Elizabeth E. Tustian's careful costuming, done with period accuracy and attention to detail, defining their station and place in the action. And it would be remiss not to mention Daniel Clawson's lighting, which is quietly symbolic while being generally realistic.
The structure of "Translations" builds slowly until a pivotal scene where George, the English lieutenant, and Maire, the Irish farm girl, attempt to communicate despite their lack of mutual language. Their desire to understand each others world leads to their falling in love. But instead of a romantic triangle or comic mishaps, Friel has George go missing, precipitating the possible destruction of the entire village by the British. And there the author leaves it. Part of the power of this play is the sense of mystery and doom, worthy of legend, enveloping the final scenes. We don't know what happens next, but history and the classics tell us to expect the worst, a far more compelling device than another recounting of man's inhumanity to man. Director John Barrett has orchestrated a satisfying, textured performance of this difficult play from his capable ensemble, without forcing any particular interpretation on the text, a wise course given Friel's dramaturgical twists and turns.