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It would be easy to get sentimental about Epic Arts Repertory Company's “Dancing at Lughnasa,” easy and wrong.
In the first place, Brian Friel's play about a struggling Irish family is never sentimental. For all the blarney and teasing, it exposes us to a family that's about to come apart faster than the factory-made garments that are ruining the weaving trade in their town.
In the second, Epic Arts co-founders Laura Depta and Stan Peal don't want pity. They'd like acknowledgment, the lack of which has caused them to close the company after this show. They'd also like respect, which “Lughnasa” earns.
When I saw the Tony-winning Broadway production in 1991, the play seemed to be about the fragility of happiness. Like the harvest festival of Lughnasa mentioned again and again, it comes rarely and briefly and must be enjoyed for the short time allowed. (Friel's play reminds me of a Chekhov comedy. His characters, too, talk blissfully about objectives we know they'll never reach.)
This time, though, the drama seemed more about giving up illusions of control. Everyone in this story has something to lose, and most of them learn the hard way that they can't ensure joy or forestall grief.
Eldest sister Kate (Sue Plassmann), self-appointed caretaker for the Mundy family, sees her teaching job slipping away in the town of Ballybeg in 1936. Diligent Agnes and innocent, slow-witted Rose (Julie Janorschke Gawle and Annette Saunders) sew gloves in the shadow of the new factory. Chris (Ellerie Daube) can't hang onto wastrel salesman Gerry (Nathan Rouse), who gave her a son seven years ago and gives her a brief glimpse of himself now about once a year.
The people likeliest to be happy are cheerful Maggie (Depta), who plugs away at household chores with few illusions and no eye to the future, and priestly sibling Jack (Hank West). He's come back from 25 years in Africa, where he worked in a leper colony, with a case of malaria and a confused sense that “pagan” Ugandans and Irish Christians are brothers under their skins.
Friel, who was 7 in 1936, based the play loosely on his mother and aunts, who lived on the west coast of Ireland. Sure enough, 7-year-old Michael is the lone child in it, though he's played by his grown-up self (Joe Rux).
This older Michael narrates and looks back with calm, sad wisdom. The play jumps around in time; adult Michael often tells us what's going to happen to these careworn folks over the ensuing years, and that adds poignancy.
Director Lon Bumgarner keeps things flowing around the small Duke Energy Theater stage, imbuing this fantasy play with as much reality as he can. It begins before we realize it, with Michael drifting into the now-empty cottage that once rang with his aunts' voices. Imperceptibly, we cross the line between our lives and those in Ballybeg. (Friel has set other plays in this mythical place; the name comes from the Gaelic “Baile Beag,” or “little town.”)
The valedictory quality of the occasion inspired the entire cast to produce fine work; young Daube, a UNC Charlotte student, holds her own with the veterans. It's easy to overplay Friel's characters, especially baffled Rose and muddled Jack, but nary a strident note comes from this octet.
And this is a joyous farewell. A program note from producer Depta quotes Anna Nalick's song “Breathe” – “Life's like an hourglass glued to the table” – and thanks the audience for a last opportunity to share a live theatrical experience that can never be repeated. Smart people will take it.
