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What makes it particularly noteworthy, however, is that it's a memory play that doesn't trade in sweeping self-indulgence. Not that this is always a bad thing—one of the prototypical examples of the genre, Tennessee Williams's The Glass Menagerie, is a deserved classic. But on some level, Da lives at least as much in the present as it does in the past. And the way the two inform each other, and point the way toward our acceptance of the fact that they do, is a big part of what makes this such a rewarding work. The rest is, of course, tied up in the relationship between the son, Charlie (Ciarán O'Reilly), and his adoptive father, Da (Paul O'Brien). The latter has died, and the former has returned to the Dublin home of his childhood to bury him, literally as well as metaphorically. Alas, the older man won't let go, and instead of going quietly into that good night, is all too happy to drag Charlie with him into the tides of unwanted recollection. That's where we discover the real impact Da had on Charlie's life: in pretty much everything. From the way he treated his wife (Fiana Toibin), Charlie's potential-and-eventual employer Drumm (Sean Gormley), and the woman (Nicola Murphy) with whom the young Charlie (Adam Petherbridge) hoped to become a man, Da was not an easy man to love or admire, and he lost as many friends (and as much money) as he made. And Charlie doesn't want to admit, or for that matter consider, the fact that some of it may have been good. Moore, who directed the previous Irish Rep revival in 1996 (which I didn't see), highlights Da's warmth as well as his warts, while keeping us from siding too automatically with Charlie's side of the story. In accordance with this, O'Brien doesn't overdo it in either direction, and even during the character's more callous moments underscores his words and actions with a bewildered love that makes the curmudgeon endearing in that odd way that only disconnected dads can be. O'Reilly, returning to the same role he played for Moore last time, is effective but muted; if this dampens the effect of Charlie's journey somewhat, it's probably better for O'Reilly to err on the side of caution than to tip the scales Moore otherwise keeps so even. Most of the other cast members are good, too, with Toibin excellent and pointed as Mother, Petherbridge's young Charlie compellingly addled, Gormley crisply businesslike, and Murphy a quietly alluring siren. Only John Keating, as Charlie's lifelong friend Oliver, has the wrong energy: too antic and contemporary, lacking the reserved Irish tone that's otherwise in obvious evidence. The production isn't flawless. Moore could dig into Charlie's psyche more incisively, and amplify the key defining events in the man's life. (There's only one that feels perfectly weighted: when Da's suppressed prejudices nearly spoil Charlie's first meeting with the influential Drumm.) And though James Morgan's set is a cozy-looking living room that's just right for capturing the claustrophobic nature of Charlie's home life, it doesn't give way to the transitions to other times and places as fluidly as it might, imparting a less distinct air to those scenes. Not that all memories are created equal, of course, and that's certainly also a function of Leonard's play. It can be too easy to get wrapped up in the slights, both real and only perceived, that color our impressions of others, and forget the equally real instances of happiness and clarity to be found between the sad clouds. Charlie must learn to deal with both, but in doing so learns that there's a price even to that—and though it's hefty, it's not bad. Because Moore and her company have realized this and treated the play with the respect it deserves, when Charlie finally pays it, he's earned the right both dramatically and comedically. That's no small feat, and you see in this Da how those two qualities, like a man and the influence of his father, may never be totally separated.
Da
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