In this timely and moving production - sadly, Robin Midgley's last as artistic director at the Lyric - he has delivered the intensity, the energy, the integrity of Friel's magnificent play, while maintaining an even-handed approach to its central issue. Moreover, he has done so without falling into the easy trap of overt political correctness. His approach is perfectly complemented by set and lighting designers Stuart Marshall and John Riddell, who apply a similarly cinematic technique to that which they so successfully used in Of Mice and Men.
Over the folksy homeliness of Hugh O'Donnell's hedge school, the walls of the old wooden house loom tall and gallows-like, silhouetted against a glowing backdrop, silently warning of dark days to come. At first, one or two of the cast seem a little uneasy, perhaps trying too hard to create the atmosphere of neighbourlines and mutual support that is soon to be eroded in the name of progress. Yet only slightly does it detract, early on, from Friel's still stunning, bravely theatrical tableau of barely educated country folk, who converse in Latin and Greek, and squabble and banter in a naturally poetic native tongue. In contrast, the resplendently turned-out pair of Royal Engineers appear stilted and wholly out of place in this confident, rooted community.
Magggie Hayes and Patrick Lennox deliver the love scene between Maire and Lieutenant Yolland as though their lives depend on it. Paul McEneaney is a cute and knowing Doalty. Roy Hanlon, in his third production of Translations, is riveting as the master, Hugh O'Donnell, who, as his own star begins to wane, prepares his people for the changes which lie ahead, urging them never to cease renewing the images of the past, while pointing out that the obsession with remembering is, in itself, a form of madness. Which is where we came in.
