A long search for the crock of gold

Though it sounds cheesy, there'd be much to enjoy in James Stephens's tale of philosophers, shepherd girls, celtic gods and leprechauns – if it wasn't so indulgently long, writes Colin Murphy Storytellers theatre company specialises in performing surgery on books to make them into plays. Yet The Crock of Gold, their new play, adapted from James Stephens's 1912 novel, is badly in need of surgery itself. Though friends of ours left at the interval, we were, at that point, quite enjoying it, if finding it a little slow. Well over an hour later, we staggered out, rueful at seeing the potential for a gently entertaining evening's theatre squandered by an indisciplined adaptation and indulgent, ponderous direction.
Some positives first: good, strong, comic performances all round, clever and attractive design, Stephens's engagingly quirky story, and some real wit shown in the staging. Initially, at least, I was ruing not having had the foresight to bring the nephews: with half an hour lopped off, this would be good family fare. Grown-ups will enjoy the knowing tone of the humour and gentle philosophical probing, culture buffs will enjoy the revival of a neglected piece of the Irish canon, kids will enjoy the sprinkling of fairy dust and clowning around.
James Stephens's tale is an engagingly quirky take on paddywhackery, a bit like a good Paddy's Day parade with a dose of irony and a political edge. A beautiful ingenue shepherd girl is seduced by the god of pleasure, Pan. A great philosopher is recruited to help, and he goes off in search of the forgotten Irish god, Aengus Óg. But along the way, he is beset by the leprechauns, seeking revenge for his part in the loss of their crock of gold. They have him arrested by the police for a murder he didn't commit, and he is sent to the city for trial.
Daft? Yes, though, more literally, it is fabulous – this is the world of fable, where characters don't just mean what they say, but ‘mean' a whole worldview. It is a cross between Alice in Wonderland and Sophie's World, where the characters may be fantastical, but their beliefs and actions are rooted in overt philosophies of life, between which Stephens is asking us to choose: “The crown of life is pleasure,” says a thrusting, preening Pan (played with relish by Aidan Turner); “the crown of life is thought” rejoins the Philosopher (Bosco Hogan, in a carefully crafted, quite magnetic performance).
The characters narrate their way through the scenes, slipping easily from addressing each other to addressing the audience, lending them an air of arch detachment and making the aesthetic of storytelling itself central to the production. This is an effective and elegant device, but over-indulged. Much of the narration is unnecessary and of its nature slows things down (there are scenes where characters literally cross over and back across the stage as the narration attempts to catch up with the action).
For most of the play's two or so hours, the rhythm is essentially constant: we wander through this fabulous version of rural Ireland, meeting friendly and funny chaps and cailíní, and occasionally being given cause to ponder what the proper balance is between wisdom and pleasure, intellect and nature. And then, as in The Truman Show, the characters suddenly learn that their world is not the whole world, and that there is a vicious edge to existence. The politics of the play come to life in a brief but startling scene where Aengus Óg gives the shepherd girl a glimpse of the “the world as it is” so that she will understand “the sadness of the gods”. Backs to the audience, they stand, silhouetted on the crest of a hill, looking out over the world below, as it is consumed in a firestorm of explosions and death cries.
There is more overt political comment. The philosopher is arrested, and sent to the city. He is tried and sentenced to “death by abandonment”, and cast out, alone, amongst the anonymous, hurrying drones. This is so much another world that it is almost another play – it could be Caryl Churchill's Far Away (put on in 2004 by Bedrock), or even a scene from Kafka's The Trial. As a plot device and moral element in the story, this diversion to the city is smart and provocative, but director Fiona Buffini handles the transition awkwardly and, though this modernist insight haunts the story, it fails to shape it. And urban dystopia is not going to be very convincing if all it takes to escape it is for a leprechaun to pull you back down his tunnel and out the other end into your family home.
These would be minor criticisms if the play was, simply, significantly shorter: it has the pantomime appeal of being capable of entertaining all ages, but the at times agonising pace of it will kill off most of the appeal for children. It's a shame, for there is much to delight in, and the questions the play asks, gently but insistently, are timely (or, more accurately, timeless) and provocative. As with all Storytellers productions, a national tour beckons: the production deserves to be seen – but, crucially, when the audience start shifting in their seats, they deserve to be heard. If the scissors comes out, the audiences should come in.
∏More The Crock of Gold, by James Stephens presented by Storytellers Theatre Company, on national tour: Olympia theatre, Dublin, until 25 March; Portlaoise, Dunamaise, 28-29 March; Limerick, Belltable Arts Centre, 31 March-1 April; and on to Everyman Palace, Cork; Mermaid, Bray; Siamsa, Tralee; Town Hall Theatre, Galway; Watergate, Kilkenny; Backstage Theatre, Longford; Axis, Ballymun; Civic, Tallaght. www.storytellerstheatrecompany.com