Before review: The familiar melody of Pat Kinevane's extravagantly intimate song

Pat Kinevane's new play follows a man reunited with his daughter after 17 years apart. Photo: Patrick Redmond 

Draíocht Theatre, Dublin

Nov 23-24

★ ★ ★

By the end of his satisfying trilogy for Fishamble, few were looking to Pat Kinevane to call it a day. Ornate in style but genuine in performance, the writer-performer first appeared in 2006’s Forgotten as a quartet of elderly people, elegant like Kabuki dancers. He replayed a homeless man’s life with cinematic lustre in Silent, before painting a disfigured woman gold, resembling ancient royalty, in Underneath. 

Another poor soul is bestowed with grandeur in Before, his new “play with much music” for Fishamble. Pontius (Kinevane), a farmer nervously meeting his daughter for the first time in 17 years, is first seen sidestepping city traffic like a jazz dancer in slow motion. Every now and then, his life resembles a theatrical performance.  

It’ll soon become clear why Pontius is singing upbeat melodies like “You can’t beat Clerys for a charming chapeau” against Denis Clohessy’s lush orchestral music. Recollections of his parents, committed members of a musical theatre troupe, reveal a son treated more like a spectator than a child. More impressively, Kinevane recognises how expressive performances in musicals can taunt a man struggling with emotions. In light-footed movement recalling Gene Kelly, he yearns for the irrepressible joy of Singing in the Rain.

Under Jim Culleton’s neat direction, this becomes a lamenting portrayal of male isolation. The iconic Clery’s clock, a former meeting point for romantics, is replaced by the phone glares of Tinder hook-ups. Kinevane’s Pontius wails as he’s separated from his daughter, in a play that seems most sympathetic to fathers’ rights. “All men are bastards,” he sings with scathing assurance.

The play is more attentive to ironies than it is to the mechanics of plotting. There’s a freak accident with the mother of Pontius's daughter that mislabels him as a violent man. Though the ending admirably suspends resolution, the final twist of fate seems too big a coincidence. Such outside forces suggest a play that doesn’t seem fully in control. 

Those who enjoy the familiar melody of Kinevane’s extravagantly intimate song will no doubt like this new offering. Others will be ready to break new ground. Nobody can fault Culleton, who has always been too dutiful to be an auteur-director, but it’s telling that his production doesn’t credit a set designer, allowing it to fit venues of all sizes across the country. Seizing their vision, Fishamble and Kinevane can do less of what came before.