It Was Easy (in the End) review: THEATREclub's coproduction with the Abbey is a bit of a mess

Grace Dyas's new play follows a group of off-the-grid artists imagining the end of capitalism. Photo: Dorje de Burgh

Abbey Theatre, Dublin
★ ★ 

Grace Dyas’s modern interpretation of Hamlet, like Shakespeare’s play, begins with someone expected to see the unexpected. Instead of a ghost, the sentry Marcellus (Shane Daniel Byrne) is asked if he can visualise the Abbey stage populated by homeless characters. “No,” he replies, as if expecting nothing more from the national theatre’s programming. 

What a peculiar coproduction this is between THEATREclub and the Abbey, where the former wastes little time digging up past controversies on the latter (the play has been written and directed by women, we’re assured). At least for the national theatre, the collaboration shows openness to criticism, and even allows the self-reflexivity of contemporary theatre to flood its stage. For THEATREclub, the conceptual bluster of their approach and the script’s underwritten scenes are on clear display, as if viewed through high-definition. 

The gist is that a group of off-the-grid actors, dressed in stylish tracksuits, are hiding out in a factory, trying to imagine the end of capitalism. Burning their iPhones, they become free agents, searching for a spectacle to shock the public into revolt. 

The actors play out “exercises” showing the damaging effects of private trade. One scenario has them as exhausted workers, resolved to put on a production of Hamlet as a form of resistance. Another involves actresses defecting from mainstream roles by joining a feminist army called the Ophelia Group. With at least one actor sextupling up on characters, not even Molly O’Cathain’s inventive costuming can help us keep track of who’s who.

Shakesdears shouldn’t expect the rhythms of the source material, though Barry O’Connor’s Hamlet delivers the soliloquys, sometimes with new resonance. “The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape,” he says, while a porn-watching young man, eh, gets his rocks off.

Most interesting is the script’s parody. Watching the group navigate the identity politics of casting decisions, and reveal their reasons to perform (“I want to be famous,” someone says), while homeless figures drift in the background, the play seem to be admitting the meaninglessness of theatre. 

That's intriguing territory, approached by some performances from the necessary oblique angles. Pom Boyd’s therapist-robot is a grimly whacky stand-in for content-culture. Breffni Holohan presents the experiences of an overwhelmed worker with a touching absurdity. Most absorbing is director Doireann Coady, who, from her upstairs office, has the mystique of an evil genius. Other performances, however, don't find a route in. 

It’s unfortunate that the play’s parody gets crushed by the overly serious second half, where Dyas gathers the characters as if in a healing circle, giving fatiguing reports from a utopian world. The mapped effects of capitalism are suddenly resolved. In the end, it was too easy. 


Ends May 4th.