Rathmines Road punches a well-explored societal critique that somehow twenty-first century western culture embarrassingly still has to face. The primary protagonist, Sandra (Karen Ardiff) is confronted by the man who raped her in college, Eddie (Charlie Bonner), and has to tackle the psychological repercussions of 30 years’ repression, which culminates in a confrontation. It exploits numerous issues, centralising the long-term psychological effects of rape, but it too opposes the importance of family, money and truth in a triangular confrontation mirrored by the priorities of the three camps on-stage: Sandra and husband Ray (Enda Oates), Eddie and his wife Linda (Janet Moran), and Dairne (Rebecca Root), a lifelong friend of Sandra. Is private apology penance enough? Does the value of truth outweigh the happiness of two families? How can money still be suggested as veritable compensation for trauma of this kind? With the public eye focused heavily on the topic following the immensely controversial Brett Kavanaugh hearing in the USA, the piece cements itself as much as a political critique as a social one. All of these run alongside numerous other debates including those surrounding toxic masculinity and the LGBTQ movement developed in this eighty minute, single act explosive piece.
The play-out of the confrontation is a hypothetical timeline viewed as a ‘what-would-happen-if’ scenario, which, while effective in propelling Sandra to her final decision (which is avoid the confrontation that colours the majority of the play), rather leaves an audience frustrated at their emotional investment being undermined by Sandra’s decision against it as a course of action: most of the play in essence never existed. Moreover, the introduction of the vision trope – Sandra closes her eyes when confronted by something difficult to pretend it isn’t happening – comes far too late in the piece to do anything but confuse the audience, who wonder if they missed something earlier. Despite this, the overall structure of the play is well-executed with natural climaxes of action. Realistic builds hold the audience, yet humorous tropes are interspersed to lighten what would otherwise be an extremely heavy piece.
The good writing, thankfully, is complemented by several necessary strong performances. The play’s complex moral questions demand realistic, raw acting that implores an audience to see more than one or two sides to such an horrific situation. Janet Moran is superb with an emotional and powerful performance that offers a controversial viewpoint that, regardless of its blindingly obvious pitfalls, seems as rational and understandable as the situation allows. Rebecca Root channels an excellent grasp of the text; although her stage presence was awkward she becomes the audience’s likeable representative onstage and gives a well-developed performance. It should be said, however, much of the play is static, centralising text over fluid physicality: players all often remain very fixed, able apparently only to move their two arms while the rest of their body refuses to animate the emotion the texts suggests they should be feeling. I was also rather left wanting more depth of marital chemistry between Karen Ardiff and Enda Oates: when speaking the line, “I am nothing without Ray” (Sandra) that so self-consciously echoes the interdependency provoked by Cathy Earnshaw’s affirmation that Heathcliff is more herself than even she (Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë, 1847) it is difficult to believe true without the obvious electricity that its connotations so famously evoke, nor even a clear sense of familiarity. They felt, unfortunately for much of the piece, like a new relationship still on unsure footing rather than a long marriage.
However, Rathmines Road dealt powerfully with numerous social themes that should not still need discussion or commentary, and the ubiquity of these throughout the piece made shockingly obvious how much progress our society is yet to make. It’s a well written piece with a crucial social critique at its heart that is boldly animated.
