The Weir review – Brendan Gleeson is a standout in this satisfyingly simple revival

Conor McPherson focuses on naturalistic storytelling as he weaves the mundane with the supernatural

Brendan Gleeson as Jack in ‘The Weir’ (Rich Gilligan)

In a West End that’s full of bombast – big tunes, blinding lights, spectacular feats of stage engineering – Conor McPherson’s revival of his often-staged 1997 landmark play The Weir is a satisfyingly simple proposition. In a note-perfect recreation of a rural pub, four men tell eerie stories to impress a young Dublin woman who’s new to their small Irish town. Like the audience, she starts out gently amused – then ends up deeply moved by their encounters with the unseen and the transcendental.

Garlanded Irish film actor Brendan Gleeson is the splashiest piece of casting here, and his performance is a standout. He’s got a compelling kind of worn-out gravity as schlubby mechanic Jack, who puts on his best suit to welcome the new girl in town, then tells spine-tingling tales with a master storyteller’s assured confidence. But the whole cast does justice to this naturalistic setting, bringing carefully observed humorous touches to its insular little booze-soaked world.

As pub landlord Brendan, Owen McDonnell exudes barely-contained stress as he entertains this rare female customer, excavating a bottle of white wine from who knows where before pouring it into a half-pint glass with trembling hands. Slick businessman Finbar (a kinetically sinister Tom Vaughan-Lawlor) prances around her, bragging about his great doings in this tiny northwest Irish town. As strange old pub regular Jim, Seán McGinley delivers unsettling tales with a stare into the distance that goes on slightly too long.

And at the centre of this unpractised pantomime of social graces is Valerie – who’s given a self-contained dignity by Kate Phillips. Soon, her subtly worn grimaces of distaste or concealed amusement are replaced by deeper emotions. These men’s stories of faerie roads and graveyard phantoms pave the way for her to express another part of herself, one that couldn’t find an outlet in the rational world of modern Dublin.

As director, McPherson treats his early work gently, focusing on naturalistic, evocative storytelling rather than drawing out this play’s more unsettling elements. This is a production that draws you in, that makes you feel like you’re sinking into a cracked leather armchair in the corner, eavesdropping on these men’s conversations – and designer Rae Smith’s realistic pub setting heightens that sense, with its clumsily arranged local history photos studding the walls, and bottles glistening enticingly behind the bar.

‘Wolf Hall’ star Kate Phillips as newcomer Valerie (Rich Gilligan)

Sometimes, this vision feels slightly too cosy. Valerie’s a lone female stranger in this pub. Isn’t there something menacing about these men’s urge to tell her eerie stories and break down her composed exterior? When they finally do manage to crack her, they don’t know how to handle the mess – except Gleeson, whose beautifully told final story of heartbreak is saturated with a regret that’s as haunting as any spectre.

But then, The Weir isn’t really about Valerie. It’s about the gaps her presence opens up in these men, revealing the voids of loneliness that strange things creep into. And its carefully interwoven strands of the mundane and the supernatural give this play an enduring strength – one that tugs audiences into this little tavern, long after they’ve called time on other plays of its vintage.

At the Harold Pinter Theatre until 6 December; tickets available here