"We're on our way . . . English and American papers, please copy." With these poignantly optimistic lines the curtain falls on Kate and Baba, two delicately sullied young Irish women, as they step on to the passenger ferry in Dublin's docks, with their patent-leather shoes and cardboard suitcases, bound for London and the perilous adventure of emigration.
More than 50 years have passed since Edna O'Brien's first novel, The Country Girls, a gently courageous exploration of the sexual discoveries of two young women from rural Ireland, was devoured by a happily scandalised nation despite being banned by the Irish censor. Now O'Brien has adapted her classic work for the stage for the first time.
In director Mikel Murfi's production, a starkly minimalist set is enlivened by a hefty, suspended, glowing Virgin Mary and an advertisement for a fortune teller, a juxtaposition that deftly underpins the girls' oscillation between pagan pleasure and the lacerating whip of Catholic guilt.
Against this backdrop, a tightly choreographed cast of nine skilfully bring to life a largely faithful reimagining of O'Brien's text.
O'Brien's language has retained its power to move, and for the Kates and Babas who left Ireland for Britain in search of liberty or a wage, never to return, a London run could well be a potent evocation of the emigrant psyche.
The Country Girls
Gaiety Theatre
Dublin
