NT LIVE: THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD

The first thing that strikes you is Syng's incredible use of language, specifically Irish English, a variation on English heavily influenced by Irish Gaelic. You're hit, from the moment the play begins, by an absolute storm of vowels and consonants, initially incredibly hard to follow. Much to the credit of the play and the production, we're given time to orient ourselves within the density of the language before Christy turns up, with both the creative team and the actors relishing the opportunity to swim in the murky, rich waters of Syng's dialogue. In this sense, the play feels like an act of preservation not dissimilar to Dylan Thomas' beloved 'Under Milk Wood', an attempt to both set down and assert language as a part of national identity, what makes the language of these peoples distinct from their colonisers. Yes, it has roots in the language of those colonisers, but it has been refashioned to such an extent that to listen to it, from an outsider's perspective, is to unravel a code, one that you can often only play casual observer to. While some audiences might find this frustrating, I found it absolutely thrilling. Very quickly, I happily submitted myself to its symphony, and the more I submitted, the more I could comprehend.

Despite being well over a century old, the moral and artistic conundrums at the heart of 'Playboy' still ring as shockingly immediate. Christy feels like the most inadequate of heroes, especially with the impressionistic approach Hardwicke explores in his performance. His behaviour is erratic, his emotions are histrionic and his whole demeanour suggests snivelling weakness as opposed to dashing protagonist. This though becomes his secret weapon, the disjunction between how he appears and what he claims to have done. The first hurdle you have to jump as an audience is buying that the townsfolk, especially Peegan (who is quickly established as sharper, smarter and aware than most), would become so enamoured of him. It begins with fascination, a curiosity at this strange, mewling boy, that grows into a kind of strange admiration. He becomes an anomaly, and in the cyclical nature of life in this town, his presence is an exciting disruption.

What seems to have unsettled audiences in 1907, and feels perennially timely, is the idea of violence as a means to celebrity. It is the very fact that Christy has killed his father that makes him the admiration of the town-this isn't some dangerous monster but some pathetic boy, trodden down at the heel of an unfeeling world, taking his own destiny in hand and asking for something better than what he has. In a way, it speaks in microcosm to the wider Irish concern of intense mistreatment by the English for so long and the desire to rebel against the oppressors. The declaration by the Widow Quinn that Christy is the playboy of the western world is the notion that, in committing patricide, he has chosen to make something better for himself. The fascination, evolving to admiration, then becomes wish fulfilment, and all the young women cling to the image of Christy as a means of reaching something greater than themselves. This speaks most honestly and powerfully to Peegan, who suddenly sees a light beyond the grey, dreary, lonely walls of her father's tavern. Christy is a disruption, not only to the town's demeanour but their traditions, with his wooing of Peegan railroading a prearranged engagement with the hapless Shawn Keogh (Marty Rea).

The production itself carefully charts this rise and eventual sickening fall with a clear, crisp and precise execution. Rather than the tavern being small and claustrophobic, costume and production designer Katie Davenport creates an imposing widescreen stage, fitted with textured shades of grey and brown, the back wall opened up to the wide seaside sky of the town. Everything is slightly exaggerated in size to reflect the monolithic weight of the play, both the sense of its importance as a text and that the domestic drama speaks to something bigger than the walls that contain it. That sense of weight is further solidified with a rousing deployment of live music and choreography, where we see the silhouette of musicians and dancers pace along the horizon. There is so much space in the visual world of this production, but it fills immediately with the scale of the language and the fury of the performances.

A major drawcard of the production is the reunion of Nicola Coughlan and Siobhán McSweeney after their career-defining work on 'Derry Girls', and even though they spend very little time together on stage, both bring tremendous intelligence and command to their performances. Coughlan, in particular, strikes an imposing Peegan, strong and forthright. It's a fantastic balance to the purposeful chaos of Éanna Hardwicke as Christy, with her as the rock and him as the wind. McSweeney excels by bringing necessary lightness as a counterpoint to Hardwicke, but still with a sense of threat, an unspoken awareness that something is very off about this young man that she may be able to exploit. While the whole ensemble is terrific, these three actors in particular fill the stage beautifully, unafraid of the inherent theatricality in Syng's text. When it all comes crashing down, a sequence that demonstrates director Caitríona McLaughlin's careful orchestration of the rhythms of the production, it does so with a startling balance of the ridiculous and the tragic. McLaughlin's vision for the production is incredibly assured, with great clarity and focus. You can feel the engine of this production rumbling under you, even watching it on a screen as opposed to the theatre.

This is just further proof that National Theatre Live have this process of filming their work for a cinema audience down to an art. Very rarely did I find myself being taken out of the production by the camerawork or editing, with 'Playboy' in particular feeling perfectly suited to the format. It also meant the chance to see these performances with an uncomfortable intimacy, amplifying the play's emotional impact.

After watching this National Theatre Live presentation of 'The Playboy of the Western World', I regretted even more not having the chance to see this production in person. No amount of cinematic trickery can replicate the power of live theatre, and in particular something as gigantic as this play. Thank goodness, though, that with this initiative, we are given the chance to see something akin to that experience, shot and edited with careful consideration of preserving the work and crafting a powerful experience for cinema audiences.

Caitríona McLaughlin's production of John Millington Syng's wonderful play is also a great reminder of why we re-stage the great classic texts (something our own Australian stages could do with some reminding of) - that in the right circumstances, these plays still have the capacity to walk right up to us and strike us across the face. And we, as an audience, are, more often than not, all the better and more grateful for it.