Six chairs line the back walls of the Playroom, facing the audience. Drops of colour splash the furniture and white walls. Framed rainbows contain quotes about striving for freedom. The set, designed by Holly Varndell, emanates a comforting familiarity in the proximity of the chairs to the audience, the blazers draped over their backs, scarves and coats on wooden hooks – even a guitar against the wall. Studying the stage before the play opened, I found myself fascinated by these delicate traces of personhood before the cast entered from the same door we had, silencing the room with sombre faces.

The overall design of A Day in May is a stylised one; the ensemble makes use of these chairs at the back to sit and observe the stage just like us audience members. There was a sense that we were all spectators of the piece at one point or another, with actors joining the action when a contributing voice was needed, making for a complex system of multi-rolling. Each member of the cast adopted an item of clothing or a prop to indicate stepping into a role, ensuring a distinct contrast between all characters – balanced out among just seven people.

“The play successfully oscillates in scale, moving back and forth between a focus on individual lives and a larger, co-ordinated narrative”

A Day in May depicts two interweaving narratives: the political arc of the campaign for same-sex marriage in Ireland, and the interspersal of personal tales throughout. These latter stories are portrayed as fleeting and fragmented, like memories. As such, the production successfully oscillates in scale, moving back and forth between a focus on individual lives and a larger, co-ordinated narrative. With every flux across the narrative, it grew more and more clear who the campaign was being fought for: individuals as a whole.

The cast’s deft multi-rolling, as various monologuing characters, political activists and other smaller parts, communicated the variation in the issues concerning gay marriage. The delivery of dialogue directly to the audience immersed audiences into the experiences of each character. We were made almost complicit in their suffering, unable to help, but impelled to watch. It provided a sense of helplessness which I'm sure was not an unfamiliar to those within its real context; we were enveloped by these characters' despair, bringing the struggles of the community ever closer. Jacob Coughlan was particularly successful in this respect, conveying utter anguish during his individual appearances, but, by contrast, emitting an authoritative air as 'John' within the political arc.

“We were enveloped by these characters' despair, bringing the struggles of the community ever closer”

A non-diegetic voice recording counts down the days until the referendum, making the arc of the campaign easy to follow. Though this caused hiccups in timing, with some cues becoming muddied, this did not take away from the audience’s immersion in each scene, and the emotional intensity the cast had built. H Sneyd’s performance as political analyst ‘Frank’ was spectacular, wringing out every ounce of the character's humanity. They brought depth to a role which could have perhaps been overlooked, not being a central part of the campaign. The rapport between activists in the campaign storyline felt realistic, with their chemistry developing seamlessly over the course of the play as if in real time.

Each heart-aching blow to the success of the campaign was matched effortlessly by the cast’s humour. They seemed to bounce off of each other, often and with ease, mirroring the sense of community they’d fostered. The humour is richly and distinctly Irish, grounding us in its setting, while accents, on the whole, were mostly believable and only dropped in one or two instances.

“The cast were able to create a rich soundscape of audio and action”

The coming-out stories of characters such as Victor, William, and Jane, to name a few, are tastefully depicted. With the help of actors contributing from the periphery, the cast were able to create a rich soundscape of audio and action, malleable and judicious for each monologue. In Hugh McDowell’s ‘Father Joe’ scene, the cast imitate the swarming voices of the press by chiming in as reporters and radio show hosts, requesting the same interview again and again about the priest’s comments in support of LGBTQ+ people. This effectively mirrors the relentless pressure people in the community face from all angles. As another example, in Ben Sibbald’s performance as Seán, the cast echo homophobic slurs and taunts, personifying the shame of living in a place where you are seen as less than.

Something else of note was the portrayal of complex family dynamics. Every character seems to confront a fear of exposure in coming-out, but the personality and variation conveyed in every monologue made each story distinct and moving in its own way. In Maddie Lock’s ‘Jane’ monologue, McDowell’s depiction of a warm father, in comparison to Lorna Beal’s cold and unaccepting mother, showed the spectrum of good and bad to be found in every tale.

I was cautious when entering the Playroom, perhaps worried that the scope of the historical events would fall to the periphery – too big, too important to be condensed. I was proven utterly wrong. This cast ensured that the depth and emotional gravitas of the campaign was sincerely communicated. The core principle of the ‘Yes Campaign’ knocks down the fallacy that LGBTQ+ struggles are far away and irrelevant to one’s own life. The closeness and vulnerability of the piece ensured the lens through which we viewed the issue was that of empathy. With every sob, plea and laugh, was the undeniable fact that this law affected real people, rather than an unidentifiable mass. The close confines of the Playroom, and all the artistic decisions contained in the play, fostered a deep sense of relatability. These characters feel like part of the audience – they enter from the same door we do.

‘A Day in May’ showed at the Corpus Playroom from Tuesday 18 until Saturday 22 February, at 7pm.

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