Portia Coughlan – The Almeida

There were many factors that made me giddy to see Portia Coughlan. My Irish heritage, The Almeida’s track record for uniquely dazzling theatre, an attraction to the dark side and the play’s notoriety as a ‘90s game changer. Broadly speaking, Marina Carr’s Gothic shocker didn’t disappoint, but might be prey to having a lot to live up to.

Alison Oliver plays Portia Coughlan and turns out a compelling, complex performance that’s haunting, oddly thrilling and almost alien to behold. Portia is a spiky, volatile mystery to the other characters in the play and the audience who’re also grappling with her quirks. We meet Portia on her 30^th birthday. She is wallowing in pain and grief, fifteen years after the suicide of her twin brother. Portia chooses to self-destruct with drink and spiteful rage from the moment she opens her eyes. What might be a day of celebration is instead a grim assessment of the past. As family and friends attempt to manage and placate the explosive birthday girl, revelations and buried secrets rise to the surface and they infect everyone in the vicinity.

Production notes for Portia Coughlan warn audiences that thematic triggers include, ‘suicide, sexual content, violence, alcoholism, strong language, ableist language, discriminatory language towards Traveller communities, and references to incest’. There’s a lot to unpack and while it’s a relentlessly harrowing ride, it’s often viciously hilarious. Portia’s grandmother (Sorcha Cusack) is without doubt the most foul-mouthed and rancid character to have ever stalked a stage in a wheelchair. It’s a bracing, brilliant performance and Cusack’s poisonous pensioner is played with remarkable gusto.

While death and tragedy loom large, this isn’t a play that offers up a chance to get emotional. Portia Coughlan is a howling middle finger to society’s expectations of women and especially mothers. She’s cruel to her doting husband, Raphael (Chris Walley), resents her own children, refuses any engagement with domesticity and is eloquently nihilistic. These toxic traits can be found in male characters throughout Irish culture and yet their feckless neglect and drunken chaos is often forgiven as the charms of a witty rogue. Carr’s central character might be hard to love, but Portia has agency and power in her destructive stagger through life. She gives the lads a run for their money, and nobody can stop the rot or impending doom. While it’s a hard kick to the patriarchy, it isn’t an inspirational boost for the sisterhood either.

There’s beauty in the text, which is rich in magical symbolism and often inventive in the cursing insults that spew from the characters. Alex Eales’s set, the stony, bleak landscape of the Belmont Valley stabs through the back wall of the family home. It brilliantly evokes Portia’s obsession with the spot where her brother drowned, forever looming over proceedings like a tragic myth. Maimuna Memon’s musical landscape, which is original for this production was more jarring than complimentary. The synth-fuelled vibes are beautifully composed but felt like they might suit another production entirely.

The first half of the play is a rollercoaster of riotous conflict that pumps up the adrenaline and dramatically gives the audience a spoiler for the second half. The denouement of the drama is a more muted affair, despite the horrific disclosures that follow. It was hard not to feel as exhausted and despairing as the careworn characters by the time the end was nigh. Alison Oliver is astounding to watch, but as an overall experience, in these dark and troubling times, it’s hard to recommend with cheery enthusiasm.

Portia Coughlan is at The Almeida until 18th November.

Reviewer: Stewart Who?

Reviewed: 19th October 2023
North West End UK Rating: