Theatre in Review: Agreement (Lyric Theatre, Belfast at Irish Arts Center)

	Richard Croxford and members of the company. Photo: Nir Arieli

There's a moment late in Agreement that sums up the entire tense, fractious, and thoroughly engrossing proceedings at the Irish Arts Center. Owen McCafferty's script focuses on the negotiations to end the Troubles, the long-running civil war that has left Northern Ireland profoundly ravaged. "In over thirty years of conflict, more than three thousand people have lost their lives and countless other thousands have been physically injured," says George Mitchell, the US envoy overseeing the talks. "The emotional damage has yet to be fully understood."

With time running out, the emotional toll is only growing worse. Bertie Ahern, taoiseach of the Irish Republic, and Mo Mowlam, the UK's secretary of state for Northern Ireland, have been, until now, relatively cordial but, suddenly, Ahern, dealing with a personal loss, is fed up. The issue is the number of cross-border agreements envisioned between North and South: David Trimble, the chief negotiator for the Unionists, sees such institutions as so many Trojan horses designed to inject republican sentiment into his British homeland; he wants the number substantially reduced.

Ahern is expected to sell this demand to Gerry Adams, who represents republican, separatist Sinn Féin (and, whether he admits it or not, the IRA). But he has already agreed to strike two passages from the Irish constitution demanding the unification of North and South, a massive gesture for which he has gotten little credit, and he refuses to budge. Mowlam can't believe her ears; she pushes back vigorously and soon the two semi-allies are screaming at each other. "No matter what the fuck is ever said, it boils down to the English being the only adults in the room," he growls, tired of being lectured. "Don't talk to me like that," she shouts. "I'll talk to you whatever the fuck way I want," he snaps back. "You'll be long gone, and this will still..."

Ahern cuts himself off, horrified, and a terrible silence ensues. He meant to say the Irish on both sides of the border, not the British, must live with the consequences of the agreement. But Mowlam, who is being treated with cancer, hears it differently, thinking Ahern is consigning her to an early grave. Ahern, aghast at his intemperance, accepts a quiet "Fuck you" from Mowlam, offers a stuttered apology, and they embrace. Then Mowlam says, with emphasis, "There's still too many cross-border bodies."

That's the method of Agreement: friends, allies, interlopers, and bitter enemies having at it, their disagreements spinning into furious disputes before exploding into ad hominem attacks followed by retreats, time outs, and sulks -- and the entire process begins again. Both Sinn Féin and the Unionists seethe with grievance; neither side trusts the other. But, having come this close, can either party walk away? Ian Paisley, head of the Democratic Unionist Party, has already bailed; will others follow? Meanwhile, representatives from the UK and the US keep mixing in, often with little effect. And a self-imposed deadline draws near: "If this doesn't happen now," Mowlam frets, "it needs to end in a way that allows it to happen further down the road -- the only way that happens is for everyone to be given an opportunity to say they tried."

The wonder of Agreement is how it turns the eye-glazing details of a protracted political wrangle into the stuff of urgent drama. Behind each technical conflict over cross-border plans and the makeup of Northern Ireland's parliament lurks festering wounds; cobbling together a deal that everyone can accept is tantamount to performing surgery on oneself without anesthesia. Looming over everything is the larger question of "two traditions on a shared piece of rock." The choice seems clear: On one side, the possibility of a functioning, non-violent society; on the other side, more chaos, more bombings, more indiscriminate killing. But can the center be made to hold?

McCafferty's script is most efficient at reminding us of the issues involved, briskly bringing us up to speed on the latest twists. Charlotte Westenra's production introduces to New York a cast eminently skilled at verbal combat and fast-spreading emotional flare-ups. Ruairi Conaghan's David Trimble, so unbending that he suffers from back problems, sees the slightest concession as part of a dark plot to pry the North away from the UK; wait for the moment when he snarls "terrorist" at his republican opponent. Also, note the look on his face when staring at a poorly attended demonstration organized by Paisley, satisfaction at his rival's failure paired with a grim awareness that the days of Unionist domination are over. Chris Corrigan's Gerry Adams is a master of ambiguity, preferring to let others stew while quietly maneuvering for the release of political prisoners, retaining the IRA's considerable stock of weapons as a bargaining chip. Dan Gordon's John Hume, a republican and pacifist from Northern Ireland's Social Democratic and Labour Party, strives to stay friendly with all sides even as he admits, "Sometimes you forget what you've said and who you've said it to -- or who even said it; it's a fucking minefield."

Applying pressure is a bevy of outsiders, including Bill Clinton, whose phone calls, voiced by Conleth Hill, are a priceless combination of honey and steel. Martin Hutson's Tony Blair is a specialist in grand entrances, always ready for a photo op, armed with an inspirational banality for every occasion; underneath the smile, however, lurks a ruthless power player. Andrea Irvine's Mowlam, wearily doffing the wig that hides the ravages of her medical treatment, openly resents being sidelined by the showboating Blair even as she dismantles opposing arguments with the best of them. Ronan Leahy's Ahern flies in and out, balancing the negotiations with the details of his mother's funeral; while others battle, he is glimpsed upstage, saying a rosary for her immortal soul. Richard Croxford's George Mitchell maintains a sanguine demeanor while shuttling between sides, quietly insisting, "Nothing is agreed until everything is agreed."

Even though the outcome is a matter of history, the tension builds as, coming close to a final draft, the opponents panic, larding the document with new provisions that threaten to sink the entire endeavor. At least one of these comes with a farcical twist: A request from the Unionist side to tear down Maryfield -- "the government building where the Anglo-Irish agreement of 1985 was signed by Margaret Thatcher and Garret FitzGerald -- the thing that Unionists hate more than anything" which is misconstrued as Murrayfield, "the home of Scottish rugby." As the others struggle to parse this seemingly baffling request, Mowlam wonders, "I wonder if we spoke to Gerry, would they [the IRA] blow it up."

There's an arena-like quality to Conor Murphy's circular stage, topped by a tiled disk on which video designer Eoin Robinson tracks the passage of time, also offering live feeds of Blair and others making public statements. (Murphy's costumes feel utterly authentic.) A row of chest-high lighting units on the back and side walls of the stage area lets designer Mary Tumelty create striking effects, especially when simulating camera flashes during press conferences. Kate Marlais contributes effective underscoring and such effects as murmuring voices, helicopters, and a ticking clock.

As was the case with J. T. Rogers' documentary drama Corruption, seen recently at Lincoln Center Theater, some viewers may feel tempted to dismiss Agreement as an exercise in European intramural politics far removed from the concerns of the moment. But the play functions as a powerful, if oblique, comment on today's polarized world. If a conflict as ugly and long-running as the Troubles can be resolved -- not perfectly, to be sure, with many more twists to come -- what does that say about us right now? Mitchell notes, "It doesn't take courage to shoot a policeman in the back of the head or to murder an unarmed taxi driver. What takes courage is to compete in the arena of democracy where the tools are persuasion, fairness, and common decency." In a reflective moment, Adams says, "We all know the same thing -- that talking isn't always easy. But then what else have we got --- cheek by jowl all of us?" Good question, no? --David Barbour