Shush at the Abbey

IN THIS INSTALMENT OF ‘AN AMERICAN IN DUBLIN’, EMMA TAKES A TRIP TO THE ABBEY THEATRE FOR THE OPENING NIGHT OF SHUSH.

Last night, Vera and I got to go to the first preview of Shush at the Abbey. (It’s pretty thrilling when you get to go to the first preview of a new show at the Abbey, I must say. I felt very fancy.) This was the third play I’ve seen at the Abbey—King Lear and Drum Belly were the others—and the first that was billed as a comedy.

It was in fact comedic. At times laugh-out-loud, guffawingly, snortingly funny. This isn’t a sort of high-brow acerbic wit, and nor is it a slapstick sort of funny. Shush’s humour lies in that rarest middle ground: it is wryly self-deprecating and cringe-worthily relatable.

The play opens with middle-aged Breda sitting alone on her couch, drinking vodka and staring at the bottles of pills on her coffee table. She rings her son and leaves a voicemail, telling him not to worry, everything’s grand, but call back if he gets a moment, no matter how late. She turns the pill bottles over musingly. She jumps when her phone vibrates and then reads the text aloud: “Happy Birthday from your friends at O2!”

And then the bell rings.

In march the ladies: bossy Marie, who immediately sets off to fix everyone drinks; Marie’s soft-spoken daughter Clare, apologetic about the intrusion; ditzy Irene, who demands “gimme a love!” and yanks Breda into an exuberant hug. Breda’s posh neighbour Ursula waltzes in soon after, bearing champagne and a dreadful homemade cake.

The ladies set off to cheer Breda up. She’s been very depressed recently, we learn, since her husband left her for a woman who “looks like the back of a bus”. And as the women talk—and drink—it transpires that each has her own problems, ranging from infidelity to suicide attempts to loneliness to miscarriages.

So it might not sound like a comedy with that description. But really and truly, it is. These ladies are hilarious. They are hilarious the way my family is after a few glasses of wine: relaxed, mocking, navel-gazing. The dialogue is incredibly realistic; while witty, this play is believably witty, and I don’t remember a single line that seemed too clever to be true. (One of my favourite moments: Ursula, shortly before vomiting into the kitchen sink, slurs despondently, “Who knew I could be so skinny and still be so unhappy?!” Aw, babe. You just want to laugh and envelop her in an enormous hug.)

There’s not much literal action. Shush is a self-contained play: all the drama unfolds around the coffee table, with the exception of one off-stage drive by Breda’s ex-husband’s new house that takes place during intermission. Overall, I’d say this play is more about the back story than about any forward-moving plot; Shush is a gentle unfolding of its characters’ personalities and relationships.

It’s a very strong, funny play. Under two hours with an intermission. Tickets €13—€40 (€13—€23 conc) and the Abbey runs loads of Twitter competitions and often has tickets for €10. They are really, really undercharging. You Dubliners are insanely lucky to have such a good and reasonably priced national theatre and you all really ought to take advantage of it.

Emma, DublinTown.ie