'Translations' speaks volumes on the nature of language
The word school comes from the ancient Greek for “free time.”
That’s one of my favorite language facts. Contemplating it can make you think differently about not just the word, but the very concept it represents. Language doesn’t just name things and places and ideas. It shapes them in our minds.
And then those shapes shift as the underlying “things” that words symbolize evolve with the times. Now the word “school” conjures images of little red-and-white brick buildings,college campuses, first day pictures of scrubbed-clean children and bored teenagers resenting homework obligations in what they argue should be their “free time.”
Brian Friel’s 1980 play “Translations” considers language in all its contradictions, as a vehicle for understanding and misunderstanding, human progress and historical loss, self-actualization and colonialist control. It’s a thoughtful and moving play, receiving a lovely production at Writers Theatre filled with soulful performances.
The play is set in rural Ireland in 1833, in a dirt-floor house that’s also a semi-illicit, Irish-speaking “hedge-school” where intellectually curious locals come to be taught arithmetic as well as Latin and, yes, Ancient Greek.
Schoolmaster Hugh (Kevin Gudahl) — weathered by years (and alcohol) but energized by scholarship (and alcohol) — lords over his multi-generational pupils, regaling them with stories and never quite ending three-point lists, peppering them with questions about etymology.
Hugh’s son Manus (Andrew Mueller) takes over lessons when Hugh lingers too long at a pub. He also trudges up and down the staircase despite his bad leg when Hugh bellows for some tea. Manus has been wooing one of the students, the dynamic Maire (Tyler Meredith), who wants more than can be offered in her remote, impoverished home and dreams of America.
The status quo gets shaken with the return of Hugh’s other son Owen (Casey Hoekstra), who had grander ambitions than following in his father’s footsteps. Now he’s working for the British army as a translator, and also helping Lieutenant Yolland (Erik Hellman) rename — or, euphemistically, “standardize” — local geographic spots for a new, official map. Out with “Lis na Muc,” in with the less lyrical “Swinefort.”
In fact, out with Irish as a language — a new school will feature English only. Much of the play has the characters speaking with each other in languages they don’t understand; the fact the performers are all speaking in English invests the play with both extra humor and theatricality.
The design work here brings an old world to life, and the characterizations in director Braden Abraham’s production all feel richly detailed. Gudahl’s Hugh is all likable pomposity; Mueller’s Manus so earnest yet uncertain around Meredith’s Maire, who is so convincingly restless; and Hoekstra’s Owen emits earned confidence while saving room for naivete.
There isn’t a weak link anywhere. Gregory Linington brings thorough rigidity — both physical and moral — to English Captain Lancey. Jonathan Weir captures how aging Jimmy Jack uses ancient literature to escape into a sexualized fantasy life. Chloe Baldwin’s Bridget glows with glee when she gets some good gossip. Ian Maryfield finds the innocuous mischievousness in Doalty, who plays pranks on British surveyors. And Julia Rowley brings vivid clarity to Sarah, a lifelong mute with an unrequited crush on Manus; even though she barely speaks, we always know exactly what she’s thinking.
My personal favorite performance, though, comes from Hellman as the ridiculously romantic Lieutenant Yolland, or, as he would prefer it, just George. This character falls desperately in love with the Irish landscape, its laidback way of life, and even its hard-to-pronounce location names and their quirky histories. Hellman’s George lives in the clouds and takes us with him.
His George also falls for Maire, who instantly returns the affection. Their primary scene together has them falling in love while not understanding a word the other speaks. Both performers connect all the dots — the scene is funny and charming and layered, oblivious to the clash of world views these two would experience if they could understand each other.
To the late Friel’s great credit, the play has barely aged and even bears special contemporary relevance at a moment where there’s a cultural battle over the name of a gulf between two nations. The whole point here is that language can connect us, but it can’t resolve our own, if you will, gulfs.
As Hugh says to Maire when she requests that he teach her English: “I will provide you with the available words and the available grammar. But will that help you to interpret between privacies? I have no idea. But it’s all we have.”