Dublin Theatre Festival 2025: BÁN

Bláithín Mac Gabhann, Malua Ní Chléirigh, Liadán Dunlea, Bebhinn Hunt-Sheridan and Niamh McCann in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

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What is theatre’s fascination with adaptations? Whether from page to stage or reimagining canonical plays, there’s lots of them about. Perhaps companies consider some works need to be updated to speak to a modern audience? Or theatre has become so issue driven and splintered, an adaptation, riding on the coat tails of an established success, appeals to a broader audience? Or is it that, like opera, theatre’s contemporary appeal is shifting to ‘museum’ pieces rather than original works? Whatever the reason, if adaptations are your thing, Dublin Theatre Festival has you covered. Seven off the top of the head, including Hamlet, Three Sisters, Poor, and The Theban Trilogy. Then there’s Carys D. Coburn’s BÁN, a reworking of Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba. A production of two halves. Or rather one tenth and nine tenths. One tenth a meta-theatrical, self conscious crashing through the fourth wall like a cheap gimmick from out of nowhere. Delivering expositional monologues via direct address that add little of value and subtract from the other nine tenths. Which is a genuinely invigorating experience. BÁN a brilliant piece of writing and superlative cast directed to near perfection.

Liadán Dunlea and Bebhinn Hunt-Sheridan in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

It could be Cork. It could be the 60s, 70s or 80s. What matters is not the specific time or place, but the period. An era when women were denied access to abortion or contraception. Where fear of unwanted pregnancies outside wedlock compelled families to painful choices that were socially normalised. The fear of ostracisation, of scandal, of being a social pariah driving many families to unthinkable acts to protect their reputations. A pervasive fear something BÁN never quite captures. But it’s there, like an undercurrent, felt more by those who remember the time. Established cleverly through props, music and salient references, like that of the late Jilly Cooper. A woman whose novels taught many women (and men) about sex when there was no sex education to speak of.

Malua Ní Chléirigh, Niamh McCann, Bláithín Mac Gabhann, Liadán Dunlea and Bebhinn Hunt-Sheridan in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

Sisters seem to be having a moment. Bad Sisters. The Walsh Sisters. Now it’s the turn of The White Sisters. Who, entering quietly under Lee Curran’s mood perfect lights and Jenny O’Malley’s haunting composition, jitter like robotic Stepford Wives on the blink. Servants minus a husband and without a father whose funeral they are busy preparing. Garbed in Sarah Bacon’s funereal black, these women’s role and place in society has been predetermined. Domesticity writ large in their making of sandwiches and cleaning glasses, or later in the washing and folding of laundry. Their bitter frustrations finding relief in G&T’s, petty pranks, vicious remarks and any boy who’ll have them. Given the scant options available, three sisters are laying claim to the popular Peter. One sister, Malua Ní Chléirigh’s pregnant Annie (a revelation that’s more a confirmation seen a mile off) serves as warning to be careful what you wish for. Bríd Ní Neachtain’s maternal Bernadette, terror and toxic femininity made flesh, cutting ruthlessly with word and deed through any trace of weakness in her immature daughters. Now their father is dead, they are to be done with men. Famous last words.

Bríd Ní Neachtain in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

Ten minutes spent in their bickering company and you might think long live the patriarchy if this is the matriarchy. Lies, betrayals, insults inflicted like razor blades, the depth of their abuse knows no bounds, all in the name of purity and power. A whirlwind of bitter frustrations, sibling rivalries and cruel pettiness underscored by quiet affection. The pain made visceral by a superb cast who make you care and understand deeply, even those you do not want to like. Along with Ní Chléirigh, Liadán Dunlea as the spirited Edele, Bebhinn Hunt-Sheridan as insecure Mary Rose, a scene stealing Bláithín Mac Gabhann as the obedient Mary Louise, and Niamh McCann as oldest sister Mary Elizabeth each turn in riveting performances that crackle with chemistry. Along with Ní Neachtain and Yvonne Gidden as house keeper Frances. Claire O’Reilly’s compelling direction seducing with spellbinding ease.

Liadán Dunlea and Yvonne Gidden in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

Until a handbrake turn just before the interval tosses the contract BÁN established with its audience out the window. Selling the play and its audience short for looking embarrassed by its intense realism and shattering the frame. A cute momentary duet, musings on ghosts and ghosts of Christmases future, see the script fall down a meta-theatrical, expressionist rabbit hole that, like Bacon’s set, disappoints hugely. An angled red floor, retro washing machine and kitchen unit establish the kitchen sink family drama, but a soul sucking wall with uniform holes dominates the eye, sapping energy and risking dampening what are electrifying performances. All to convey information, most of which we didn’t need, that could have been conveyed in a smarter fashion.

Malua Ní Chléirigh and Yvonne Gidden in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

Once normal service resumes, the rabbit hole revisited later, it takes awhile for BÁN to win you back. But its astonishingly brilliant ensemble, a director at the top of their game, and a brilliant script seduce completely. If its many reveals and dramatic consequences totter into mini-series melodrama territory, that only adds another flavour. The tragedy of when care is denied, or when women are reduced to second class citizens, still packs a powerful punch. BÁN proving impossible to resist.

Niamh McCann and Liadán Dunlea in BÁN, written by Carys D. Coburn. Image: Rich Davenport.

BÁN is about family. Not the 'family is everything' movie fantasy family. This is Eugene O’Neill’s family. Awash in pain, blood, anger, misery, laughter, tenderness, hope and despair. It’s a living, breathing, blood, sweat and tears family. One you fall hopeless in love with when not hating them. It’s such a slump when BÁN self consciously shoehorns in a theatrical distraction that diminishes rather than enhances both play and production. It didn’t need it. Even so, BÁN towers above most of its contemporaries. And that ensemble. That direction. Not to be missed.

BÁN, by Cary D. Coburn, runs at The Peacock Stage of Abbey Theatre as part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2025 until October 11, continuing till November 8.

For more information visit Dublin Theatre Festival 2025 or The Abbey Theatre