Synapses

Chris O'Rourke

Aug 21

4 min read

Updated: 6 days ago

Liam Wilson Smyth and Molly Downey in Synapses. Image uncredited.

****

In Liam Wilson Smyth's disjointed Synapses, Emily and Mike negotiate a new normal now their strained marriage has ended. As Mike repairs a broken light socket, they talk to achieve a workable understanding for the sake of their unseen six-year-old son; less a child so much as a dramatic device to highlight the impact of separation on children. Emily, as insufferably dull as a legal document, controls the conversation, setting the rules as to who, what and how they talk. Their conversation as much a contest of wills as a process of conditioning. Against which Mike might charm with boyish, immature playfulness, but his little boy lost routine, begging Emily's approval, is a million miles from emotional maturity and one step away from Incel. Self-obsessed, judgmental, the emotionally constipated Emily and emotionally incontinent Mike autopsy self-justifications to avoid addressing the real issue at hand. So why spend eighty minutes in their company? Because underneath the tidy mess that is Synapses there's a fantastic play trying to get out. One dealing with pressing themes, often beautifully performed and smartly directed. One skirting close to hard truths yet, like Mike and Emily, seems scared of what it wants to say. Dealing in humour and psychobabble to avoid immersing itself in the blood, sweat and tears it really wants to tackle.

A screenplay masquerading as a play, Synapses makes some structurally smart decisions. Long duologues interspersed with a series of snap, fragmentary scenes offering flashback as exposition. Images, closer to screenplay visuals than stage images, being excellent throughout. Yet what works on screen often suffers lag onstage; performers resetting too short scenes frequently compromising their impact. Evident in the final run-in when a genius use of a single light achieves the desired effect far more effectively. Ciara Meehan's evocative lighting, Daniel Montague O'Brien's cracking use of sound and Iris Liange's economical, yet astutely detailed set offering a masterclass in how to fashion story through sound and image.

Molly Downey and Liam Wilson Smyth in Synapses. Image uncredited.

Yet economy doesn't translate to text. Smyth's gift for the witty remark and natty sentence enlivening a strained conversation that takes forever to get where it's going. Talking in order not to talk, whilst claiming what they really want to do is talk, dialogue constantly loops back on itself. Abstract, piecemeal, trapped in a cul-de-sac of avoidance, Smyth's vaguely described world comes to substitute for Synapses' central issue. For despite pretensions to the contrary, conversations are never about intimacy, honesty, communication, or the nature of their relationship. Nor are they about raising their child, or the much disputed sex and washing up. In Synapses, conversation is about power. Conversation is power. Who has it, and who wields it, being Emily. Mike dismissed as an inadequate lover, husband and parent, despite Emily's reasons for leaving having nothing to do with him. Ruthlessly manipulative, Emily deliberately keeps him in the dark yet makes him feel he's to blame. Revealing Mike as too needy to be anything more than another child for the reluctant Mammy to mind. The type who, if he discovered his girlfriend had an affair with another woman, rather than a man, would find it less offensive because it doesn't puncture his masculinity. The type who, if shot walking down the street, would lie screaming in a pool of his own blood pondering "why did they shoot me?" rather than removing the bullet. Meanwhile, the real issue Synapses points towards flickers in and out of focus.

Paradoxically, herein lies Synapses' strength; recognising the problems couples face trying to move on when relationships break down; remain friends when feelings get messy, raise a child together, forgive the unforgivable and address contemporary concerns many modern couples encounter. Ideas palpably felt, if inadequately articulated. Director Paul Meade's excellent direction releasing real emotional resonance. Hurts and insecurities topped off with Smyth's deft comic touches. Smyth compelling as the desperate Mike, turning in an invested performance. If newbie Molly Downey holds back due to inexperience, there's evidence in her tear-strewn expressions of a huge talent and terrific presence bubbling beneath just begging to assert itself.

Molly Downey and Liam Wilson Smyth in Synapses. Image uncredited.

Opening to Ella Fitzgerald's Every Time We Say Goodbye delivers a double-edged gut punch. Marking not only the end of Mike and Emily's troubled relationship, but of Gúna Nua Theatre Company after twenty eight years. Synapses their bittersweet swan song. Yet another company (venue, artist, tech person, add your own) disappearing on account of Ireland's pathetic approach to arts funding. Most notably theatre, which hasn't received a workable increase in funding in well over a decade.

The hope should have been that Smyth takes the lessons learned from staging Synapses and develops it with continued support. Alas, hope is the first thing to go. Then faith, followed by opportunity and potential. All that remains is charity. Which is what arts funding for theatre feels like. Hopefully, newly appointed Arts Council Director Shona McCarthy can do something about theatre being treated as the runt of the artistic litter. We wish her every success. It's too late for Gúna Nua. The impact of their demise, along with countless others, poignantly captured by Ella Fitzgerald. Who could well be singing on behalf of Irish theatre;

"every time we say goodbye, I die a little.”

For twenty eight years Gúna Nua have provided artists like Downey and Smyth with somewhere to hone their craft and talent. To draw on the immeasurable experience of artists like Meade. Offering countless opportunities to learn, grow, and experiment. Whether socially conscious works like 2021's Stronger, joyous delights like 2023's excellent Magic Play, or works in development like the hugely promising Synapses, Gúna Nua have enriched Irish theatre. Founded in 1998 by David Parnell, Meade and Éadaoin Glynn, Gúna Nua leave behind an incomparable legacy. Their loss incalculable. The cumulative loss in recent decades of artists, venues, and companies like Gúna Nua devastating.