Revolutionary Reflections: LaChiusa Breathes New Life into an Irish Classic
By Anthony Chase
Matthew LaChiusa's stage adaptation of Liam O'Flaherty's 1925 novel, The Informer, now playing at American Repertory Theater of WNY's Compass Arts Center on Elmwood Avenue, breathes new life into an Irish Classic. The production preserves the story's grand tragic scope while finding fresh resonance through a thoughtful reimagining that, whether by design or dramatic intuition, echoes the dramatic artistry of Seán O'Casey.
The Informer follows Gypo Nolan, a former Irish Republican Army member who, desperate and destitute, betrays his friend Francis McPhillip to the police for a twenty-pound reward. The novel tracks Gypo's psychological disintegration over the following 24 hours as the revolutionary organization, led by the steely Commandant Dan Gallagher, works to identify "the informer." Gypo's tale becomes a powerful meditation on loyalty, betrayal, and the moral contradictions of revolutionary violence.
To appreciate what LaChiusa has accomplished with this adaptation, it's worth considering O'Flaherty's novel in the context of Irish plays from the same era, particularly O'Casey's Dublin Trilogy: The Shadow of a Gunman (1923), Juno and the Paycock (1924), and The Plough and the Stars (1926). These three plays, which collectively form O'Casey's most celebrated works, depict the struggles of Dublin's working class during pivotal moments in Irish history: the War of Independence and Civil War period.
For the uninitiated, O'Casey (1880-1964) emerged from Dublin's tenements to create plays that combine biting social commentary with poignant humor. He challenged both British imperialism and the romanticism of Irish nationalism while giving voice to those -- especially women -- caught in the crossfire of political violence.
While O'Flaherty's novel is primarily a psychological thriller focusing on the inner turmoil of its protagonist, LaChiusa's adaptation shares more with O'Casey's dramatic approach: an ensemble cast, a balance of humor and tragedy, and most significantly, fully realized female characters who see through the folly of the men they must endure.
It has often been noted that O'Flaherty's women are far less developed than his men. Where LaChiusa's adaptation truly distinguishes itself is in its treatment of the female characters, reminiscent of O'Casey's remarkable gallery of women like Juno Boyle, Bessie Burgess, and Nora Clitheroe. Dramatic compression, coupled with this spatial economy allow LaChiusa to amplify these women, who gain a depth and dimension that is lacking in both the original novel and John Ford's visually arresting, but ultimately melodramatic 1935 film adaptation. LaChiusa has wisely shaped O'Flaherty's expansive narrative into a focused drama centered in a single location -- Dunbar's Bar, the playwright's own invention that amalgamates several locations from the novel and serves as a crucible for the play's moral and political tensions.
LaChiusa takes a late point of attack, beginning the play after the betrayal that sets the story in motion has already occurred and Francis McPhillip has already been killed. Unlike in the novel, where Francis appears as a significant character whose death drives the plot, LaChiusa removes him entirely from the action, allowing his absence to haunt the proceedings.
Gypo Nolan, played with deceptive affability by Trevor Dugan, enters the bar flashing money that immediately raises suspicion that he is 'the informer.' Dugan's performance effectively reveals the casual good cheer that barely disguises the torment beneath the surface. Each time Gypo spends money, we can feel Dugan exude both joy and pain. His portrayal's cheerful likability heightens the complexity of the character's conflicted motivations and creates ambiguity about how the audience should judge him. This establishes thematic connection with Johnny Boyle's betrayal of his Republican comrade in Juno and the Paycock, though Gypo's betrayal stems from desperate poverty rather than Johnny's abject fear, adding another layer to LaChiusa's moral examination.
In this thoughtful adaptation, Juli Grygier's portrayal of Mary McPhillip provides much more than the mostly expository function of the novel, and even more than the romantic subplot introduced in the film version. LaChiusa picks up on the romantic overtones of the film, but has transformed Mary's relationship with Dan Gallagher, energizing the moral dimension wherein rejecting his ethics means rejecting their romance. This added layer heightens the stakes and adds complexity absent from both novel and film. When we first encounter her character, Grygier subtly portrays Mary's attempt to soften the inflexible Dan into a proper beau. As the play progresses, she projects increasing focus and fearlessness as she knowingly squares off with him. Grygier delivers this principled opposition with steady confidence, evolving into a powerful counterpoint to the self-righteous ruthlessness of the play's most dangerous man, embodying the firm resolve reminiscent of O'Casey's Juno or Nora.
Even more dramatically transformed is Katie Fox, Gypo’s morally compromised girlfriend, whose character LaChiusa has substantially reinvented. Danette Pawlowski brings this reimagined woman to thrilling life in what becomes one of LaChiusa's most effective contributions to the adaptation. Unlike the chaotic figure from the novel or the insipid portrayal in the film, LaChiusa's Katie emerges as a complex figure whose betrayal of Gypo springs from jealousy and resentment, explicitly motivated by her desire to leave for America -- a detail that seems to be entirely of LaChiusa's invention. In a brilliant parallel to Gypo's betrayal of Francis, LaChiusa creates a scene where Katie demands payment for her betrayal of Gypo, providing a reflective echo of moral compromise. Pawlowski lands this moment as one of the evening’s dramatic highlights.
Anthony J. Grande's portrayal of Dan Gallagher presents a humorless and loveless power lord with steely unflinching precision without letting the man become a caricature. His performance embodies O'Flaherty's critique of how political idealism can transform into something destructive and self-serving, where revolutionary morality becomes divorced from human compassion. Grande gives us a man who coldly rationalizes that he deals in facts rather than superstitions. His final confrontation with Mary becomes one of the production's most powerful moments, evoking today's political realities wherein opponents demonize each other to justify ethically heinous behavior with self-righteous smugness. Here, Grande and Grygier demonstrate remarkable precision, as their earlier stage chemistry curdles into toxicity - a potent illustration of how ideological division can poison personal connection.
The supporting cast further populates the world of Dublin's revolutionary underground with distinct personalities. John F. Kennedy brings a brooding intensity to Jack McPhillips. Dan Morris gives Bartly Mulholland a compelling blend of revolutionary discipline and human vulnerability, while John DellaContrada's Tommy Connor projects the dangerous zeal of true belief. Nate Chateaux as Rattler Mulligan provides moments of dark humor that underscore rather than undercut the play's serious themes. Thomas J. Snodgrass VI as Barney Kerrigan, Tyler Collis as Curly, and Scott Gattie as Boxer Lydon round out the ensemble with solidly drawn characterizations.
LaChiusa has also elevated Kitty Dunbar from the novel's red-headed barmaid with a fondness for Gallagher into a more substantial person, portrayed with dimension and wit by Catherine Burkhart. Alicia Adema as Mary Haynes (the Beggar Woman) frames the play with powerful reminders of the desperation of poverty that undergirds the political conflicts.
Serving as both author and director, LaChiusa demonstrates a clear vision in his staging. His direction embraces a stylized realism that perfectly suits the material, allowing moments of heightened theatrical intensity to emerge organically from the naturalistic setting. The set design (also by LaChiusa) transforms Dunbar's Bar into a richly detailed environment that feels both historically specific and symbolically charged—a confined space where moral judgments are inescapable and characters are forced to confront the consequences of their actions. Jessica K. Rasp has provided very successful costumes.
The production brings together performers of varying experience levels, creating an ensemble that mirrors the community it portrays. This blend of theatrical backgrounds lends an authentic texture to the drama, with seasoned actors working alongside emerging talents. Rather than detracting from the play's impact, this casting reinforces its themes of community solidarity and collective experience.
By reframing O'Flaherty's psychological thriller through an ensemble approach reminiscent of O'Casey, LaChiusa creates a work that examines both individual moral psychology and broader social and political critique. As LaChiusa notes in his program, rather than implementing "the hefty Socialistic manifestos bombarding O'Flaherty's narrative, or the clichés found in John Ford's 1935 movie adaptation," his aim was "to draw out the humanity of these characters and the world they had to endure." This humanistic approach succeeds brilliantly, presenting people whose personal failings stem not from inherent evil but from the trauma of successive conflicts that left Dublin economically and spiritually devastated.
LaChiusa has made another welcome adjustment in avoiding the Catholic redemption narrative that gives both the novel and film a mawkishly moralistic ending by today's more ambiguous moral standards. In O'Flaherty's original work, Francis McPhillip's mother plays a crucial sentimental role, particularly in the melodramatic finale where Gypo confesses to her with his dying breath in a church and receives her forgiveness -- a scene John Ford's film renders with heavy religious symbolism. By moving the final scene from a church to a barroom floor and eliminating Francis McPhillip's mother entirely from the play, LaChiusa grounds the play's moral reckoning in human rather than divine terms. He also hands Dugan a far more authentic final moment, one suggesting that betrayal and loyalty are ultimately matters for community judgment rather than spiritual absolution.
For contemporary audiences, LaChiusa's adaptation examines how political violence corrodes personal bonds while revolutionary rhetoric often fails to address the crushing poverty at its root. Like O'Casey and O'Flaherty before him, LaChiusa exposes the gap between lofty ideological pronouncements and the material struggles of ordinary people.
This production strengthens Buffalo's growing reputation for nurturing excellent theatrical voices. LaChiusa's work deserves a wider audience and would be at home on stages across the country where drama that balances political insight with human complexity is valued.
"The Informer" runs through March 29th, Thursdays and Fridays at 7:30 pm / Saturdays at 5 p.m. -- Thursdays are pay-what-you-can. About two hours with an intermission. Compass Arts Center, 545 Elmwood Avenue.