'Pumpgirl': Angles and Demons

In "Pumpgirl," the young Irish dramatist Abbie Spallen closely follows the fashion of her countrymen and gives us a play in which no character talks to any other. Oh, sure, they all have loads to say. It's that all their words are directed entirely at us, in speeches that are supposed to wrap around each other and roll off the stage as one psychologically supple story.

Ireland's mania for monologues is beginning to challenge Guinness as a national export. It's traceable in the works of such world-class playwrights as Brian Friel ("Faith Healer") and Conor McPherson ("The Weir"), as well as in a host of other Irish writers of skill -- including Mark O'Rowe, author of "Crestfall," a work full of foreboding produced a few years ago at Studio Theatre.

Spallen's piece, receiving an area premiere courtesy of Solas Nua, the smart young company that specializes in contemporary Irish theater, is another worthwhile entry in the category -- but primarily as a literary event. Spallen has a talent for atmosphere and an ear for an arrestingly descriptive simile: A libidinous woman is recalled as wearing a "smile on her face like Liberace in a locker room"; another local type is said to "walk like John Wayne and look like his horse."

At the luxurious running time of a little more than two hours, however, the play puts an inordinate amount of narrative pressure on its three characters, as well as the actors portraying them. Solas Nua's cast -- encircled by the audience in Flashpoint's tiny Mead Theatre Lab -- has the demanding task of striking believable chords in characters of a highly specific locale and mind-set.

It should not be a surprise that authenticity becomes an issue in director Linda Murray's erratic production. Although actors Dan Brick, Madeleine Carr and Stephanie Roswell sound to American ears as if they might be from that part of the world, the sense that they have suffered all that their characters claim is sometimes harder to credit. Carr, as the tale's peculiarly morose and agitated title character, has the most success in this regard. Brick and Roswell have more difficulty navigating between their characters' passions and agonies, the demons that drive them to extreme acts.

"Pumpgirl" is a sex-tinged tale of how three lives can overlap and intersect without relieving any of them of their abject loneliness. The theme is reinforced in the theatrical idea of three figures sharing a stage and yet each seeming completely isolated from the others. Carr's tomboyish pumpgirl, whose job in a filling station gives the character her name, is sleeping with Brick's Hammy, unhappily married to Roswell's Sinead. What you discover is that no one in the triangle -- or beyond -- is capable of comforting anyone else in any meaningful way.

Spallen's yarn is riddled with allusions to the distractions outside this Irish market town: "The Matrix" and AC/DC, GI Joe and Michael Caine all figure in the story. In the characters' hermetically sealed universes, these references come to sound exotic. The only level on which they seem able to link is physical, as reflected in their mutual connection to Hammy's friend, the unseen Shawshank, a menace whose presence spells nothing good for any of them.

It takes a while to get used to the actors' accents, an adjustment that is not aided by the in-the-round staging; anytime actors turn away from your quarter of the stage, audibility becomes an issue. Murray often employs underscoring, in the form of recorded tunes; much of "Pumpgirl's" action revolves around cars, and the music reminds you of what comes out of a car radio. Here, too, though, the sounds compete annoyingly with the actors' voices.

Carr's portrayal of the diffident pumpgirl, however, gathers in force. Near evening's end, as she recounts the waylaying of Hammy and Sinead's children, the play suddenly awakens terrifying tremors. You can certainly admire Spallen's writing -- and at the same time, wish the impact of this moment had been replicated with more frequency.

Pumpgirl, by Abbie Spallen. Directed by Linda Murray. Costumes, Lynly Saunders; lighting, Marianne Meadows. About 2 hours 10 minutes. Through March 22 at Mead Theatre Lab at Flashpoint, 916 G St. NW. Call 800-494-TIXS or visit http://www.solasnua.org.