Review: Agreement, a Bedtime Story of Peace in Northern Ireland

Two tribes of roughly equal size occupy the same patch of earth. Both have legitimate claims to the land and are willing to back them up with violence. After years of terrorism and state repression, is it possible to satisfy both parties through a negotiated power-sharing agreement?

As the world’s attention remains focused on Israel and Palestine, Irish Arts Center hosts the US debut of Owen McCafferty’s Agreement, a production from Belfast’s Lyric Theatre. It’s about the Good Friday Agreement that ended “the Troubles” (the very British euphemism for the simmering civil war that took place between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland during the latter half of the 20^th century). It’s the story of diplomacy succeeding, with sensible statesmen marginalizing the most strident voices in their own camps, and America wielding its hegemony for good — all things we have come to view with bleak skepticism. From the vantage point of 2024, it’s the happiest play of the year. Unfortunately, it is also a cringey example of adult story-time theater.

“I’m Senator George Mitchell – appointed by President Bill Clinton as chairman of these negotiations,” Richard Croxford tells the audience in his opening line, and we wonder if we’ve stumbled into a touring knockoff of The Hall of Presidents.

Mitchell introduces us to the other automatons: Mo Mowlam (Andrea Irvine) is Northern Ireland Secretary of State for the British government; John Hume (Dan Gordon) is leader of the Social Democratic and Labour Party; David Trimble (Ruairi Conaghan) is an Ulster Unionist whose main goal is to keep Northern Ireland in the United Kingdom. Sinn Féin leader Gerry Adams (Chris Corrigan) would like to see the exact opposite, with Northern Ireland uniting with the Irish Republic to the south. Trimble thinks Adams is a terrorist and refuses to speak with him. Adams insists he is an elected representative advocating for the will of, if not the majority now, the majority of tomorrow. Can they ever find common ground?

With the addition to the negotiations of Taoiseach Bertie Ahern (Ronan Leahy) and Prime Minister Tony Blair (Martin Hutson), they can and do over the course of 100 minutes of direct address interrupted by generally well-acted dramatic scenes.

McCafferty’s Wikipedia-comes-alive approach rises and falls with the individual performances, some of which are more successful than others. Irvine, saddled with one of the most horrendous wigs in recent memory, brings real urgency to her portrayal of a woman whose cancer diagnosis literally means that her time is running out. Less convincing (but far more memorable) is Hutson’s bug-eyed Blair, a premier flying on a gallon of espresso (or perhaps just his own prodigious ego). If his performance takes us to the edge of SNL, Conaghan brings us back to reality with a permafrown that tells us everything we need to know about Trimble’s anguished position: I’m not happy to be doing this, but if I don’t do it now, the nutters will take charge in the next round.

DUP leader Ian Paisley is the most significant offstage character. Having refused to participate in the talks, he cheerleads their failure from the sidelines (as represented through archival clips by sound designer Kate Marlais). With Mitchell an oddly receding presence, Paisley’s foil is the Godlike voice of President Clinton, who makes calls and twists arms to get this thing across the finish line in time for Good Friday. Conleth Hill prerecorded the voiceover, deploying a singsong accent that is more Armagh than Arkansas. If I were one of the negotiators, I would suspect an imposter — most likely Blair.

Director Charlotte Westenra maintains a brisk pace while unpacking a plot that could only ever truly thrill junior diplomats and the Brussels white paper set. Her staging occasionally verges on mania, as when the actors throw a flurry of papers around the stage (a strange thing to do when the agreement has already been finalized). We suspect she is trying to create a compelling stage picture when the script calls for none, like when she has the actors rotate their desks clockwise to signify the passage of time over the long night leading into Good Friday.

Those desks on castors represent the most useful (and second-most-notable) element of Conor Murphy’s set. The most notable and useless element is a giant circular screen that hovers over the stage, onto which Eoin Robinson flashes the actual text of the agreement, like we’re witnessing some perverse Family Feud spinoff. Survey says: cross border institutions! Mary Tumelty immaculately lights it all. And at least Murphy gets the costumes right, adorning our players in the off-the-rack suits and bland neckties that are the uniform of politicians across the western world.

Their appearance hasn’t changed over the ensuing 26 years, but circumstances certainly have: Collegiality among politicians of different parties is less common, while social media grandstanding has become the best way to attract followers. While not an extraordinary work of drama, Agreement is a timely reminder of all that has been lost in the 21^st century — and all that could still be regained.