Theatre in Review: The Loved Ones (Irish Repertory Theatre)Nell, who runs a bed and breakfast on the coast of County Clare, is so successful that Airbnb has declared her a "Superhost." And, as rendered by Tatiana Kahvegian at the Irish Rep, her place couldn't look cozier. Still, anyone looking for peace and quiet would do well to avoid it on the weekend that Erica Murray's play unfolds. Nell plans to host Orla, her widowed daughter-in-law, for a sad but necessary act of closure, scattering the ashes of Robin, Orla's late husband and Nell's son. But, just before Orla arrives, a surprise guest turns up: Gabby, Robin's off-and-on girlfriend, who happens to be carrying his child. Nell, herself a single mother, needs this situation like she needs a hole in the head; she is especially uninterested in learning that Robin, an academic and the light of her life, might be a philanderer with his students. Indeed, she can't be sure that Gabby isn't, for reasons unknown, making the whole thing up. Nell strives mightily to keep Gabby and Orla from meeting, but Dubey is a skilled plot manipulator, and, in the chaos that follows, the action of The Loved Ones is exactly as mortifying, hilarious, and hurtful as it would be in real life; this lovely vacation spot is transformed into a kind of heartbreak house. The play is a meditation on independence, maternity, and the often-unpalatable choices women face: Nell, who got Robin after a single night's misadventure, is horrified at Gabby's casual attitude toward pregnancy. Then again, maybe Gabby isn't as flippant as she looks; otherwise, why has she kept her condition a secret from her friends and tradition-minded mother? (Not that she asked, but Gabby plans to stay on until she gives birth, reasoning Ireland is the best place to give up the baby for adoption.) Orla, a tightly wrapped executive type on the hook for bullying subordinates, comes complete with a therapist she despises, a kooky spiritual advisor she adores, and a tragic history of miscarriages. Having spent her twenties chasing a career, she finds motherhood slipping away as she nears forty. It's a tangle of secrets, resentments, and jealousies, fueled by the playwright's penetrating insights into her characters' often-fruitless pursuit of happiness. Murray is especially talented at uniting comedy and sorrow into an inextricable sailor's knot. She generates considerable suspense as Gabby and Orla get together for a chat, leaving us tensely waiting for the truth to come out. A farcical tussle over the urn containing Robin's ashes ends in a rending howl of grief. A moment of profound silence is broken when someone inappropriately launches into a Cole Porter ballad. Many exchanges are punctuated with an understated, yet deadly accurate, wit: Surveying the premises, Gabby says, "It's just so... isolated. You could run around naked and no one would see you." "We never did that," Nell replies, each word a stone hurled against such a foolish notion. The last line is delivered with unerring skill by the great Maryann Plunkett as Nell, who, having devoted her life to Robin, is struggling to keep a lid on this explosive situation while fending off a flood of unwanted revelations about Robin. Eminently practical, unfussy about her romance-free existence, she wields an impressively sharp tongue when the occasion calls for it. Yet, in the face of her own considerable loss, she is profoundly understanding of the other women's follies. Plunkett, one of the few actresses in New York truly worthy of the term "luminous," makes Nell the powerful, compassionate center of the action. Plunkett is fortunate to have co-stars Alana Raquel Bowers as charming, airheaded Gabby, who is rapidly beginning to rethink her heedless, entirely innocent approach to adultery and unplanned pregnancy, and Clare O'Malley as Orla, whose pronounced Karen tendencies do not detract from her considerable bravery and sorrow. Keeping things especially lively is Donna Lynne Champlin as Nell's guest Cheryl-Ann, a cheery chatterbox (especially about her passion for birdwatching) who can't help mixing in with usually disastrous results. ("I like to leave extensive reviews after all my stays," she tells Nell, in not entirely reassuring tones.) She, too, is afflicted with loss, having made a life with the sister she loved and loathed, whose death has left her bereft, looking for a way forward. Director Nicola Murphy Dubey blends all four into a seamless chamber quartet, fluent in the melancholy music of Dubey's writing. In addition to Kahvegian's attractive set, Dubey also obtains fine work from costume designer Orla Long (hang for Cheryl-Ann's many-layered outerwear ensemble), Caroline Eng's sound design (which combines thunder and rain effects with melancholy musical selections), and Kat C. Zhou's richly detailed lighting. Some bits of the play's setup feel a tad too convenient: Did Gabby really not notice her pregnancy until she was five months in and no longer eligible for an abortion? In the main, however, The Loved Ones offers the pleasures of sharply perceptive writing and acting. Each of Murray's characters is a survivor, a loved one so to speak, and each has made a bargain with life that requires considerable grace in the honoring. --David Barbour 
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