Theatre in Review: The Honey Trap (Irish Repertory Theatre) Much of the considerable suspense onstage at the Irish Rep these nights comes from the sight of Michael Hayden trying to control his volcanic rage. Cast as Dave, a retired member of the British Army who has never recovered from the killing, decades earlier, of a friend and fellow soldier, he is an improvised explosive device in human form, ready to blow at any minute. Submitting, many years later, to an interview with a dispassionate academic preparing an oral history of the Irish Troubles, he is, despite his superficially jolly manner, tense, provocative, and prone to argument. "So, I'm the token Brit?" he asks, having learned that his interlocutor, Emily, has spoken to several ex-IRA members. "We're thrilled that you're telling your truth," she assures him. "My truth?" he snarls. "No. The truth." The actor's tense body language makes clear that, on this point, he will brook no contradiction in The Honey Trap. The event that has haunted Dave, arguably poisoning his life ever after, unfolds, in flashback, in a Belfast pub in 1979. Dave and his mate Bobby, knocking back one Guinness after another, are on the prowl, never mind that both are married: They're young, separated from home, and worn down by the daily grid of random violence; they're desperate to let off some steam. Joining up largely for something to do -- Bobby, in particular, was tired of life on the dole -- they spend their days in hostile territory, picking up body parts in the street, keeping an eye out for snipers, and ducking when dead cats are hurled their way. It's just their luck that Dave and Bobby get picked up by Kirsty and Lisa, who are available for flirtation and plenty more. At the crucial moment, however, Dave, conscience-stricken after a phone call with his wife, backs out, leaving Bobby with both ladies. But this dream date is a setup; Kirsty and Lisa are IRA operatives, marking soldiers for execution. "Someone shot him twice in the head," Dave says. "His own mum wouldn't have recognized him. But they left his army ID in his pocket. So that made it a bit easier. Thoughtful of them, eh?" Dave has only agreed to the interview with Emily because he is certain she can help him find Lisa and Kirsty. Stealing vital information from her -- a murkily handled business that is the play's weakest point -- he tracks down Lisa (Kirsty is long dead), now named Sonia, a brisk, tart-tongued widow who owns a Belfast coffee shop. Posing as a father dropping off his daughter at Queen's University ("She came to Belfast to study politics?" muses Sonia. "Jesus. It's as well she's not doing women's studies, or you might be leaving her off in Saudi Arabia"), he chats up Sonia, winning her over and getting her to agree to a dinner date. They ultimately end up in his hotel room, where he plans to take an oral history of his own before rendering his idea of justice. A taut psychological thriller dedicated to the proposition that, at some point in an endless cycle of revenge, root causes cease to matter, The Honey Trap hinges on two distinct games of cat and mouse. Emily (Molly Ranson), deliberately cool and low-key, clinging to the idea of objectivity in the face of Dave's insults and personal probing, wants only to get at the facts of that fatal evening. Dave wants evidence from her, along with a kind of emotional quid pro quo; if he must bare his psychological scars, she should show a little something, too. Seducing Sonia, Dave makes a connection with her, only producing a weapon after they have enjoyed a night in bed. Samantha Mathis' terror at gunpoint is palpable as she offers the only defense she knows: "When you saw soldiers on the streets, they had uniforms on. You don't remember the face of anyone you see in a uniform and a helmet. They're not real people." Then playwright Leo McGann springs a trap of his own, replaying the moment, originally seen in the first act, when Dave sends Bobby off with the girls, adding new information that explains Dave's gnawing guilt, his desperate need for someone to blame. Under the direction of Matt Torney, both time frames confidently share the stage, making clear how the repercussions of Bobby's execution continue to play out despite years of political and social change. Ranson underplays with rare skill, even when stepping on an emotional tripwire in telling Dave, "I can see you were the one who was damaged the most." Mathis' inherently tough Sonia has long ago dispensed with politics, yet remains haunted by her culpability. She's also a skilled counterpuncher: Infuriated by Dave's claim, "We came to save you from your neighbors," she claps back with a brutal indictment of the army's crimes, up to and including Bloody Sunday. The rest of the cast is equally assured, including Doireann McMahon and Annabelle Zasowski as Kirsty and Lisa, deftly getting the two young soldiers on the hook; Harrison Tipping as boyish, easily influenced Bobby; and, most of all, Daniel Marconi's strutting, bragging Dave, who, driven by jealousy mixed with self-loathing and a bad conscience, unwittingly sends his innocent young friend to his doom. This is the best opportunity Hayden has had in years, and he seizes it, struggling to keep his temper in check, producing one of the many drawings of Lisa/Sonia he has obsessively made over the years, and sadly admitting to having made a ruin of his personal life. His choir-boy face lined with exhaustion from too many sleepless nights and bottles of Bushmills, he is a burnt-out case, kept alive only by a dream of closure that remains forever out of reach. Goading Emily into telling a story about easing a case of heartbreak with a one-night stand, he asks, "Did it make you feel better?" "No," she replies. "It never does," he mutters with the resignation of one with experience of many a bitter morning after. The Honey Trap is a tricky proposition for a set designer; Charlie Corcoran's solution, a neutral space that gets repeatedly refurnished, works well for the interview scenes and the hotel bedroom, less so for Sonia's coffee bar. A fine pub atmosphere is worked up by lighting designer Michael Gottlieb, who creates meticulous compositions combining splashes of saturated color with downlight effects, and sound designer James Garver, working a period playlist that includes "You're So Vain," "How Deep is Your Love?", and "It's Too Late." Garver also makes effective use of voice-overs to reveal some of the contents of Emily's interviews. Sarita Fellows' costumes especially have a healthy appreciation for what working-class young people might wear for a night out in Thatcher-era Northern Ireland. It goes without saying that The Honey Trap has much to say to us, living in a world wracked by a never-ending search for vengeance; the modern resonances are almost too obvious to mention. But it earns its power by strictly adhering to the details of Belfast, a city whose glossy contemporary surface is a bandage hiding all sorts of festering wounds. McGann and Torney are both new to New York theatre, so cheers to the Irish Rep for giving them a platform, and for reminding us what a great actor Michael Hayden is when he gets the chance. --David Barbour 
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