Ann Henning Jocelyn’s ponderously emphatic play is about bridging the gap between Catholics and Protestants and bridging the gap between stroppy children and their parents and grandparents.
The action begins in 1922 with the War of Irish Independence and ends in the present day.
The dialogue is so plodding it feels like a translation from the Swedish.
The direction is amateurishly slow and boring.
Two actors are really bad and the final sentimental moment rings so ridiculously false that there were audible groans from the audience.
by Robert Tanitch, Mature Times theatre reviewer
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