Paradise lost

Alcohol holds the puppet strings in this devastating, heartbreakingly humorous portrayal of a marriage where sexual desire is nothing but an unhappy ghost. A man with burning eyes stands swaying slightly at the front of the stage, yet while he is obviously drunk from the moment he opens his mouth, he also possesses a storyteller's power that ensnares the audience from the first slurred syllable.

As the celebrated writer of The Weir, Conor McPherson proved himself master of an Irish storytelling tradition that entertained at the same time as it took a scalpel to the human heart. Now, in the director's chair for Eugene O'Brien's Eden, he has wrenched every drop of humanity and sadness from two monologues spoken by a man and his wife who have long since left their own marital paradise.

Claustrophobic carpet grows like a disease across Blaithin Sheerin's set, while Paul Keogan's lighting ensures that whenever one character is illuminated to address the audience, the other is submerged in darkness.

The excellent Don Wycherley as Billy has a tongue so garbled with alcohol that it is initially quite difficult to make out exactly what he is saying. But as he starts to relate the events of a night when he drunkenly tried to seduce a young girl called Imelda, it is impossible not to feel sucked into the heart of his tawdry dilemma.

As Breda, Catherine Walsh's gaunt, oppressed appearance almost says more than her tragic words about a life dominated by weight problems, low self-esteem, and an inability to acknowledge that her marriage has died. At the same time that the audience is laughing at Billy's feeble attempts to play away, it is equally appalled by the drab loneliness of her life.

This is an incredible two-hander, which combines down-at-the-pub normality with a grippingly Chekovian gloom. Superb acting seals this potent evening.