“Not a Word” is a striking portrait of what it is to be forgotten, to be alone, to be a stranger. To live by the loneliness of a dancer with no partner, of a tune with no name. Within the four walls of an impersonal room, we find a faceless protagonist—a man who embodies the lost stories of Irish navvies who laboured tirelessly in lands that were not their own. His body moves to the rhythm of silence, punctuated by the speculative return of music. Not a word is not spoken, yet everything is conveyed.
A day’s labouring done, he steps into this dimly lit room, a space that offers shelter but no solace, no sense of home. The slow, deliberate act of removing his workman’s boots and stripping down to his plain white underwear reveals a vulnerability so profound that it borders on discomfort. And yet, it feels natural—as if this act of undressing is not just physical but symbolic of laying bare a life of toil, isolation, and fading identity.
The kettle boils in the background; bread is cut but remains uneaten. There is a deck of cards, but no partner to play with. These small, banal details become monumental in their solitude, each one a whisper of rejection from a world that refuses to embrace him. He reaches out shyly, hopefully, only to find himself met with silence—an eternal outsider in a place that has never truly been his.
Amidst this stillness, there is music—a violin that trembles and sighs, carrying the weight of untold stories. Ultan O’Brien’s live score, a blend of electronic and traditional Irish music, serves as both a lament and a lifeline, guiding the protagonist’s heavy steps as he navigates his confined world. His movements are waves, ebbing and flowing with the music, like a ship braving the fury of the ocean. At times, he is achingly beautiful; at others, pitifully adrift.
There is a photograph tucked under the sink, a cherished trinket that seems to hold both hope and fear. It is a poignant reminder of the lives left behind, of dreams that remain just out of reach. The performance’s pacing mirrors the quiet desperation of these moments, allowing the audience to sit with the weight of his existence.
This work by Brú Theatre is a celebration and a mourning—a tribute to the countless Irish emigrants who “took the boat” and shaped nations while their own stories faded into obscurity. Director James Riordan and performer Raymond Keane have crafted a piece that is both deeply personal and universally resonant. The physicality of the performance is remarkable, as Keane’s faceless mask becomes a canvas for the audience’s imagination. Orla Clogher’s mask design, paired with Sarah Jane Shiels’s evocative lighting, creates an atmosphere that shifts between light and shadow, memory and reality.
At one point, there is an attempt to escape—A moment pregnant with the possibility of another future. Futility, weight. Feet that dance no more, feet that stay in place. Then a wonderful unmasking. Then, quite simply, a goodbye. We vanish like a ghost vanishes, and nothing – not a thing, nothing at all — is left behind.
“Not a Word” is an extraordinary exploration of exile and memory. It seeks beauty in the banal, poetry in the cracks. It reminds us of the humanity in those who built the foundations of our cities but whose names were never etched into their stones. As the kettle whistles and the violin sighs, we are left with the profound truth that silence can be, and is, unspeakably loud.
Mime Theatre
Until: 22 January 2025
Running time: 1 hour (no interval)
Contributors: James Riordan (Director), Raymond Keane (Performer), Ultan O Brien (Musician), Sarah Jane Shiels (Lighting Design), Andrew Clancy (Set Design), Saileóg O Halloran (Costume Design), Orla Clogher (Mask Design), Jill Murray (Producer), Jenny O’Malley (Sound Design).