Absolution

Owen O’Neill’s Absolution explores the sinister world of child abuse that runs behind the respectable façade of The Roman Catholic Church. O’Neill’s lilting Irish accent, with its naturally anecdotal tone, takes the audience through just under an hour of narrative that charts the central character’s acts of violent retribution against the offending priests.

The references to abuse are not so vivid that this show is uncomfortable and yet they are strong enough that the message is powerful. The monologue works via a slow release of information, teasing the audience into the plot and giving O’Neill the confident performance of a man-in-the-know. O’Neill plays out moments of revelation with blasé calm, retaining total control over his performance whilst the audience reel from sharp narrative blows.

O’Neill is physically as well as vocally impressive. His frame remains tense throughout, punctuating anecdotes of brutal violence with press-ups and swiping fists; this monologue is refreshingly kinetic.

Even without reading the programme one gets the sense that O’Neill is a veteran. He has an air of old-school "thespianism" about him: his posture, his conduct, his diction, all hold the precision of someone who has been in the industry a long time. As much as this sense of experience impresses, it also gives rise to a slight criticism of Absolution: it feels a little hackneyed. O’Neill tends toward over-earnestness; strained looks imbued with weighty meaning occasionally verge on "angsty". In spite of this, the plot is tight and intriguing, with a brilliant twist at the end and the duration of the show is perfect for sustaining audience attention.