The Happy Destiny of Inishfree? Again

What does it say about me that I chose to spend the last night of my 40s in a single seat front row of St. Ann's Warehouse, catching Cillian Murphy's end run of Misterman? It means I'm consistent because that's pretty much how I've spent the decade prior. Well, maybe not front row. And not Cillian Murphy. That last bit was a little Parks and Rec "treat yo' self."

Photograph: Pavel Antonov

I firmly believe that every Enda Walsh production should require two tickets per person: one for the present performance and another for a few weeks later, after the play's had a chance to settle in the brain and move around with the same frenetic energy of  Murphy's Thomas Magill. Walsh's plays are such pandemonium that repeated viewings are the only way to truly appreciate his gift.
 
Front row would be a nice requirement for all, but I don't know how practical it would be if everyone at a performance had a front row seat. St. Ann's would require an even more cavernous set, and Cillian would have to do more running in sandals and threadbare socks.
 
Some thoughts from the second time round. If you have a moment, discuss this with me!

• Can someone get me an early version of this play?!!! The ending is even more problematic with full knowledge of what's coming. And I'd love to know what was added to get from the original 43 minutes running time of this play (see the Irish Echo's original review of 2001 with George Heslin as Thomas) to the current 1 hour 20 minutes? Is there more notebook writing?
• How long do you think Thomas has lived in the warehouse?  The stage directions call for a set where someone is "trying to live and has lived in for some time."  How can this be in such a small town with Thomas the person he is? And what happened to Mammy?
• What is the relationship between Mrs. O'Donnell's kind words as evidenced by Thomas' tape early in the play and his reenactment of her angry, tearful accusations?

I'm not trying to poke holes in Walsh's narrative threads. On the contrary, I am celebrating this deconstruction of a playwright's process: "Hello everyone" says Thomas in the very first line of the play. Welcome to his hell.

On a brighter note, I met Tadhg Murphy (above left in a shout down with Karl Shiels in Penelope) last night after the show, he of The Walworth Farce and other plays, some not written by Enda Walsh, like the one he's embarking on next at the Gate: the classic Da by Hugh Leonard.

During our conversation, Mr. Murphy recommended Once. "Brilliant" is what he said actually, and agreed I could quote him. I'm delighted by his positive opinion since I'm on my way there now.