REVIEW: The Burned Man ignites stage with dark wit, gripping intensity and standout acting

The Burned Man seizes your attention from the starting gun. From the very first syllable, Patrick Fogarty’s play demands that you lean forward, that you surrender to its darkly comic intensity and unflinching take on the limits of human suffering.

On the night of Friday, 13 February, The Source Arts Centre in Thurles was transformed into a remote cabin in the Galtee Mountains , snow pressing against its walls, the interior lit only by the flickering, spectral glow of an imagined fire.

The atmosphere was electric, taut with anticipation, as Elijah Bright emerged, a man whose face is a map of suffering.
Fogarty’s craftsmanship is immediately apparent in the way the play balances tension and dark humour.

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The cabin, stripped to its essentials, becomes a stage for both terror and revelation. Elijah’s presence, played exquisitely by Daniel Murray dominates the space, but it is the interplay with his captives that makes the drama sing.

Morrigan, played with startling emotional precision by Claire Lemass, offers a counterpoint to Elijah’s intensity, her measured words and subtle gestures cutting through the oppressive atmosphere with a quiet authority.

Meanwhile, Seán Doyle’s Conroy, with nervous energy and perfectly judged comedic timing, offers brief, sharp bursts of levity that punctuate the tension without undermining it, reminding us that in Fogarty’s world, fear and laughter are inseparable companions.

At the heart of The Burned Man lies a story that is as unsettling as it is compelling. Elijah Bright has captured two strangers within the isolated cabin, and as snow piles relentlessly against the walls, the evening unfolds as a slow and deliberate unravelling.

Confessions spill, absurdities emerge, and hidden truths come to light, each revelation shifting the balance between victim and villain. Elijah seeks vengeance for the fire that claimed his wife, yet Fogarty refuses to offer the audience the comfort of simple morality.

The captives, Conroy and Morrigan, oscillate between fear, bewilderment, and fleeting empowerment, while Elijah himself is alternately terrifying, pitiable, and strangely human.

Layered into this tense framework are the recorded messages from Bella, Elijah’s late wife, whose spectral presence haunts the cabin and the narrative, offering glimpses into past tenderness and loss.

The mise-en-scène of The Burned Man is a masterclass in atmospheric precision. Mark Quinlan and Padraic Seery’s set design evokes a remote cabin with a stark minimalism that magnifies every sound and every movement. The space is simultaneously intimate and claustrophobic.

Ciarán Whelan’s lighting and sound design contribute greatly to the atmosphere. during the voice message scenes, Elijah is bathed in a green hue that transports the audience into the life of his past. In that light, we feel the pain of grief and the inconsolable rage burning inside him.

Yet the real star of The Burned Man is its humour. Patrick Fogarty’s dialogue crackles with wit. There is a recognisable debt to the sharp absurdity of Martin McDonagh and the razor-edged rhythm of Conor McPherson. Much of this comedy emerges from the interplay between Morrigan and Conroy.

Claire Lemass embodies the “straight woman” with quiet authority, her timing impeccable, her reactions measured, allowing Sean Doyle’s Conroy to tumble into buffoonery with maximum effect.

The contrast is deliciously precise: Morrigan’s calm, restrained intelligence frames Conroy’s chaos, heightening the absurdity of his gestures, his stammered lines, and his well-meaning but disastrous interventions.

Together, they create a dynamic that allows the audience to breathe amidst the mounting tension while never breaking the moral and emotional stakes of the play.

The response from the audience confirmed what had been evident from the first syllable: this is a play that seizes attention and refuses to let go.

Both the performances and writing were rewarded with a sold-out house. Throughout the evening, laughter rolled freely, a testament to Fogarty’s deft command of dark comedy and to the precise timing of the cast. When the final scene concluded, the audience rose to their feet in applause.

The Burned Man is more than a debut; it is a declaration of intent. Patrick Fogarty has crafted a work that balances dark comedy, moral ambiguity, and raw human emotion with unflinching precision. In an age of AI-generated videos, screen addiction, and banal influencers, The Burned Man stands as a testament to those actively creating and self-funding their own work.

In bringing this production to life, Fomóire Productions has proven itself a company of vision and ambition, a team capable of taking risks, nurturing talent, and delivering theatre that challenges its audience.

As Patrick Fogarty reflected to the Tipperary Star, “As a process it is a struggle, but I love it… The play takes on a life of its own with the actors, and you have to learn to let that happen as a writer. You put your ego aside and allow it to grow beyond your control.”

Daniel Murray, Claire Lemass, and Seán Doyle are names to watch, each inhabiting their roles with precision and charisma.
This play stands as a testament to the power of rural talent that exists in our community.

The mutterings of people as this reviewer rambled out of the theatre suggested agreement, smiles lingering on faces, voices low in discussion and delight.

Theatre, in its most potent form, puts butterflies in your stomach, and I felt them on the walk back to my car that night. There is nothing like the live experience; no medium can match it. The Burned Man leaves you exhilarated, unsettled, and profoundly entertained.

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