The Hairy Ape – 02 October 2026
Eugene O’Neill’s treatise on belonging, The Hairy Ape, follows the journey of a stoker known as Yank (Jon Beavers) as he tries to find a place where he feels a sense of fellowship. Throughout this journey, Yank is heavily invested in revenge against a curious rich girl named Mildred (Elizabeth Teeter) who comes down to the lower decks of the ship to “see how the other half lives” and faints at the sight of Yank. Fellow stoker Paddy (John Keating) mocks Yank, saying that, in Mildred’s eyes, Yank is a hairy ape. After being rejected by the other stokers, Yank investigates the upper class, goes to jail, seeks out the Industrial Workers of the World, and finally ends up in a zoo, face-to-face with a real hairy ape who also rejects Yank’s offer of kinship. This rejection spells out the end for Yank, who can’t think of anywhere else to turn for companionship.
Beavers’ portrayal of Yank is consistent despite the changing context, and his ranting monologues are shaped not by him as an actor, but by the reactions surrounding him. After a while, his angry, hulking presence begins to feel hackneyed, as each subsequent rejection ceases to be a surprise. Watching Yank get knocked down over and over again is the point of the story; it’s about fate and not being able to change the circumstances of one’s birth, especially if one is unintelligent, gets easily fixated on things, and struggles with literacy— all of which is readily apparent in the character of Yank. Although it is the way of the world, those of us on the upper decks (let’s include theatergoers in that sentiment) find it difficult to watch someone get knocked down repeatedly with no hope of success— it’s an idea that we’d rather not think about. We want to think that there is a place of belonging for everybody. The Hairy Ape challenges that idea and demands that we not look away when things stop being cozy and are, in fact, systemically unfair. This work stands firm as a reminder that happy endings are for the fortunate, and are not guaranteed.
Ciarán O’Reilly’s production leans into the world-building elements of this story and the design elements rise to the challenge. The soundscape, created by collaboration between original music (Ryan Rumery) and sound design (Ryan Rumery, Florian Staab), evokes a visceral sense of monotony that emphasizes the thematic content. The pace and energy of the sound drives the play forward from environment to environment like a steady drum. The pace does not quicken even as Yank’s desperation rises, holding the truth— man is not in control of the universe. Michael Gottlieb’s lighting design is insidiously clever— using the same colors in every space that rejects Yank, showing a world that is just more of the same and doesn’t have a unique, special place for everybody. Charlie Corcoran’s set contains some of these colors— particularly emphasizing reds and dark greens, creating a hopeless environment where ladders and cages look identical because there’s nowhere to climb to and no way out. Costume design (Orla Long) is a transformative element in a literal sense; this show has a really large cast, but since Yank travels to different worlds, the actors must transform into different characters, yet still be the same enough to hammer home the message: no matter where Yank looks, everywhere is ultimately the same and will ultimately reject him.
O’Reilly delivers O’Neill’s text to its full potential with a vastly imaginative use of space and personnel. This show is not for everyone; The Hairy Ape demands an audience ready to be critical of society and crushed by its cruelty. It’s a show with no good guys to root for and no happy ending to settle your stomach. To the right person, it’s brilliant. To the average consumer, perhaps less so. My biggest takeaway from this show was actually pity for those who want more out of life than is in the cards for them and sadness that wanting to belong, for some, is wanting too much when for others it is life’s guarantee. The Hairy Ape is full of meaning, insight, and relatability. The thing it isn’t full of is hope.
I attended this performance on a press pass from Print Shop PR.
