Interview with Ian Higham

What happens when an ordinary Christmas Eve gathering takes a dark and sudden turn? Conor McPherson’s The Seafarer brings five men together in a Dublin home for an evening of drinking, storytelling, and poker, gradually revealing a world where friendship, guilt, and redemption collide with something far more malevolent. Marking the 20th anniversary of the play’s premiere at the National Theatre, this revival explores the extraordinary humanity below its dark humour and supernatural mystery. After a successful run at Putney Arts Theatre, the production transfers to Greenwich Theatre, directed by Ian Higham. I caught up with Ian to discuss his longstanding admiration for McPherson’s writing, bringing the play’s vibrantly drawn characters to life, and finding the fine balance between laughter, emotional vulnerability, and the darkness beneath the surface.

I’d love to start with the play itself: what first drew you to The Seafarer, and what made you want to direct this 20th-anniversary production?

I’d seen the original production of The Weir back in 1997 at the Ambassadors Theatre. It was my introduction to Conor’s work and it blew me away. Ian Rickson put the audience (about 50 of us) on stage in the set on rickety chairs and benches, so that it truly felt like we were sitting in the bar with the characters. At one point I was so immersed I raised my glass along with Jack and Finbar.  It’s still in my top five of plays that I’ve seen (and I’ve seen a lot since).

Five years ago, during lockdown, I directed an online production of The Weir. We shipped about 30 glasses and other props (including framed pictures for the walls) around to each actor’s house so that on screen it looked like they were all in the same room. Brendan, the barman, would pour a glass and hand it over on his screen and one of the other actors would pick up the identical glass on their screen. It was remarkably effective. Working on the script via zoom with the actors was very focused and emphasised again just what a fantastic piece of writing it is.

It was an easy step to move on to his next play The Seafarer which feels like an expansion of The Weir. Its more dialogue driven (The Weir famously is composed of several huge monologues) but still retains those great moments of storytelling and a dark supernatural edge. It’s also very funny. I’d seen it back in 2006 but hadn’t read it since. When I did pick it up, while looking for a new a play to direct, I was astonished. I’d forgotten just how rich the language and humour and emotion is in the play. It has a deeply poetic soul without seeming arty or false. Every word feels necessary, real and true.

Conor McPherson’s play premiered 20 years ago at the National Theatre. What do you think makes The Seafarer still feel relevant to audiences in 2026?

The play touches on so many themes about family and friendship which in an increasingly fragmented and isolated world resonates powerfully. The play shows that blood is thicker than water however fractious and divisive family relationships can seem, but it also shows how we connect with others and make our own families. Sharky in the play is trying desperately to be a better person and not resort to drink as a way out. In a time when lots of people feel enormously stressed and pressured it shows that we are all capable of trying to do the right thing however hard that might seem and whatever the obstacles.

The play manages to move between very dark comedy, family drama and supernatural horror. As a director, how did you approach finding the right balance between those very different tones?

It’s all there in the script. Conor writes wonderfully real and truthful dialogue and is a master of structure. He knows precisely how to shift the tone without cranking the gears. It’s like you’ve been given an amazing score, and great actors, like great musicians, find their way in rehearsal to play the notes perfectly. If you are really listening as a director, then a great script and terrific actors sensitive to the writing are all you really need to have the play spring to life. If any moment jars in rehearsal, then you know you’ve got it wrong and must try again.

There’s a huge amount of atmosphere in the script, particularly as the evening progresses and Mr Lockhart’s true identity becomes clearer. How did you build that sense of unease while still allowing the comedy and warmth between the characters to breathe?

It’s about playing the structure in the writing and climbing the steps without falling over. The play very much starts out as a comedy built around the difficult relationship between the brothers Richard and Sharky. There are conflicts and pratfalls, but everything is built on a real understanding by the playwright that this is how many fraternal relationships work. The Harkins are bound together despite everything, and Conor subtly brings in little moments that show the bond beneath the bickering.

The mood softens slightly when Ivan arrives. There’s a great deal of affection from both brothers for this friend. They look after him, and the play takes on a gentler element. It’s also Ivan’s arrival that changes things, as the first subtle suggestions of the supernatural are dropped into the conversation. When Nicky and Mr Lockhart arrive, another dynamic enters the room. There’s a problem between Sharky and Nicky that causes a dramatic underlying line of tension. It works brilliantly as a distraction to the unexpected reveal as to who Mr Lockhart is.

This, like all the best dramatic twists in a play, should come suddenly, unexpectedly and as a total surprise to the audience Again, it’s all there in the writing. The reveal throws the audience, but it’s so cleverly introduced and timed so perfectly that you’re not thrown out of the play. Hopefully at the point it happens the audience have connected with the characters and want to know what will happen with this sudden change of events. As a director and as an actor, you need to be aware of the changes in the atmosphere as each character enters the scene and understand what they bring with them and how it affects everyone in the play.

Sharky is trying to stay sober while caring for his blind brother Richard, yet he is surrounded by people and circumstances constantly dragging him back towards his past. What did you want to explore about Sharky’s struggle with redemption?

Redemption is a great word. It’s the underlying theme of the play in more ways than one, redemption from the dependence on drink, redemption from the past and possibly redemption from what fate seems to have in store for you. In Sharky’s case it’s driven by the oldest of themes, love. He’s fallen for someone and wants to be a better man because of her. It’s a brilliantly simple motivation that we can all identify with. Who doesn’t want to be a better person for someone we love? Sharky has a dark past, darker than just the drinking, but strangely on this Christmas Eve he’s given a unique if terrifying chance to redeem himself and, as Mr Lockhart sneeringly says (because deep down it’s what he also wants) Sharky “is trying to be a good person”. Ironically, it’s Lockhart who gives him the ultimate chance to do that.

The relationships between these men are complicated; there’s affection, resentment, loyalty, guilt and plenty of bickering. How did you work with the actors to make those relationships feel as though they existed long before the audience entered the room?

The boys connected as soon as we cast them. I knew they would while we were auditioning. It was very clear that they would each bring something of their own to the roles, a fire, or coolness or energy that is their own but is also in the play. Conor has created five extraordinary unique and three-dimensional characters who have natural connections and divisions, but who meld together perfectly as a whole unit. Even the outsider Mr Lockhart is drawn into the group. The five men are so finely written that if you know the play and make the right casting decisions you are halfway there. The characters are so finely drawn that everything you need to know about them is there in the script and the dialogue, in the way they behave and interact.

The play relies heavily on dialogue and rhythm. What was your rehearsal process for finding the pace and musicality of McPherson’s writing without making the performances feel overly polished or artificial?

It’s really all about making the actors feel relaxed so that they can find the natural rhythms and shape of the play. The path is clearly laid out by Conor and as we travelled down the road he gave us, we explored every twist and turn, every stumble and pitfall and every chance to pick yourself or somebody else up. You start at the beginning and what you find along the way brings you safely to the end. That happens every time you get up on the stage, so it always seems like a new and fresh journey but one you understand better the more you travel it. It’s not called the rocky road to Dublin for no reason. But it’s a road worth travelling down more than once.

Mr Lockhart enters the play as a mysterious stranger, but his presence gradually changes the entire atmosphere of the evening. What did you want the audience to feel about him before they fully understand who he is?

The same as the characters. Only Nicky knows anything about him (and that’s not a lot). When he enters, he’s a blank page, slightly out of sync with the rest of the characters perhaps, but it’s an Irish thing to welcome strangers into your home and make them not feel like a stranger. The audience should perhaps think that his arrival is a little odd as his appearance and manners are somewhat out of place with the other men and the surroundings. But he’s friendly and it’s Christmas and everyone, bar Sharky, has been drinking, so they are all up for a warm welcome and a game of cards. Lockhart has a relaxed sense of bonhomie that suits the season and the mood well. It’s only when he’s alone with Sharky that a darker side is revealed and up to that point the audience should feel as relaxed in his company as everybody else.

The poker game becomes much more than simply a game of cards. How did you approach staging those scenes so that the audience can feel the stakes rising even when the physical action remains relatively simple?

Conor himself has admitted that the final game is one of the most difficult scenes for any actor to play. His original cast struggled with cues and so have ours. It’s partly because of a sense of confusion in the game. It’s intentionally unclear if the game is actually being played straight. One thing that’s notable is that it’s Mr Lockhart who drives it. He’s in charge and there’s every possibility that he’s cheating.

It’s a hard game to follow even when you are sober. That sense of confusion underlying it all adds tension. Then you add on top of that the motivation for each character. How much do they believe in the possibility that they can win? Everybody in the game at some point believes that they have the winning hand. How that belief affects them builds the tension and the stakes are high for everyone involved. Each character must believe that. Ivan is excited, on the edge of his seat physically and mentally, Nicky is a bag of nerves and can’t keep still, Sharky is tense but unreadable and Mr Lockhart is quietly confident. Put all that together and start the engine and you have a scene that goes from zero to a hundred in slightly more than sixty seconds. It’s about pace and control, building up to an ending of which no one, neither the characters nor the audience, can be totally sure of the outcome. Everyone believes they can win, but of course there can only be one winner. Everything for everyone depends on a perfect hand of cards. Who has that final winning hand is what the audience should desperately want to know.

What did you discover about the play during rehearsals that you hadn’t fully appreciated when you first read the script?

I’d genuinely forgotten what a fine piece of writing it is. When I’d seen it at the National, I’d very much enjoyed it. But looking back now, maybe I didn’t fully connect emotionally with it as I had done with The Weir. It was a hard act to follow.

On the surface it seems like a very masculine play about hard men, hard drinkers and a long night of poker. What I realised when I read it and worked with the actors on it is how tender it is. There are moment of real emotion and beauty in the play. There’s a real vulnerability to all the men that makes the audience love them despite their many faults. It has a wonderful sense of the power of story, along with a deep understanding of the strength of laughter in the face of darkness. Maybe that’s the gift of the Irish, to tell great stories by the fire while the sky darkens outside. That’s what struck me most. It is a great piece of storytelling. It’s a wild yarn about good and evil but because you believe in the characters you’ll believe in the supernatural too.

The production has already had a run at Putney Arts Theatre before transferring to Greenwich. What did that first run teach you, and what have you changed or refined for this 20th-anniversary London revival?

The play was phenomenally well received when we had our first run at Putney, with many people saying that it should be seen by a wider audience. We are delighted to have been given that opportunity thanks to Greenwich Theatre who saw the merits in our production. The guys were brilliant first time round and although we’ve refreshed it, we’ve not changed much. Maybe just a tweak here or there. A play is always evolving. It’s a living thing. My job is to make sure we have a secure and strong production built on Conor’s great script, so that the actors feel fully comfortable, knowledgeable, and free to perform. I think we’ve done that and hopefully the audience will love the play as much as we all do.

Finally, when the audience leaves Greenwich Theatre after this production, what is the feeling or idea you most hope stays with them from The Seafarer?

I hope they’ll come away loving the play and the characters and leave thinking about things that are perhaps bigger than our day to day lives. The Seafarer takes you to Heaven and Hell. Hopefully, if we’ve done the job right, as with my first encounter with The Weir, it’s a play they’ll still be talking about it in thirty years’ time.

A huge thank you to Ian Higham for taking the time to share his views on directing The Seafarer and exploring the many layers of Conor McPherson’s extraordinary writing. It has been fascinating to discover how the production approaches the play’s delicate relationships, its shifting atmosphere and its deeply moving exploration of redemption, friendship and the choices which define us. Ian’s reflections give a wonderful insight into the joint process of bringing this modern classic back to the stage for its 20th anniversary. I wish Ian and the entire company every success with the Greenwich Theatre run. The Seafarer plays at Greenwich Theatre from the 13th to the 24th October. For tickets and further information, visit https://greenwichtheatre.org.uk/events/the-seafarer/