Peggy and Colm plan the perfect way to rebel against their traditionalist Catholic school in 1960s Ireland: stage a protest in honour of the recently killed JFK in order to wrangle a day off of school. Mortal Sin is a raw and haunting portrayal of church and state repression, exploring the unfailing bond between two best friends as they come of age and attempt to rebel against a society which denies them a voice.
Benjamin Reily and Isolde Fenton capture the wide-eyed, bustling energy of the school friends. Sprightly mannerisms convey this youthful innocence, which is soon corrupted through the enforcement of stifling conformity in their Catholic school. In a particularly humorous scene, both try to pretend they fancy each other, reacting with disgust and saying simply “Jesus wept.” The friendship feels raw and real, shown through the ending in which their bond prevails despite what time brings. We become absorbed in the connection between the pair, meaning that the tragic ending lands with a soft, reverbating blow.
The dialogue is both witty and packs an emotional punch, with heavy lines that require moments of reflection. The ending is not overly sentimental, but contains a quiet grief that leaves audiences reeling despite the comedy scattered throughout. Comedic sequences suddenly morph into more sombre, haunting reflections on the repression at the hands of the church and state, inflicted on impressionable young people. These switches in pacing are achieved through lighting contrasts, allowing the actors to morph between characters.
Colm and Peggy’s experience battling homophobic and misogynistic rhetoric is expressed through how they mock their teachers. Jokes between them about how Sister Assumpta gets out her harsher whip for when a student commits an ‘intense sin’ is funny in its unpredictability, but reinforces how repression was achieved through violence. The plot never slips into cliché, focusing on key emotions through the individual characters of Peggy and Colm. The failure of their small-scale rebellion acts as a microcosm for the wider inability of young people to create change when faced with consistent, rigid repression.
Both hilarious and heartbreaking, the ending of Mortal Sin feels like parting ways with old friends, tied together with a harrowing echo of an earlier piece of dialogue. In an age plagued by the rise of the far right, censorship, and increased political polarisation, it is a timely caution against the consequences of conformity and emotional repression.
Mortal Sin is running until 31 August at the Wee Room at Gilded Balloon Teviot. Buy tickets here.
Image by Daniel Byrne, provided to The Student for press use.
