27-year-old mother-of-three Deborah is a “vegetable”. Or as her down on his luck, up to his eyeballs in debt lawyer Frank Galvin (Ian Kelsey) dryly opines after downing a whisky breakfast: “She’ll be a zucchini until the day she dies.”

An act of God, says her mother Mrs McDaid (Anne Kavanagh). We did our best, concede Doctors Towler and Crowley (Paul Opacic and Michael Lunney) who resuscitated her after stomach pains escalated to sudden cardiac arrest.

Views echoed by Bishop Brophy (Richard Walsh) who has hired J. Edgar Concannon (Christopher Ettridge), the best lawyer from the best law firm in Boston who has never lost an argument let alone a case, to defend the local Catholic hospital and by extension the Catholic church from a charge of clinical negligence.

The “hunch and a prayer” grounds from the goldfish swimming in a tankful of sharks Frank being that a member of the medical team administered the wrong type of anaesthetic, belatedly realised their error and (pardon the pun) doctored the paperwork to cover their tracks.

But how can such an allegation be proved when key witnesses develop collective amnesia, leave the profession and do a Lord Lucan? And why is the Catholic church issuing cheques and brown envelopes faster than they are scattering the grain of the Word?

Adapted for the stage by Margaret May Hobbs from the novel of the same name by Barry Reed, which two years after its publication in 1980 was turned into an Oscar-winning screenplay by David Mamet, The Verdict by Middle Ground Theatre Company is an old-fashioned courtroom drama comprising several components of the so-called “well-made play” including an overheard conversation, the interception of a plot-twisting document and a last-minute revelation.

But what stops it shrieking like a melodrama or grinding to a dry as a textbook halt are three factors. Firstly, Ian Kelsey’s impressive performance as Frank Galvin (not quite -ized) and the chemistry he shares with Denis Lill as his “guardian angel” Moe Katz (think Woody Allen meets Groucho Marx). Secondly, the adroit direction of Michael Lunney who ensures that the seventeen-strong cast inject their lines (of which there are many) with pace and energy. And, finally, the dry one-liners which continually prick the bubble of legalese and lighten the load when the going gets heavy. “You don’t look so good,” observes Frank of Moe. To which he quickly replies, “At my age, nobody does.”

It may lack the ferocity and forensic analysis of a more recent examination of corrupt Boston lawyers and priests: the Oscar-winning Spotlight; and it’s certainly not without its flaws: Frank is inexplicably cured of his alcoholism in the second act, there are a number of false endings in search of a full stop and the decision to bring down the curtain on a character other than the lead and/or the mother of the victim is baffling.

Still, as Richard Walsh’s world-weary Judge Sweeney warns Frank before delivering his closing address, “it’s long enough to cover the subject and short enough to be interesting.” The verdict on The Verdict? A hugely enjoyable and surprisingly funny courtroom drama invigorated by a sprightly Celtic score by Lynette Webster which contends that “no life should ever be small”.

Peter Callaghan
Latest posts by Peter Callaghan (see all)