Entering into the Basement Theatre, the audience is met with the detritus of addiction; a sagging floral lounge suite, drawn beige curtains that look as if they hold years of tobacco smoke, the floor scattered with empty cans, bottles, takeaway boxes, and clothes. On a decanter with matching glasses, and a framed photograph of a teenage girl, clearly two of the most prized possessions in the room.

Following their word-of-mouth hit with WINK in 2024, Hekerua Bay Productions return to Basement Theatre with the New Zealand premiere of Eugene O’Hare’s The Dry House. Billed as “profoundly moving and darkly comic,” it follows two sisters navigating addiction, grief, and the elusive possibility of recovery.

It’s a challenging choice of work, one that doesn’t flinch from showing the harm alcohol inflicts on individuals and families alike. With our government announcing proposed reforms to the ‘Sale and Supply of Alcohol Act’ in August of this year, it should not be lost that the way in which this drug affects our daily lives is as relevant as ever. Despite being set in a Northern Irish town, the story’s resonance in Aotearoa is unmistakable. As Director Isla Macleod notes in the programme: “It’s a sobering reality that everyone knows someone whose life has been harmed by alcohol.” With one in six New Zealanders classed as hazardous drinkers (Stats NZ, 2022/23), the mirror feels close.

Alison Bruce is exceptional as Chrissy, opening the play in a restless haze of withdrawal; sweating, shaking, and craving her final four cans before the reluctant trip to ‘the dry house’. Her performance is uncompromising and feels deeply authentic. Bruce depicts Chrissy’s shifting states of non-sobriety – anger, denial, fear, bitter humour – with clarity and authenticity. Bruce writes in the programme “I am excited by the brutal honesty of this work”, and she succeeds in performing this role with raw and brutal honesty.

The sensational Beatriz Romilly’s Claire is rigid with anxiety and worn thin by a deep love and devotion for her sister. Romilly masterfully portrays the exhaustion of someone who has carried another’s pain too long with depth, her tenderness strained and constantly undercut by fear for her sister’s commitment to follow through with their plans. She takes on this role with emotional depth, slowly peeling back the layers of Claire’s own torments as she picks up the pieces of Bruce’s Chrissy.

The dynamic between Bruce and Romilly feels truthful and spontaneous. Their exchanges alternate between affection and frustration, one pushing the other forward, the other desperately trying to hold her sister back. Both performers transition seamlessly between moments of reality and memory using deliberate physical shifts, no doubt guided by Movement Director Katrina George.

Zoe Crane’s Heather offers a warmth and stillness that heightens the tragedy that lingers over the role.

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Her direct address to the audience with a monologue that pierces the play’s realism, lands with quiet shock, a haunting moment that Crane gracefully holds with the audience.

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The production grounds itself in the setting of a Northern Irish town through consistent accents coached by Perry Piercy, and aspects of Connor Magatogia’s sound design (spare but finely judged) with the repetition of Dreams reinforcing the play’s setting. This broadly known Irish pop-hit easily creates a sense of nostalgia as it cues the play’s temporal shifts, while directional sound draws focus during pivotal scenes later in the play. Lighting design by Luuk Heijnen contrasts between the blandly lit grimy living room with emotional transitions that punctuate moments of revelation.

The Dry House is a raw depiction of the many levels of harm that alcoholism radiates through an individual and onto their loved ones and is superbly acted by its talented cast of three. While the production makes some broad choices to establish the setting (the use of Dreams by a Southern Irish band The Cranberries, recently re-introduced to the zeitgeist with Netflix hit Derry Girls), this would clarify the scene for New Zealand audiences and provides loose structure to the journey we see progress on stage between the two sisters.

Alcohol is a very normalised presence in our lives, and there are many moments in this production that prompt the audience to question, rather than accept, how engrained into our celebrations and sorrow this has become. Chrissy and Claire circle through frank discussions around ‘the gene’ being passed down generationally, whether alcoholism is a disease or a choice, and the excuses these characters make to wave off the signs that they (or someone they love) have a problem with ‘the drink’. It would be disingenuous to claim that this play is staunchly anti-alcohol, but rather it investigates the complicated relationships people have with this accessible drug, and the customs that have been built around its consumption.

It is clear that the subject matter of this play has been approached with dignity and care, a testament to director Isla Macleod and producer Danika Ciullo. Playwright Eugene O’Hare provides a script with a clear presentation of how an individual with serious addictions would behave in order to get ‘one last drink’; bargaining, charm, desperation, aggression, and the reaction many loved ones will have to these tactics. Macleod’s understanding of the script and these issues is evident, which gives weight to the performances of the cast.

The Dry House is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It is a tender portrait of addiction and courage handled with empathy by the dedicated cast and crew. Take care as you share this 90 minutes recounting moments from rock bottom, with three women who are each striving to survive in their own way.

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