Marina Carr: Marble

Abbey Theatre, til 14 March

Marina Carr's plays to date have been firmly rooted in the treacherous bogs and dark rivers of her native midlands, but in Marble she cuts loose from her past, and any real sense of place, to create a knowing, witty and at times quite powerful meditation on, essentially, the meaning of life (or lack thereof) that could well have been written by one of those clever British playwrights - apart, that is, from the savagery of some of the language, and the odd quirkiness of some of the accents.

In spite of the wry humour, there is a shadow of doom from the start, like echoes of a Greek tragedy, as Art announces to his best friend Ben that he has been having erotic dreams about Ben's wife - and she, it turns out, is having parallel dreams about him. Dangerous territory, and although theirs is only a virtual relationship, the turmoil of this dream world seeps into a destructive reality, as Catherine becomes more and more obsessed by her other life, passionate and fulfilled, in unknown marble rooms.

Not as absorbing as some of Carr's other work, but a fine piece of theatre nonetheless, with a strong cast and an interesting set, its curved wall reminiscent (under certain lighting) of an Escher print, heading towards infinity.