THE Silver Tassie is often considered the poor relation of Sean

O'Casey's work, an experiment in form and flavour that puts far more

demand on audiences and performers than the more accessibly naturalistic

Juno and the Paycock and The Plough and the Stars. With its mixture of

almost verse-like prose and a second act that borders on oratorio it is,

still today, a far greater challenge and is far less frequently seen. A

shame because judging by this wonderful revival from Dublin's Rough

Magic director Lynne Parker, it's the kind of play once seen is likely

to leave an impression for life.

Similar to Juno and Plough in its fierce pacifism, The Silver Tassie

has a visionary passion however that puts it in another league

altogether. Set still in Dublin but breaking away from the specifically

Irish troubles to look at the theme of the sorrow of war related to the

First World War, Parker's translucent, inspired production constantly

seems to echo the satire of Oh What A Lovely War and the pathos of

Benjamin Britten's War Requiem as its young men -- and particularly

Harry Heegan, the football champ who wins the Silver Tassie -- are seen

leaving for the front and then returning injured, embittered -- their

lives shattered for ever. (O'Casey, like Britten was partly inspired by

the poems of Wilfred Owen; the title of the play from a song by Robert

Burns.)

There is nothing I have seen recently to compare with Stuart Graham's

agonised fury as the wheelchair-bound Harry or the blend of

unsentimental lyricism Parker brings to this timeless and great play.