THERE'S no plot, nothing much happens and it's all absolutely riveting. The Weir, by Conor McPherson, is set in a remote part of Ireland near a weir.

Three local men, another who has "escaped" and a young woman from Dublin, drink the evening away telling stories. And what tales they are.

This is not a play of two halves, because to interrupt the story-telling with an interval would destroy the mood.

Instead the production runs through for one-and-three-quarter-hours without a break. And neither a word nor a pause in the play is wasted as the characters talk as only the Irish can.

The Octagon's artistic director Mark Babych has cast this play superbly well and his direction enables the actors to reveal their innermost thoughts gradually while never losing the audience's attention. The pace is leisurely, though never slow.

Peter Dineen is Jack, the apparently confirmed bachelor, who finds his consolation in his pub and his pints.

Dineen never puts a foot wrong as the rough diamond with an even rougher tongue who uses the "f" word as an extra adjective.

As Jim, the man with "the mammy" at home and a penchant for the horses, Dan Mullane is a consummate scene-stealer. His is a dark tale to tell.

Finbar is the one that got away. He's made it big and seldom returns to the pub. But there's a disquieting memory he wants to share and Michael O'Connor in the part makes sure nothing is lost in the telling.

Kieran Lagan as Brendan, the pub landlord, exhibits some excellent comic timing.

The characters are moved to open their hearts, and their mouths, by the catalyst presence of Valerie from Dublin, played beautifully by Joanne Mitchell.

In turn laugh-out-loud funny and almost unbearably sad, The Weir demonstrates how talking with friends, and strangers, can help to assuage loneliness , at least for a time.

Doreen Crowther

The Weir, Octagon Theatre, Bolton. Runs until November 22.