In Dancing at Lughnasa, a large Irish family’s sisters wildly dance around their kitchen table as they anticipate the upcoming harvest festival. The play will be on stage at Everyman Theatre through Oct. 7. Photo by Teresa Castracane

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Chris and Gerry, the matriarch and patriarch of the large Irish clan, share a quiet moment in Dancing at Lughnasa at Everyman Theatre.

Tony Award-winning playwright Brian Friel has been described as the “Irish Anton Chekhov.” In fact, Friel translated Chekhov’s The Three Sisters and Uncle Vanya, and then borrowed Andrey from the former and Sonya from the latter for his own one-act work, Afterplay, in 2002.

But the connection between these two formidable writers is far more significant than this bit of “character kidnapping.” Like Chekhov, whose works plumbed the depths of human nature, exploring the impact of changing social mores and cultural trends, Friel’s works offer similar insights through the interaction of his characters, as can be seen in his comic-tragic work, Dancing at Lughnasa, now at Baltimore’s Everyman Theatre.

Friel introduces us to the fictitious “Ballybeg” — Gaelic for small town — in County Donegal, Ireland, in August 1936. The timing itself is a character in the play, as many references are made to the time of harvest, the end of summer’s warmth, and with it, the end of an all-too-brief moment in the lives of the Evans family. (Lughnasa, by the way, is a Gaelic festival marking the start of the harvest season.)

Extended family’s story

Dancing at Lughnasa is a memory play, told from the point of view of Michael (Tim Getman), now full grown, but a kite-making boy of 7 at the time of the play. Michael, ever in the stage wings, comments — sometimes as the adult Michael, and sometimes as the boy, teased with head-scratching riddles by his aunt Maggie.

Maggie’s sisters, Agnes and Rose, attempt to make ends meet by knitting gloves while the eldest sister, Kate, teaches school at the local parish.

In the midst of it all are Chris, who is Michael’s mother, and Gerry, Michael’s itinerant father — who has time to teach dance, sell gramophones, flirt with Agnes, and fight in the Spanish Civil War, but none to marry Chris and be a proper husband.

In the Evans household, one may see a bit of Irish poet William Butler Yeats, as well as the Russian Chekhov, for here “things fall apart, the center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed…”

As Michael relates his family story, we see the forces at work that will blast away the family dynamic — the metaphor of the on-again, off-again radio, moments of musical delight suddenly gone; the simple, tender Rose’s infatuation with a married man; the arrival of brother Jack, a Catholic missionary in Africa, who became too enamored of the locals’ way of life, and news of the opening of a glove factory — each development conspiring to destroy the family’s livelihoods.

Friel’s play was written in 1990 and reflects our modern times (e.g., current questioning of established traditional religious beliefs), particularly in the character of Jack — a caring, selfless individual who left his home to care for lepers in Uganda, and in so doing, found more meaning and sense of faith in his charges’ religious and secular practices than he ever did in the Catholic Church.

The arrival of the industrial revolution to Ballybeg in the form of the glove factory resonates with today’s technological upheaval, simultaneously destroying and creating jobs, and changing lives, in its wake.

The power of sisterhood

There’s a feeling, almost electric, among this primarily female cast, of desperate energies barely controlled, held in reserve — by propriety, religious edict, and social mores toward sex and age.

The feeling bursts forth as the sisters dance wildly together, excited with the idea of attending the local harvest dance and recapturing a bit of their youth. This scene is indicative of the tone and feel of the entire play, people “right on the edge” of breaking through to embrace their true selves, but never quite getting there.

As for what becomes of the Evans sisters, Michael provides insights throughout the course of the play. But one senses this is more to satisfy curiosity on the part of the audience.

What matters is who these individuals are now, at this moment in time, musing on the beauty of the land, their love for each other, and the feeling that, here, now, all is good and peaceful, a moment Friel describes as “dancing.”

In her Everyman debut, director Amber Paige McGinnis coaxes top flight performances from her actors, who never stray into stereotype, but bring a full range of emotion to their characters, much to the audience’s delight.

Set designer Yu-Hsuan Chen does a spectacular job in creating the Evans’ cottage, with what appears to be a functioning oven and chimney, but open walls so that the audience can see the action.

Everyman resident costume designer David Burdick does his usual exemplary job providing all the actors with appropriate period wear, and dialect coach Gary Logan was similarly successful in guiding the actors to the subtle nuances of an Irish accent — present, but not so overbearing as to deter the audience’s comprehension.

Dancing at Lughnasa runs through Oct. 7 at the Everyman Theatre, 315 W. Fayette St. Ticket prices range from $43 to $65. Patrons 62 and older can receive a discount of $5 off tickets for Saturday matinees and Sunday evening performances. For more details and tickets, call (410) 752-2208 or visit www.everymantheatre.org.