Stones in His Pockets

Marie Jones’ comedy about an Irish village beset (and enthralled) by the shooting of a cheesy Hollywood epic — think Far and Away — spends much of its time aiming at easy targets (insincere stars, autocratic directors) or straining at unearned pathos; the offstage suicide by drowning of an extra provides its title. Performed by a full cast, the play wouldn’t merit a glance, but the shrewd decision to have just two actors (lanky, saturnine Sean Campion and cherubic hambone Conleth Hill) play its 15 roles turns Stones in His Pockets into a tribute to the Irish tradition of making an unexceptional yarn entertaining by spinning it well and selling it all the way to the back row. Jones’ hammered-home points about the inauthenticity of movies would carry more weight if she didn’t have such a taste for cliches herself (do we really need more jokes about drinking or a Riverdance set piece?), but the versatile cast of not quite thousands is winning.