Poetic and profound

Kenneth Lonergan, who wrote the movie Manchester by the Sea, shapes his work from loss, disillusionment, small-mindedness, hesitation and superficiality, all the forgettable detritus of life. The Starry Messenger is about Mark, a disappointed astronomer aged 52, who gives public lectures at a city planetarium. He loves his subject even though it let him down and every week he tackles the daft questions of his pupils with superhuman patience.

The same two pests always raise their hands. One is a burly misanthrope who disbelieves all experts, the other is a high-flying oddball who craves attention. Mark starts a slow-burn affair with Angela, a single mum who needs a role model for her nine-year old son: an expert on the stars and inter-planetary travel is just the ticket. Back at home Mark is cared for by a kindly wife who prattles about sofa beds and dry cleaning. In the basement lurks a teenage boy miserably thrashing at an amplified guitar.

Lonergan’s amazingly naturalistic dialogue captures the beating essence of every human being he creates. And his walk-on characters are as vivid and quirky as the central figures. Angela nurses an old man whose cancer is in remission. ‘I preferred you when you were dying,’ says his prickly daughter. Mark’s son, who is never seen, is revealed to be more than just an angry little maniac. He’s a decent, courteous lad in need of emotional nourishment. At the close of Act One, Mark’s chief tormentor lingers after class to deliver a critique of the lecture course and to award Mark grades — ‘poor’, ‘adequate’ and so on — for various sub-disciplines of the teaching profession. Mark endures this insolent cross-examination in silence and then bids his pupil farewell. He’s left alone in the lecture room. ‘Fuck you,’ he says, then he frowns and swipes a palm sideways to erase the expletive from the universe.