With no prior exposure to the work of playwright Martin McDonagh, I can't say I was prepared for what The Lonesome West had in store, but my lack of background didn't hinder my appreciation of the Planet Ant's production. One part of a trilogy with a unique point of view, the play nevertheless stood fiercely on its own. Indeed, the bleak portrait of beyond-reproach values and beyond-saving relationships in hellish Leenane, Ireland, landed like a series of emotional punches — a savage, unrelenting, exquisite beating.

The play is lousy with death, even opening immediately after a funeral: the father of Coleman (Stephen Blackwell) and Valene (Kevin Young) has died by accidental shotgun blast to the head. Other deaths, primarily murders and suicides, are discussed; it's unclear whether anyone in town has ever managed to die of natural causes. The focus of the show is the contentious relationship between the brothers, who somehow live together in their father's house, despite their greatest source of enmity — an impressive distinction, given this world — being each other. Young gives Valene a manic, Rainman-like drive to consume and protect, displaying and coveting his potato chips and menagerie of religious figurines just as much as his flashy big purchases. Coleman, conversely, has signed over his share of the inheritance for some reason, and cannot even afford to eat or drink; Blackwell gives the character pranksterish delight in numerous little revenges.

Director Demetri Vacratsis carefully accelerates the loneliness of the characters' lives, helped by the strong supporting work of Dave Davies as doubting Father Welsh and Katie Galazka as the tough young booze peddler Girleen. Although these characters easily diagnose and expound on the problems of others, they are utterly helpless at identifying or solving their own; wrapped up in their own sorrows, actively not listening, all four could not be more alone. Davies in particular gives a beautiful portrayal of a man desperately struggling not to lose his faith, trapped in a vicious cycle of imbibing too much and hating his failures. Tragedy upon tragedy leads to a climactic scene in which the brothers try valiantly to atone and forgive each other, turning their confessions into a game of one-upmanship — every facet of these characters, every piece of exposition, sets up this scene for maximum impact.

The setting by Kate Orwig is stripped back to the essentials: the barest suggestion of a pantry, a lovely fireplace well integrated with the quirky Ant space, a whisper of decor, and only those objects handled or commented on during the course of the action. Here, it works; to see the brothers living in anything approaching real comfort would be disconcerting. Lighting design by Neil Koivu makes a few fun comments, but none is so effective as the opening of the second act, where a lone Father Welsh looks simply deathly in a wash of eerie light. Dialect coach Patrick Moltane doesn't stoop to serving up ear-friendly Irish on a platter; although it's not an insurmountable challenge, the vocabulary and grammar can take a biteen of getting used to, so.

This production of The Lonesome West is powerfully relentless, ensuring that no one comes out unscathed, least of all the audience. The victory of Vacratsis and his cast is in quickly acclimating the viewer to the kind of world in which violence feels almost passé, then germinating hope and care for such an irredeemable lot as this. A viewer for whom happiness or compassion is a minimum requirement for enjoyment could struggle with this one, but those who appreciate the kind of twisted emotional satisfaction that comes from the darkest recesses of the spirit will bask in this painstakingly crafted wasteland.