Silent, Pavilion Theatre, May 5

Tino McGoldrig had a family and a home, a life, but found himself living rough on the streets of Dublin, struggling with drink and depression.

As he slowly emerged from under his blanket, Tino, on a sparse, black stage and with little more than his blanket and a bottle of his beloved Merlot, sucked us into his spiralling life.

The remarkable Pat Kinevane possessed the stage, using startling mime and dance and a sharp, black humour to peel back Tino’s past.

There was his brutal mother, his romantic father who named him after the silent film star Rudolph Valentino, and the suicide of his tormented, gay brother, which tipped him into drink, depression and eventually on to the streets.

Helping reveal Tino’s descent was the stark lighting, inside-your-head voiceovers and the sound effects of the street - clinking coins in Tino’s bowl creating breaks to jerk the story along, from tales of despondency to riotously funny yarns and on to moments of outrage.

Kinevane, talking to the audience and finding a response, stirred raw emotions. Despair, as the rugby lads urinated on Tino, the “hopleless, helpless, in-the-way person”; dignity, as he pulled himself together, sneaking into hotels to wash; false bravado as Tino, great company, spread the blarney. And there were magical moments, such as the exquisite tenderness as Tino danced with his blanket, remembering the best of times with Judith, his ex.

The power of the piece was that, while we felt Tino’s pain, he also shared the uncomfortable truth so it could just as easily be us.

Kinevane, who also wrote Silent, was extraordinary - powerful, graceful, moving - a genuine tour de force and he deserved every moment of the standing ovation he received.