A Celtic tiger stalks through Ronan Noone’s The Blowin of Baile Gall — but it’s not the same Celtic tiger that’s brought Ireland a modicum of economic prosperity over the past decade. Rather, it’s the tiger’s worth of anger that’s welled up in the Irish heart over millennia, the legacy of provincialism, invasion, colonial rule, and grinding poverty. The Blowin of Baile Gall lets it loose, and if the play doesn’t quite frame Ireland’s fearful symmetry, it does show fearful promise in the no-holds-barred premiere production that’s now up at the Boston Playwrights’ Theatre.

A native of An Clochán, in the west of Galway, Noone came to the States in 1994 and has studied with Derek Walcott at Boston University. The Blowin of Baile Gall is the middle play of a Connemara trilogy that began with The Lepers of Baile Baiste (which got its professional premiere from Súgán Theatre last month) and will conclude with The Gigolo Confessions of Baile Breag (its premiere is set for this June). The three mythical Connemara villages have suggestive names: " baiste " plays off the Irish words for " rain " and " baptism " ; " bréag " means " falsehood. " " Gall " is the word for " foreigner, " and that’s also what Noone means by " blowin, " a person who blows in from another part of the world — which includes any other part of Ireland.

But identifying the " blowin " of Baile Gall isn’t as easy as it might seem. The setting is the kitchen of a house that’s being renovated for a wealthy English couple. Of the construction crew, Eamon and Molly were born and bred in the area, but Stephen is an orphan who’s been there " only " 15 years, and Sam (the general contractor, or " GC " ), who grew up in Baile Gall, is back after spending the past 20 years in America. Then there’s Laurence, a young black man from Africa who may be an illegal immigrant. Sam has room for another worker, and Eamon wants his cousin Bulldog to get the job, but instead of taking care of " his own, " Sam gives it to Laurence (whom he renames Lionel), in part at least because Laurence’s dodgy status enables Sam to offer reduced wages.

The renovated house that Laurence (Stephen? Sam?) blows in to is an obvious metaphor for Ireland, and it’s not in good shape. Eamon, who drinks on the job and is on the dole even though he’s working, is rabid about Laurence: " I don’t need no black bastards comin’ over here takin’ my job, dirtin’ our streets, stealin’ from us and sleepin’ with our women. " Molly used to go out with Eamon, but she got sick of him and took up with Stephen, a recovering alcoholic and fledgling born-again Christian who’s becoming as shy of sex as he is of drink. Sam’s American wife isn’t happy in Baile Gall, and he’s been caught kissing the English lady, Mrs. Bull (subtlety isn’t always Noone’s strong point). Then there’s the bad blood between Eamon and Sam that goes back to their parents’ battle for the village’s general-store trade. It turns out that this house used to belong to Eamon’s mother, and in his eyes it should be his now.

At the Boston Playwrights’ Theatre, the house is every bit the mess it should be; you wonder whether it’ll ever get restored. There are precise details in the box of Barry’s Gold Blend tea and the bag of " siúcra " (sugar), though the Westmeath Independent is another " blowin. " The four Irish characters are played by Irish actors. Bill Meleady is too good for words as a naturally menacing Eamon. Ciaran Crawford rocks obsessively before turning truculent as Stephen. Derry Woodhouse as Sam carries off a similarly difficult transition from overbearing boss ( " No problemo " is a favorite expression) to regular guy. And Susan B. McConnell brings both kindness and good sense to Molly, who despite having been the prettiest girl in the village can’t find a decent guy.

As for Aaron Pitre, if he’s a touch callow in the heavyhanded role of Laurence, that may be because he has to stand in for every kind of outsider. Noone’s metaphors mostly serve him well, like the Irish house that can’t be rebuilt without " blowin " help, or the black car that stands for every kind of outside threat: immigration inspectors, dole inspectors, the King twins from Carna who want to beat up Eamon. But the playwright’s plotting lets him down in the second act, where the many confrontations turn drama into melodrama, and the last scene is as puzzling as that of Baile Baiste, both improbable and overloaded. The blueprint could use a little work, but it’s refreshing to see how Noone keeps airing out the Old Sod.