“The Dead,” the capstone of the young James Joyce’s Dubliners stories, tells no merrier a tale than the title would lead you to expect. So, how has the immersive adaptation The Dead, 1904, become the Irish Rep’s holiday Christmas Carol? Easy. The opening scene takes place at the Miss Morkans’ annual social for the Feast of the Epiphany, aglow with Irish nostalgia. Mind you, the hostesses aren’t getting any younger (who is?), and the traditions they uphold belong to a vanishing world. Their party is thus a bittersweet affair. But a keener pang—the true epiphany of “The Dead”—comes in the wee hours at a Dublin hotel. The party’s over, and a middle-aged guest from out of town has sex on his mind. But his wife, stirred by a song she overheard at the party, is lost in grief for an innocent she has never spoken of before, who loved her and died when they were both 17. The Dead, 1904 plays amid the Gilded Age splendor of the American Irish Historical Society, a former townhouse across Fifth Avenue from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Guests,” some 60 per show, are encouraged to wear period finery. You’ll be on your feet a lot, and there are stairs to climb, so choose shoes accordingly. You’ll be served dinner in the course of the play, with fat cats seated among the actors. Ad lib pleasantries optional. —Matthew Gurewitsch