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By: Carmel Winters, Enda Walsh, Iseult Golden, Sarah Hanly, John Connors, Shane O’Reilly, Nancy Harris, Owen McCafferty, Frank McGuinness, Felispeaks, Gina Moxley, Abbie Spallen, Michael West, Shaun Dunne, Manchán Magan, Eva O’Connor, Edna O’Brien, Aoife Martyn, Arthur Riordan, Andrea Molino, John O’Donovan, Deirdre Kinahan, Zoe Ní Riordáin, Karen Cogan, Jimmy Murphy, Rani Sarma, Zhu Yi, Pam Boyd, Stacey Gregg, TKB, Sinéad Burke, Dermot Bolger, Dylan Coburn Gray, Meadhbh McHugh, Colm Keegan, Phillip McMahon, Darach Mac Con Iomaire, Sonya Kelly, Margaret Perry, Joseph O’Connor, Kit de Waal, Ciara Elizabeth Smyth, Keith James Walker, Mark O’Halloran, Una McKevitt, Blindboy, Emmet Kirwan, Rosaleen McDonagh, David Ireland, Jody O’Neill.
With: Lucianne McEnvoy, Zara Devlin, Marion O’Dwyer, Denise Gough, Graham Early, Amanda Coogan, Morty Rea, Patrick O’Kane, Joan Sheehy, Deirdre Molloy, Timmy Creed, Jolene O’Hara, Marc Doherty, Eva-Jane Gaffney, Bríd Criomhthain, Amy McAllister, Stanley Townsend, Norma Sheahan, Rory Nolan, David Moss, Nicola Coughlan, Bríd Ní Neachtain, Seána Kerslake, Seána Kerslake, Clare Dunne, Owen McDonnell, Julia Gu, Brendan Gleeson, Conor MacNeill, Ericka Roe, Eleanor Walsh, Dawn Bradfield, Leah Minto, Clare O’Malley, Owen Roe, Caoilfhionn Dunne, Eoin Ó Dubhghaill, Deirdre Donnelly, Breffni Holahan, Kathy Rose O’Brien, Peter Gowan, Camille Lucy Ross, Ashleigh Dorrell, Andrew Bennett, Katherine Lynch, Cathy Belton, Emmet Kirwan, Sorcha Fox, Abigail McGibbon, Marie Mullen.
28 April – 1 May 2020, 19:30
Abbey Theatre, Dublin.
Online: https://www.youtube.com/user/AbbeyTheatre

Theatre, by definition, depends on a gathering. You could do away with all other aspects of the genre, such as the building, set, sound, and lighting: as long as there is an actor performing a script to an audience in a communal space, you would still have theatre. Since the Covid-19 pandemic has made the sharing of a communal space taboo, theatre is one of the industries that was compelled to close its doors. Unsurprisingly, actors and theatre makers are anxious to find a way to work. In a piece on Medium, theatre artist and writer, Nicholas Berger, laments the flood of “content” on theatre companies’ and actors’ social media pages. Berger finds posts of archival material and readings by actors irrelevant to our times and self-indulgent; he deems slap dash “quarantine play scripts” desperate. As dedicated as I am to the communal experience of theatre, after watching the 50 online “theatrical postcards” in the Abbey Theatre’s four part Dear Ireland series, I have to disagree with Berger.

Obviously, watching Dear Ireland online does not feel the same as seeing a play in the Abbey. I also do not think that online performance is the future of theatre. However, Dear Ireland manages to provide its audience with four nights of entertainment that articulates the tangled mess we’re in. Some artists steer into the skid by making the awkward medium part of the narrative, while others approach the project as a short film, with varying success.

Generally, I preferred the monologues that incorporate the medium into the story, as Michael West’s “Gorse” does. In this monologue, Marc Doherty portrays a bored, somewhat disillusioned academic who struggles to present his lectures online. Through his ignorance of technology and his uncertainty about when he is on camera, he inadvertently reveals his innermost thoughts to his students (and, by implication, the audience). This was also the main premise in Darach Mac Con Iomaire’s “End Meeting?” in which a young and somewhat conceited actor, Dan ‘The Flan Man’ Flannery (Eoin O’Dubhghaill) botches a zoom-audition. Where “End Meeting?” is funny, allowing the audience to experience a bit of schadenfreude, “Gorse” has a more somber tone since its protagonist indulges in nostalgia as control over his own life slips.

While Una McKevitt’s hilarious “Let’s unpack that shall we,” followed a similar structural approach, with a psychologist (Katherine Lynch) offering online therapy to pets, the technologically challenged party in this case was her client, Tony, a troubled Pug. Some monologues portray the day to day realities of lockdown, such as Carmel Winters’ “Staying Alive” in which Lucianne McEnvoy portrays a woman on a Skype call with a friend, while self-isolating from her family in a tent inside her house. Also “Grace,” by Joseph O’Connor shows the audience the lockdown video diary of a married woman (Kathy Rose O’Brien) with children. There are difficult days and days filled with anxiety, but importantly, there are also days filled with hope and love.

Some of the productions that made use of filmic techniques were visually appealing and are excellent short films in their own right. These include Owen McCafferty’s “Home,” featuring Patrick O’Kane and Jimmy Murphy’s “The Meadow,” with Clare Dunne. Both these pieces combine a voice-over with footage of natural scenery. In “Home,” the character tries to keep thoughts of an ill loved one at bay by reciting his shopping list in his head while walking on the beach. In “The Meadow,” the voice-over narrates how the character finds herself at her late grandmother’s cottage for lockdown. Through planting potatoes in ridges last used before the famine, she discovers that her bond with the past is strengthened. “The Golden and the Gray,” by Margaret Perry shows the same performer (Breffni Holahan) portraying different characters in different experiences of lockdown and isolation. Each mini-monologue is filmed in a different style and this eclectic combination creates an interesting viewing experience emphasizing how the pandemic affects people in different ways. Also “The Temple is Closed,” a metareferential comedy written and performed by Emmit Kirwan, makes effective use of sophisticated editing to convey the disorienting existential panic that the empty streets of Temple Bar induce.

Unfortunately, in the case of Dermot Bolger’s “A Hand full of Jacks,” featuring Dawn Bradfield, an over-utilization of filmic devices and editing detract from a beautiful script and fine performance. The images accompanying the voice-over monologue illustrate the narrative too literally, rendering kitsch what would have been touching and relatable. This monologue could benefit from an approach where the performer simply addresses the audience through an unacknowledged camera.

This approach is followed by quite a few artists. Enda Walsh’s “Walk,” is delivered in a simple but effective way, showing only Zara Devlin’s face and shoulders as she performs a poetic description of a solitary walk. Also Felispeaks’ “To Éire,” a poem mining Ireland’s past for a passionate warning and call for hope, is performed by Deirdre Molloy in one shot while sitting on a bed, facing the camera.

There are performers that address the unacknowledged camera in character and some of these performances are the highlights of the series. Mark O’Haloran’s “Joe,” performed by Andrew Bennett, gives voice to a man who is at risk for becoming seriously ill from Covid-19 on account of his age. He is completely isolated as a result. The man describes how he passes his days: by taking his little terrier for walks and drinking in the evening, although it is “drinking of a different order with no pubs involved.” The monologue reveals Joe’s path to self-awareness as he realizes that he had been bitter and cut off from society even before the pandemic. Joe resolves: “if I survive this, I’ll make an effort to rejoin life, whatever that means.” Joe’s vulnerability is superbly conveyed by Bennett, making this piece a showcase of outstanding acting.

My absolute favourite monologue of this series, David Ireland’s “The Good Thief,” also had its performer, Abigail McGibbon, face an unacknowledged camera. The script expertly balances sympathy with humour in this story about an unlikely connection between a woman and an asthmatic burglar with Covid-19 symptoms, entangled with the complex relationship she has with her highly religious mother. McGibbon shows comic genius in her deadpan delivery of this bizarre tale.

Numerous other monologues also address the complexity of human relationships with the pandemic on the background. “An impossible woman,” by Iseult Golden shows the audience a video recorded by a very successful and influential gender equality lawyer. This video is meant for her daughter, who refuses to speak to her after an argument about parenting. O’Dwyer creates a believable character within seconds and draws the audience into the narrative. I could not help but sympathize with the character, despite her supposed “impossible” streak. The coronavirus is referred to coincidentally and forms to backdrop to a different human drama, emphasizing how peoples’ lives continue despite the drastic changes that the pandemic brought.

Keith James Walker’s futuristic “Flake,” likewise presents an alternative experience of crises, suggesting that even while living through an enormous global disaster such as this pandemic, people’s direct emotional experience is often of more importance to them. The protagonist in this piece, portrayed by Ashleigh Dorrell, is asked what it was like to have lived in Ireland in the 2020s and while she cursorily refers to major global events, such as the US blowing up the Arctic, public displays of intimacy being banned, and cars exploding from the heat of global warming, she spends much more time talking about a brief love affair she had with a woman named Allison.

In Colm Keegan’s “Something Worth Saying,” a man (Owen Roe) in isolation tries to come up with an appropriate message for his unborn grandchild. Through his self-conscious attempts at profound wisdom, his love for his daughter – with whom he recently had an argument – shines through. The gravity of the outside reality is emphasized in subtle ways, such as a supposedly discarded false start where the character is interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

Sonya Kelly’s “A letter to the manager,” emphasizes the importance of coincidental human contact. Mary (Deirdre Donnelly) writes a letter to the manager of a supermarket, complaining that the teller at till no. 3 was replaced by an auto teller. No. 3’s teller, Padraig, had been an immense support to her in the year after her husband died through their little chats each time he rang up her shopping. Shane O’Reilly addresses this theme in a different way in “Windowpane,” in which the performer (Amanda Coogan) interrupts her cleaning of a window to convey the details of her day to day life during lockdown in sign language, supposedly to a neighbour. At the end, just before she is about to divulge gossip, she stops herself and continues cleaning her window, emphasizing the need for kindness during the pandemic.

Both Sarah Hanly’s “Shower” and Aoife Martyn’s “Night 4” give voice to nurses, who has been widely considered to be on the front line of the fight against Covid-19. “Shower” – which is definitely one of the best written and performed pieces of Dear Ireland – a nurse (Denise Gough) sits inside her broken shower, on the phone with a plumber. On this day, which was already emotionally taxing, she is unable to enjoy the small comforts of a shower and a cup of tea due to faulty plumbing. During their phone conversation, she starts to bond with the plumber, highlighting the solidarity which can form between people in times of crisis. “Night 4” gives a completely different perspective on the experience of nurses, as its protagonist, masterfully portrayed by Norma Sheahan, is cynical and resents being hailed a hero for simply doing her job. Through dark humour, but without ever losing sight of how serious the situation is, the protagonist’s humanity is underscored.

As can be expected, the theme of loss is also prevalent. Stacey Gregg’s “Staring at the Sun,” which is not set against a coronavirus backdrop, narrates how a man (Conor MacNeill) has to rely on the metaphysical to work through his grief after his mother’s passing. “These Four Walls,” by Sinéad Burke, shows a teacher (Eleanor Walsh) packing up her classroom, mourning the time she is losing with the children in her class. John O’Donovan’s “Your Hands,” performed by Nicola Coughlan, depict a situation many couples currently find themselves in: of having to postpone their wedding due to the coronavirus. Not only is the couple stranded at the protagonist’s in-laws, but they are also separated from each other, as one of them developed Covid-19 symptoms. The character conveys this as she speaks to herself while applying her wedding make-up. The ritual of applying make-up underscores her attempt to capture some elements of the day that they lost. Shaun Dunne’s “The Box Room,” also addresses the theme of loss, as the protagonist (Eva-Jane Gaffney) considers the value she places on her work and potential to earn income. This is now taken away from her where she is in isolation with her family.

Conversely, the experience of coping with the pandemic when far away from family also finds expression in a few monologues. In “West,” by Rami Sarma, the father of a young child is far away from his home town. He receives the news that his beloved grandfather died of Covid-19 and is unsure about how he will break this news to his child the next morning. Owen McDonnell’s portrayal of vulnerability was poignant. Also “Dear Ireland (an unreliable ex-lover suddenly writes)” by Nancy Harris shows the character (Marty Rea) far away from his home country. Self-isolation has given him the space to reflect on his mixed feelings about Ireland and he does so in the form of a love letter to the country. Rea’s performance was engaging, delivering this quirky text with charm.

In Meadhbh McHugh’s “A New Yorker now?” the character (Clare O’Malley) is originally from Ireland but has been living in New York for seven years. At the start of her monologue she seems more concerned about cementing her status as New Yorker by staying in the city during the pandemic. At first she is calm but as she becomes aware of the severity of the situation through messages from Ireland, she panics. The monologue emphasizes her conflicted feelings about her immigrant status: on the one hand she desperately wants to blend in with her new surroundings, but on the other she hankers back to Ireland when she starts to feel unsafe. This is very effectively illustrated by her accent shifting between American and Irish. Also Zhu Yi’s “I know you” illustrates the metaphorical split in identity caused by emigration when the US-based protagonist (Julia Gu) receives a phone call from the version of herself who remained in China, warning her not to go to a frat party, but to rather take the coronavirus seriously. 

Also the effect of the pandemic on people’s mental health is a recurring theme in this series. Arthur Riordan’s “The Other Side,” suggests that many people’s anxiety is churning beneath a calm appearance. The protagonist is reading an e-mail that he drafted a week ago. The e-mail is now ridiculously outdated, emphasizing how quickly things changes in the absurd context we find ourselves in. The character persists in attempting to convey the harrowing circumstances of the pandemic in an upbeat, diplomatic way, but these scenes are interrupted by scenes where he expresses his panic and anxiety in a spoken word poem. John Connors’ “Dear Ireland I’m fucking riddled with anxiety” likewise shows a man (Graham Early) expressing the distressing experience of not having access to his usual coping mechanisms during the pandemic.

Eva O’Connor’s “Maxwell House,” on the other hand, addresses this theme in a comic way in a tale about unrequited love. Amy McAllister portrays a character in love with her roommate, who decides to spend lockdown with her boyfriend. The protagonist, feeling rejected, kidnaps her roommate’s cat in an attempt to lure her back. The audience only has access to the protagonist’s side of the story, but as she is an unreliable narrator, it is easy to imagine the events from her roommate’s point of view. Also Ciara Elizabeth Smyth’s “Party party” puts a comic spin on people’s attempts to resolve their trauma. The character in this monologue (Camille Lucy Ross) pretends to celebrate her childhood friend, Breege’s, 36th birthday with her. A Barbie doll stands in for Breege as the protagonist dialogues with her and works through the psychological damage that resulted from their friendship.

Things get even more absurd with Blindboy’s “Stone Mad from the Flavour of the World,” in which a woman’s (Cathy Belton) internal monologue is heard. Her thinking becomes paranoid as she watches a Spaniel sitting at a bus stop, waiting. She repeats the question, “what want has a dog for a bus stop?” as her speculations on the dog’s motivation becomes more bizarre. She also recounts an unfounded theory (supposedly confirmed by a doctor who works at the Mater) that a person’s pronunciation of the word “coronavirus” influences whether or not that person becomes sick, citing Michael D. Higgins’ pronunciation as safe. In both “Party party” and “Stone Mad from the Flavour of the World,” the behaviour of the characters – how bizarre they may be – feels familiar. Both dramatists explore the strange behaviour people engage in when left to their own devices for too long.

The experience of lockdown in domestic set-ups diverging from the nuclear middle class family, is also a popular theme in “Dear Ireland.” In “Wiper at Work” by Abbie Spallen, a server (Jolene O’Hara) hides in a storage room as her abusive father enters her place of work. She reflects on how the lockdown has trapped her mother with him. The character repeatedly returns to the statistic that Covid-19 seems to be more fatal for men than for women. The protagonist in Karen Cogan’s “Katy Barry’s” runs a pub which is also a safe house and recounts the different ways that the inhabitants of the safe house handle lockdown. Siobhán Cogan performed this storytelling role expertly, making all the different characters come to life. This monologue emphasizes the importance of chosen families, a vital safety net for many, during the pandemic. Also Phillip McMahon’s “The Rock,” featuring Caoilfhionn Dunne, underscores the need for societal support for the LGBT community in a narrative centering on a lesbian’s reservations about getting married to the love of her life and mother of her unborn child. Although marriage equality is an essential step in the fight for equality, it does not eradicate the deep seated homophobia in the community.

A number of monologues also address xenophobia and classism within Ireland. Deirdre Kinahan’s “Dear Alex,” narrates the experience of a woman (Bríd Ní Neachtain) who befriends a refugee from Albania and worries about the impact of Covid-19 on immigrant communities. In Zoe ní Riordaín’s “It’s all the same” Seána Kerslake voices an experience of the pandemic from the viewpoint of a social outcast, while Dylan Coburn Gray’s “What we never got to lose,” featuring Leah Minto, reflects on adoption rights. TKB’s “Tara’s Hill,” show the audience a homeless woman’s (Ericka Roe) vlog, describing how her life in a government funded hotel has not changed much since the lockdown. Roe’s performance juxtaposes questions about the dignity and rights of the homeless with a charming send-up of YouTube culture. Also in Rosaleen McDonagh’s “Dear Ireland you will hardly notice my absence” Sorcha Fox portrays a woman from the Travelling community, lamenting the lack of dignity with which she is treated in a government funded hotel.

Pam Boyd’s “After this Thing,” explores Ireland’s housing crisis from the perspective of a capitalist developer (Brendan Gleeson). This character responds to a letter of complaint about a new development that will destroy a number of trees and historical buildings. The capitalist is depicted in a grotesque way, yielding to no-one in his steam roller approach, regarding the pandemic as just a minor hiccup, delaying him temporarily.

While Ireland’s social problems are therefore indicted in various monologues, Kit de Waal’s “The Three Irishmen” is more optimistic about the country’s potential for social change. Peter Gowan portrays the role of a conservative Irishman who struggled at first to come to terms with various societal changes, such as the ban on smoking in pubs and the legalization of same sex marriage and abortion. However, through his relationship with his liberal daughter and mixed race grandson, this man comes to accept a new Ireland. However, Jody O’Neill’s “Conversations with …” suggests that for some, social change has come too late. An older woman, portrayed by the brilliant Marie Mullen, is puzzled by the country’s sudden concern for her when it treated her generation so cruelly before. She asks, “Dear Ireland, where were you when I needed you?,” referring to the time she was forced to give up her baby for adoption when she fell pregnant at fifteen. A monologue such as this, where a charge of cruelty is brought to a country with the added tragedy of the damage being irreparable, can easily lapse into melodrama. However, Mullen’s sensitivity to the nuances of victimhood made this piece another highlight of the series.

Frank McGuinness’ “Pints of Milk” and Gina Moxley’s “A Start,” looks to Ireland’s past for a way to make sense of the present. In “Pints of Milk,” the character (Joan Sheehy) recounts an anecdote about her aunt who got fired for sewing a shirt for her neighbours’ boy after her shift at the factory where she worked. After this, she resolved to forego the luxury of milk in her tea. The piece reminds the audience that Ireland has lived through hardship before, and must find the resilience to overcome also this disaster, in one way or another. The monologue ends with an ambiguous non-religious blessing and sprinkling of milk, asking the earth to sustain/survive us. “A Start,” on the other hand, contemplates the duplicity of the beautiful landscape in county Kerry, where its metareferential character, Timmy Creed, finds himself for lockdown. Creed considers how the famine roads in the area came about and wonders what physical changes the current crisis will leave on the landscape. He reflects also on how the breathtaking landscape shows no signs of distress: for those of us who are healthy and not working in the healthcare sector, the pandemic plays out in our minds and the media, not in the environment that surrounds us.

Edna O’Brien’s letter, “Dear Ireland,” read by Stanley Townsend, advises on the importance of literature in times of distress and details how the author finds inspiration from the work and life of W.B. Yeats. O’Brien finds Yeats’ work especially relevant to the times we are living in, reflecting that “poetry, like prayer, answers to some deep and grainy loneliness within us, especially when we are cut off from others.” While O’Brien turns to literature for inspiration, Manchán Magan turns to the Irish language in, “Poll mór/Big hole,” a meditation on words, performed by Bríd Criomhthain. By reciting the various different words for “hole” in Irish, the way language is moulded by circumstance becomes clear. The monologue deems Irish to be mostly concerned with “earthy, rooted, thingy things,” articulating how a way of life which has become foreign to most shaped this language. At present, the pandemic forces us to return to the “earthy, rooted, thingy things” as life as we know it has changed forever.

“I want the things” by Andrea Molino, featuring David Moss, is also a meditation on language, reminiscent of Derrida. The performer uses percussion and voice boxing to reflect on the gap between words and things. Language is merely “labels that stick on the things, they are not the things.” But, insufficient as language may be, it is also indispensable. Consequently, we use language to form our own version of reality.

In a similar way, the arts is indispensable in making sense of and shaping human experience. Throughout all fifty monologues in Dear Ireland, the single characteristic that stood out was emotional economy; a resolve to be strong and keep it together. This gives new meaning to the protagonist’s description of the function of her cosmetic setting spray in “Your Hands”: “keeps it all from falling apart.” There might be an undercurrent whirling and spluttering away with anxiety, but all we can do in these circumstances is to stay at home and calmly wash our hands fifty times a day.

Theatre might not be able to articulate this reality to us in the traditional way just yet, but online theatre is a way to reach audiences during the time of lockdown to expose them to work that tries to make sense of our current reality. As such, it is legitimate and necessary. I think of online theatre as a rat pack to sustain us until we are able to feast on the real thing again.

View at Medium.com

View at Medium.com