Irish Timeswriters review The Lieutenant of Inishmoreat the Pavilion Theatre in Dublin; Chessat the National Concert Hall in Dublin and the AMM Trio at theHugh Lane Gallery in Dublin.
The Lieutenant of Inishmore, Pavilion Theatre, Dublin
Once considered so inflammatory that it might even derail the Northern Irish peace process, Martin McDonagh's cat-slaying, bone-shattering and corpse-dismembering paramilitary farce has finally come home. Rejected in the 1990s by the playwright's early champions and premiered by the RSC in 2001, it received its first Irish production last year with this bright and brash collaboration between the Town Hall Theatre and Cork Opera House.
Mad Padraic (Anthony Brophy), a man considered "too mad" for the IRA, is so distraught to hear his beloved cat Wee Thomas is ill - perhaps terminally - that his work suffers immediately: He can't even finish his elaborate torture of a hapless drug dealer. In fact, the moggie is no more, its brains splattered on a kitchen table where Padraic's father Danny (John Olohan) and the cat's hapless discoverer Davey (Paul Connaughton) prepare to conceal the evidence and find a substitute.
Performed, understandably, as though they could have strayed from any number of "Paddy Irishman" jokes, Danny and Davey are routinely distracted from their bumbling efforts by Davey's tomboy sister, Elaine O'Dea's rebel-ballad singing sharpshooter Mairéad, and a sudden influx of cagey INLA members. As the bullets begin to fly, the blood flows freely and the dialogue wriggles with the mangled syntax of a pseudo-Synge, it becomes hard to take offence at such parodic stage Irishness.
Andrew Flynn's production pushes it even further from our recognition. Every performance is an amplification of caricature, while the rising road of Owen MacCarthaigh's set gives the impression of a fairytale landscape, basking in the sunny glow of Barry O'Brien's lights. In this cartoonish world, violence bears no consequence: even weaker gags are punctuated with gunshots, and Donny and Davey conclude Padraic will "blow out what little brains we have", then laugh merrily at their fates.
There may be something cathartic, perhaps even brave, in mocking terrorist atrocities and laughing back at republican rhetoric, but McDonagh revels too much in the bloodletting to condemn it with great conviction. Despite this staging's slick professionalism, his satirical point - "So all this terror has been for absolutely nothing" - rings so hollow that even his characters seem to know the jig is up. When Mairéad gets fed up with shooting fellas, Davey's criticism seems unanswerable: "Aye," he sighs, "It gets boring easy".
Until Feb 24, Peter Crawley
Chess, National Concert Hall, Dublin
The musical Chess (lyrics by Tim Rice, songs by Benny Andersson and Bjorn Ulvaeus) has divided critical opinion since its stage beginnings in 1986 in London, where it was a smash hit. Two years later, it bombed on Broadway; go figure. This production, by the Glasnevin Musical Society, does little to reconcile the different reactions.
Set in the world of international chess, the story has become opaque and lacking in drama. Chess is a thrilling game, but the excitement is internal and intellectual, not readily communicated to an audience. The contests here are not credibly presented, and the final denouement sees a succession of lightning moves followed by a declaration of checkmate that bears little resemblance to the typical exchanges of the masters.
Music and singing also have their problems. Virtually all the words are sung, bringing difficulties of comprehension. This is notable in the chorus numbers, which too often fail to convey their meaning, but is true also of the pseudo dialogue engaged in by some performers. The general sense of the story is made clear, but is not adequate for a full marriage of word to plot.
Matters improve in the second half, opening with the colourful number, A Night in Bangkok. Some quite beautiful singing by Peter Corry and Brenda Brooks, notably in the love duet You and I, is captivating, and the hit song I Know Him so Well is another highlight. Kenneth O'Regan's booming tenor, Adam Lawlor's villainous bass, Maria Fitzgerald and Robert Vickers are prominent in vocals, and the large cast is well choreographed by Marina Kealy. Something of a curate's egg, then - but the good parts are very good.
Until Feb 22 & Feb 24, Gerry Colgan
AMM Trio,Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin
Martin Supper - Phasing Facing Scelsi. Markus Wenninger - Compressio I
Here was an ensemble that might have liaised better with their audience. The work of the AMM Trio - a five-year-old saxes and synths ensemble not to be confused with Britain's AMM ensemble - is sufficiently remote from the mainstream to require an introduction.
Their programme's rhetorical questions didn't help and it was hardly surprising that members of the already scant audience hurried out in mid-piece. Not even looking embarrassed. This was during the opening work, a 10-minute piece not included in the printed programme, but which they announced as The Deep by Jackson Pollock.
How difficult would it have been to provide an overhead projection of Pollock's cloudy, black and white painting, his last important work? How difficult would it have been to announce that they were playing an improvised response to the painting?
At least the second piece, Phasing Facing Scelsi by the trio's synthesiser player and sound processor Martin Supper, was self-explanatory. The two saxophones (plus that of guest artist Sebastien Schiesser) tuned into long notes generated by Supper, and then gradually slid sharp or flat, creating interesting beat or interference patterns. They staggered their breathing to sustain the sound and used dynamics to persuade us this was not just an experiment in the physics of sound.
The final piece - Compressio I by the trio's Markus Wenninger - refers to cerebral compression, described as "a brain disruption caused by increased pressure in the skull". The three saxes improvised, while Supper sampled, processed and reintroduced their sounds. The toneless clacking of sax keys morphed into what sounded like the put-putting of a motorbike, adding an element of fun to otherwise grave music.
Michael Dungan
