Michael Flatley's 'Riverdance' put Irish dancing on the map, but some say it was to the detriment of local tradition, writes Michael Seaver
“The children had star performers to idolise, but they also picked up on how Irish dance was popular. Everyone was talking about it, or going along to shows, or watching it on television. It was now cool to dance, and even cooler to be good at it
IT HAS BEEN 16 years since Michael Flatley leaped and strutted into our consciousness in Riverdanceat the old Point Theatre. Tonight he begins a three-night run of Lord of the Danceat the same site, but the Point is now the O2 – with its swanky bars and perfect sightlines. That's not all that has changed.
For years Riverdanceand its spin-offs represented national self-confidence and joie de vivre. Irish traditional dance was packaged into global cultural products and any tawdry excess onstage was overlooked for the seductive possibility of cultural world domination. Bigger was better: Michael Flatley boasted that his show Celtic Tigerhad the biggest TV screen in the world, $3 million worth of costumes and a lighting show "that rivals Pink Floyd".
Nowadays crippling austerity has replaced the Celtic Tiger swagger, and self-confidence and joie de vivre are in short supply. The Irish dance spectacular is at odds with the zeitgeist and their producers are looking to eastern Europe and the Far East for new audiences. But what have they left behind? Have the grass roots benefited in any way or is it just another example of boom-time profligacy and a lost opportunity to nourish local initiatives?
Dr Catherine Foley of the University of Limerick has long argued that these global products have drawn attention to and supported local dance. Firstly, there's the Gracelandeffect. Just as Paul Simon's album piqued interest in South African music, Riverdanceintroduced Irish traditional dance to a new global audience. They mightn't be authentic, but Riverdanceand Graceland were bridges for people to experience more authentic forms of Irish dance or South African music.
Drawing on globalisation theories as well as experience on the ground, Foley says traditional forms are fluid and open to influence, so they can easily absorb and adapt to a dominant monoculture like Riverdance. The shows have also created employment for Irish dancers, who can now plan careers in a way that was unknown 20 years ago. Those working on the ground are similarly upbeat.
"We found a huge upsurge of interest in Irish dance right after Riverdance," says Irish-dance teacher Mabhdh Dooley. "The children had star performers to idolise, but they also picked up on how Irish dance was popular. Everyone was talking about it, or going along to shows, or watching it on television. It was now cool to dance, and even cooler to be good at it."
Defining the grass roots is problematic. Irish dance has many strands of practice, from competition dance, with its rules and wigs, to social set-dancing in pubs or the loose elegance of sean-nós dance. Not all received a boost from the shows, but at least it’s not the first time they’ve had to deal with homogenising influences. The Coimisiún le Rincí Gaelacha was established by Conradh na Gaeilge in the 1920s to oversee the organisation of Irish dancing through competitions. Its strict rules standardise specific dances for competitions (and are continually updated to include contemporary concerns such as fake tan), but away from the judging tables these dances continue to evolve.
In Connemara, the sean-nós dancer Risteárd MacAodha has organised what he calls conventions on specific dances, such as The Three Sea Captains. These are more like gatherings in a pub, where a historian outlines the history of a dance and then dancers perform individual versions. The goal isn't to find the best or most authentic interpretation but to celebrate difference.
“Sean-nós dance doesn’t just have regional variations, but at one time you could tell what family somebody was from by how they danced,” he says. “Just like how you could be in a pub in Connemara 20 years ago and hear the same song sung six or seven times, but each version was completely different.”
He is critical of the Coimisiún le Rincí Gaelacha – “I don’t see how ringlets and €500 costumes have anything to do with tradition,” he says – and although Irish dance has a higher profile than before, this has sometimes been to the detriment of local tradition, he says.
“You used to learn dance from your family or within your community. Now people are going to workshops where 30 people learn how to do the same thing. Athleticism is taking over from expression and the emphasis is on synchronisation.”
This tension between Riverdance, the coimisiún and sean-nós dance mirrors a more general debate about the global, national and local. That dialogue has a sharp economic focus these days, but Irish dance seems able to reconcile the three and allow strands of practice to co-exist. Rather than calcifying, these traditions are evolving and adapting to new influences, at least until the next Michael Flatley comes along.
