Moving swiftly around the Gate Theatre the other day, during its transition into the effervescent pleasure palace of the Gatsby mansion, its artistic director, Selina Cartmell, explained various drinks sponsorships. If there was any irony that F Scott FitzGerald's classic of the Prohibition era had, in its transposition to a piece of promenade theatre, managed to cut so many deals with liquor brands, it was absent from Cartmell's voice; she sounded neither embarrassed nor gleeful.
It was just the way it is: Bulleit for the whiskey bar, Tanqueray for the gin cocktails, Veuve Clicquot for the champagne bar. Such is the saturation of alcohol through our culture that only one label in this sprawling space was anachronistic.
The sprawl itself, though, had been assisted in no small part by those sponsorships, and so it seemed a canny model of contemporary production, in which an organisation in receipt of State subsidy is also expected to seek outside investment while hardly affording to remain indifferent to the box office. Besides, drink sponsorships are not that easy to come by, and hard to hold on to.
The Great Gatsby, moreover, invited it. Traditionally, the Dublin theatre has limited drinking to its interval, but immersive and durational theatre events tend to work more like rock concerts, with functioning bars open throughout.
Go to see a Punchdrunk show, for an appropriately named example, and you can find a licensed premises somewhere within its haunted hotels or labyrinthine Hollywood lots without losing sight of the narrative. Last year It's Not Over, THEATREclub's 4.5-hour durational show, kept a professional bar running throughout its postdramatic take on the history of the IRA, putting the publican back into Irish republicanism.
Comedy gigs and music concerts have functioned for years with audiences in various states of lubrication, but few invite the proximity that 'The Great Gatsby' does
The Great Gatsby, which encourages its audience to arrive in 1920s costumes, might have initially worried about getting spectators to loosen up and interact. But with themed cocktails available throughout the show it might become more concerned that its audience will enjoy the show responsibly. Most undoubtedly will: comedy gigs and music concerts have functioned for years with audiences in various states of lubrication, but few invite the proximity that The Great Gatsby does.
It may be an accident of timing, but while the Gate builds its own bar, and the summer return of Enda Walsh's musical, Once, transforms the stage of the Olympia Theatre into a working pub that audiences can visit, the Abbey Theatre has brought its most recent work off to the bars of the country. This is Roddy Doyle's play Two Pints, originally conceived as a series of private conversations between two middle-aged Dubliners in one of the oldest social forums there is, which Doyle first delivered over one of the newest, Facebook.
Midway through the play the characters discuss changing attitudes to Ireland’s drinking culture, in a moment layered with self-reference. “Three pints is a binge,” Liam Carney says, aghast, quoting “the f***in’ scientists” before adding, reflectively, “I need three pints to decide if I’m going on a binge.”
It’s a more freighted line than it initially appears: both actors drink throughout the performance, and I counted roughly one scientific binge in each of three acts. They drink Guinness, which, although its brewer is a sponsor, hardly seems like egregious product placement, and that drink – unlike whiskey, wine, vodka or champagne – is notoriously difficult to fake onstage.
As a compromise the actors drink Guinness Mid-Strength, an almost universally reviled low-alcohol version of the stout, for which theatre may finally have found a purpose.
As an advance from the practices of theatre’s history, though, this is no weak beer: one notorious American production, in the early 20th century, sloshed with so much real punch that the actors often became too intoxicated to complete the performance.
This year's Dublin Fringe Festival is the first for four years not to feature the title sponsorship of a beer company
In more ways than one it can be hard to come off the stuff - although new proposals could see strict limits placed on drinks sponsorship of arts events and festivals. This year's Dublin Fringe Festival is the first for four years not to feature the title sponsorship of a beer company. Such arrangements are a mixed blessing, with enabling budgets and marketing assistance but limitations on content.
The fringe may have had to economise by losing the cabaret buzz of the Spiegeltent, but it has also made it more feasible to introduce its first programming strand for young audiences, Fringe for Kids.
"It's a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people," as the narrator of The Great Gatsby puts it. But the fringe has not become teetotal: Smirnoff is its new "drinks partner". The term is well chosen. Drink sponsorships, like its consumption, work best in moderation. If you can't control it, it's time to give it up.
