James Joyce, Marcel Duchamp, ...
Erik Satie: An Alphabet
Samuel Beckett Theatre, Trinity College
The work of the American composer John Cage can be summarised as an attempt to combine complete freedom with utter discipline. The difficulty with An Alphabet, his theatrical collage of the modernist movement, is that it is all discipline and no freedom. Laura Kuhn's technically impressive production gets close to the heart of Cage's aesthetic in one respect only. Like him, it is deeply paradoxical. A composer who put the audience at the centre of performance is represented by a work that refuses to engage its audience. A work that purports to celebrate the exhilarating freedom of the modernist avant-garde is static and, in its approach to dramatic form, extraordinarily conservative. The primary interest of Cage's text is that it is a kind of artistic autobiography, splicing together his real and imaginary encounters with artists who have influenced him. Without Cage's presence, however, this intellectual journey remains entirely abstract. It is not embodied on stage. What we have instead is a kind of animated radio: 13 actors arranged on a bank of stools in front of a screen. Only one, the narrator, gets to do any acting. Whatever element of delight there is in the evening comes from John Kelly's supple and rigorous performance in that role. Otherwise, the stars are the technicians: sound engineer Mikel Rouse and lighting designer James Ingalls. Everyone else is imprisoned in a rather bare Cage.
Fintan O'Toole
It Just Came Out ...
Players Theatre, Trinity College
Christian O'Reilly's play won the joint second prize at the O.Z. Whitehead awards and was produced earlier this year as a Druid Debut in Galway. It is easy to endorse these choices. Encountering a black woman in a supermarket, Michael calls her a nigger. He is liberal by nature and conviction, and he cannot account for his action. He tells his wife, and we get a sharply drawn sketch of a marriage all but extinguished by her career ambition and near contempt for him. He goes looking for the black woman to apologise, adding blunder to inexplicable gaffe by accosting the wrong person. By the ending, some serious truths on marriage and tolerance have received an airing. John O'Reilly, Susan Ateh, SinΘad Beary and Merrina Milsapp, directed by Leticia Agudo, bring it all nicely home in a play that uses comedy to make a perceptive commentary.
Gerry Colgan
Iscariot ...
International Bar
The world's most famous traitor bares his soul in Tony Barrow's imagining of the fate of Christ's betrayer. This stylishly produced one-act play immediately establishes its resonance: FaurΘ's haunting Requiem plays and the tiny space is infused with incense. The stage is set with familiar devices to buffer the unfamiliarity of Judas's personal life. Condemned to live forever, Judas the man is on display, full of remorse and arrogance, waiting for release. Charlie Hughes's big, sexy performance fills the room, and director Patrick Sutton creatively pushes the usually limiting boundaries of the monologue form, but Barrow's script falls into overindulgent wordplay, even though glimpses of the straight story itself - the sequence of events from the point of view of Christianity's most hated man - are gripping. In daring to tell Iscariot's tale, the playwright does not dare enough, and fails satisfactorily to imagine the biggest question of all: Why did he do it?
Susan Conley
The Head Of Red O'Brien ...
Bewley's Cafe Theatre
Mark O'Halloran's first solo run as a writer and director keeps up an engaging momentum. This energetically delivered monologue, performed by the talented Ciaran McIntyre, had the audience in stitches over their soup and sandwiches. In relating the story of his Sid-and-Nancy-style marriage, and how he wants to give it another chance, Red O'Brien works his way through his biases and towards self-realisation. From the sparse set of his hospital bed, where he has been put by his violent wife, O'Brien speaks of his obsession with Sean Connery in The Hunt For Red October, of his fear of baldness and of his belief in the heart over the head and experience over language. O'Halloran's mixed bag of the bizarre rarely flags and almost always entertains. Lunchtime theatre is the natural home for this kind of one-man show.
Ian Kilroy
Giants Have Us In Their Books ...
International Bar
The world of the playwright JosΘ Rivera is one where tigers roam Central Park and mythical winged men impregnate teenagers. If you're a fan of Chagall paintings and Wings Of Desire, this is for you. For the most part, the actors of fledgling company X-Bel-Air handle their material well, although the pitch is sometimes a little too frenetic and the pacing inconsistent. The staging is inventive, though: Aoibheann O'Hara's tiger is a triumph of physical theatre, while Philip MacMahon puts together a suitably odd but flexible set. Taking the show out of the ordinary is the performance of Dylan Tighe as a Hispanic gas attendant, talking about his brother's Gulf War letters. Tighe's stillness and verbal fluidity as he delivers a biting critique of US warmongering make it almost unbearably poignant.
Louise East
Falling Up ...
Project Upstairs
When Cindy Cummings and Todd Winkler presented excerpts from Falling Up as a work in progress last March, I was excited by the possibilities suggested by the apparently gravity-defying movement of their experiment in motion-sensing technology. The finished work failed to capitalise on them, however, the images on both screens often being less distinct that those seen during the work in progress. Intercutting science-fiction-film clips with Cumming's commentary and actions resulted in many laughs, and it was an amusing idea to insert her into the famous footage of Neil Armstrong on the moon. Those new to the technique will be intrigued at the effects achieved on screen by a dancer on stage, but I would prefer to see the computer used to create fantastic adventure rather than further demonstrations of technique.
Carolyn Swift
Scenes From A Water Cooler ...
Project Cube
Throwing paper aeroplanes, picking their noses and idly tapping at a computer key, David Pearse, Gerry McCann and Darren McHugh portray the tedium of office life brilliantly. The writing, and indeed direction, by David Parnell and Paul Meade are sharp, and they are rewarded by some near perfect comic timing from their cast. As the three start competing for a chance to get off the office floor, things turn nastier, and every joke has a razor's edge. It's full of Loaded magazine humour, but for the most part those born-again lads are mercilessly observed rather than celebrated. The only weak points are the few moments when Parnell and Meade go for the easy laugh.
Louise East
Stuck ...
Andrews Lane Theatre
This one-man show is an example of excellent theatrical teamwork, with writer David Rubinoff, producer Joe Devlin and actor Seβn Power working off each other to create a powerful hour of performance. Stuck has already picked up an award in Canada, where it was originally performed: this is its European premiere. With a high stool as his only prop, Power is eerily convincing as a young would-be actor who goes on the road, fired by a frenetic search for stimulating experiences, no matter how damaging. En route, the dialogue shooting out like bullets, he also plays the many other characters he meets, among them an old woman who chats him up in a bar, Mormons who want him for their sunbeam and a slick gay man who picks him up. Absorbing, disturbing and very funny.
Rosita Boland
Tiny Dynamite ...
Dra∅ocht, Blanchardstown
Two 30-plus men go on a holiday together. When they were boys of six, Anthony was struck by lightning, and he has been an unstable drop-out since. Lucien, the smart one, tries to look after him, but they have a tragedy in their lives. A girl they both once loved committed suicide, and they don't talk about it. Now another girl, a drifter picking up summer work, joins them, and her presence stirs sleeping memories. Anthony frightens some people with his aura of violence, and tensions grow between the trio. But one fateful night, truth shatters the silence and brings a catharsis that leaves them drained but healed. This is a powerfully intimate revelation of unusual relationships, and it packs a stiff emotional punch. The three actors give full dramatic value to Abi Morgan's play, which is produced here with style and is certainly a Fringe asset.
Gerry Colgan
XYZ ...
Project Upstairs
Aptly subtitled a "Quintet for Four Dancers and a Very Narrow Hallway", XYZ takes place in a corridor, running for 10 minutes four times a night, for a maximum audience of six. Emma O'Kane, Lisa McLaughlin, Katherine O'Malley and Rebecca Reilly show their ambitions and social climbing, literally, as they struggle ever upwards, driving each other up the walls in the process and walking all over each other when necessary. Wisely, Rebecca Walter keeps the piece brief. She uses every choreographic possibility the space permits, knowing the audience would not stand squashed together for much longer. This is an original idea, well danced and enjoyably offbeat. See it before an eight o'clock show, a drink or a meal.
Carolyn Swift
Wedding Present ...
Bewley's Cafe Theatre
'The journey's just a metaphor," muses Dean (Eoin Slattery) in this virtual roller coaster through his life. En route, he meets his soul mate (Julie Sharkey), and together they embark on a road trip across the US. Elvis sings at their wedding, in a Las Vegas chapel. During a car scene that would make Hugh Grant blush, they are rudely intercepted by the LAPD. C.C. Kiely's play is vibrant and cleverly contrived. Crafted as a paean to western popular culture, it tenderly explores alienation - and Elvis. Using choreography and design, director Orla Fitzgerald has skillfully created an ensemble piece.
Belinda Kelly
The Beckett Trilogy ...
Civic Theatre, Tallaght
Conor LOVETT'S forays into the heart of Beckettland, as charted in the novels and directed by Judy Hegarty, have been widely acclaimed. Played together, Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable constitute a marathon task for the actor, and he is splendidly in command of it. Molloy is seen trying to visit his mother, and encountering a world of obstacles and antagonism. Malone, nearing his end, reflects that he was born grave, as others are born syphilitic, and forgives nobody for his travesty of a life. The Unnamable forms a continuum to these, an existential rant by a nameless speaker. As a feat of memory and concentration, this would be a significant accomplishment. Wedded to the interpretations, it is astonishing. There can be no reservation about the Beckett niche that Lovett has carved for himself. He is special.
Gerry Colgan
More Dublin Fringe Festival reviews on tomorrow's arts page; Front Row returns next week
