Radio Review:It's a wonder that devotees of the wireless dragged themselves out of bed last weekend to face this best of all possible worlds. On The Marian Finucane Show (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday-Sunday) psychologist Tony Bates talked depression.
As a society we have our share of mental health problems (depression, stress - and the rest). But an hour of Saturday morning radio theorising about this mammoth, slippery beast was enough to take the currant out of this listener's bun.
My inner critic can be as untamed and sabre-toothed as the next, but on radio it was all too much. "Now that we're talking about being down, happy new year to you!" Finucane opened. (And many happy returns!)
Bates recalled his tough childhood in the 1950s. He spoke about the death and burial in an unmarked grave of his infant brother; Bates himself was hospitalised aged three and isolated for a time, looking out at the world from behind a glass pane.
He spoke honestly about his depression later in life, said that reading illuminates the human condition - that's characters in books for you - and quoted the poet Rainer Maria Rilke.
"Depression is a loss of vitality," said Bates. "We need to go back to old-fashioned ideals of where we nurture ourselves. Love is more important than food. The road to mental health is a journey."
You know what? I get it! Bates's personal history, literary references and earnestness in answering texts and e-mails were commendable, but as one listener wrote, "Tony Bates makes it sound so easy."
He never said it was, but that listener had a point. It may be better to "let the love in" (as Bates said, blithely) when dealing with a family tragedy and, sure, sharing is caring and makes the rest of us feel less alone with our demons. But there was a preachiness to this academic, softly-softly hour-long slot. And, as we often see with self-analytical celebrities, discussing one's own mental health to the nth degree can come across as terribly self-indulgent, even allowing for the most honourable of intentions.
On a lighter note, The Weekend Blend With Róisín Ingle (Newstalk, Saturday) had psychologist Avril Ivory doing battle with inner critics. This was a more manageable subject for morning radio. ("But Ingle writes for this paper. We're nothing but an incestuous bunch of Dublin 4. Shut your face! Why should I? I'll leave me crying for my mammy.") That's my inner bun fight again. It may deter a few disgruntled e-mails, though I doubt it.
Anyway, Ivory suggested keeping a journal to track our inner critic's thoughts before they lead us to that chocolate bar or drink or cigarette. As an exercise in emotional self-discipline and realising guilty pleasures don't make the moment after any better, it may work. So, I did what George Burns did when he opened his morning paper and didn't see himself in the obituaries. I got up.
Back on Marian Finucane on Sunday, Wayne O'Donoghue's solicitor Frank Buttimer wouldn't say if his client would give evidence should a libel trial go ahead due to the post-trial headlines.
Buttimer did add: "Once he came forward, he always faced up to his responsibilities." Finucane rightly said this was after denying the crime. But Buttimer's words masked a multitude. Between the crime and discovery of Robert Holohan's body, O'Donoghue did more than deny: he put the body in a plastic bag, then into the boot of his car, disposed of the body near Inch Strand, returned and, with petrol, tried to set the remains alight, as the court heard. Yes, O'Donoghue should now be allowed to live in peace. But his lawyer's "Once he came forward . . ." didn't cut it in this context.
More grimness on Monday: Today with Pat Kenny (RTÉ Radio 1, Monday-Friday) reviewed 4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days, Cristian Mungiu's film set during Ceausescu's Romania in which a woman has a graphic, late-term abortion. "I wanted to shout out, 'Please don't do this, there must be another way!' " said Anne Leonard. Constantine Gurdgiev added, "I would like to see what a person goes through mentally."
Kitty Holland said the illegality made it traumatic, telling Gurdgiev: "I think you wanted a different woman to have an abortion, in a different movie." Holland and Leonard said no woman wants to have an abortion, and all three sparred over the cinéma vérité style and Mungiu's impartiality. They took different positions and, yet, each was right in their own way.
If this wasn't enough, try middle-aged infidelity and attempted suicide by the spurned wife. Peter Nichols's Passion Play (BBC Radio 4, Saturday), first produced in 1981, brought his characters' inner voices to life alongside crackling comedic dialogue. It combined farce and drama beautifully. James (Nicholas Le Provost) prepares a letter to his young mistress: "How could she offer herself to an . . . old man? Older? To a . . . man."
His wife, Eleanor (Joanna David), thinks: "I'd rather be the mistress. Let him live with you and sneak away whenever he can. I'll dress in frilly undies and wear exotic scent." Alas, James's own inner voice concludes, "Love is a terrible word. It means whatever you want it to. Let's not ever mention it again."
And, on that note, have a nice day.