I HAVE MET them at close of day, coming with vivid faces from counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. Well, actually, that’s not quite true. It was more like mid-morning when I met them. And they were coming from the airport at the time. I’m sure they had counters or desks in London, but I have no idea what age the buildings housing them were.
In case you missed the Yeatsian reference, or my previous mentions on the subject, the “them” in that opening sentence were the producers of 1916 The Musical: a stage spectacular which promised to do for the Easter Rising what Les Misérables did for the events of 1832 in Paris.
It was autumn 2009 and the promoters were in Dublin for a series of meetings, to one of which I was invited. Their faces were certainly vivid. They spoke with great enthusiasm about their plans for the show, which would open in Dublin in 2011, before transferring to London’s West End, then Broadway, and the world.
It was fun being in on the conspiracy, albeit that their plotting was no way secret. On the contrary, they had a website, issued newsletters, and also invited people to follow them on Twitter. Still, if you enjoy a metaphor as much as I do, there was a certain thrill to be had from involvement, however peripheral, in the preparations for a Rising-based musical.
And yet I was a little queasy about it too. The fact is that I don’t really like musicals. It’s not that I’m implacably opposed to them, as a matter of principle. I do think that resort to the musical format can be justified in certain circumstances, where all other legitimate means of entertainment have been exhausted.
But I was frankly sceptical about whether the events of 1916 could be successfully treated in this way. To some extent, after all, we’re still dealing with their consequences. Unlike the events of 1832. Despite what I may have implied in the second paragraph, I have no idea what happened In Paris back then. Nor do most Parisians.
Also, in general, I believe journalists need to keep a certain distance from enthusiasts. The danger of attending meetings is that you become, in that dreadful word, a “stakeholder”. Or at the very least, you get emotionally involved.
The infectious exuberance of showbusiness people can cloud your judgement. Worse still, you may start feeling a sense of responsibility towards those whose livelihoods depend on a production’s success.
Then, before you realise it, you’ll be writing things like “this show is not to be missed”, or one of those lines that get quoted on posters, even though you know very well that the thing is only a box of Paxo short of being a complete turkey.
So, anyway, after that first meeting, I ignored all subsequent invitations and watched 1916 the Musical’s progress from a safe remove (while retaining the option of claiming later on that I’d been in the GPO, as it were, when it all started). And for a while the progress seemed to be impressive.
There were open auditions in London, and work on a soundtrack. Les Mis composer John Cameron was brought in for a rewrite. Then in December 2010 there was a “showcase performance” for investors and others in the Camden Irish Centre. By this stage, the bank crash had done for hopes of a Dublin opening in 2011. The new plan was to rely on our gallant allies in America. Thus the musical would now premiere in Boston, at the Colonial Theater, in Easter 2012. All it needed was financial backing of about €12 million.
In the meantime, the producers’ optimism remained undimmed. The “creatives” were reported to be working hard throughout the spring of 2011, and in June last year the Twitter feed reported that they were “locked into” two weeks of edits.
But then, suddenly, nothing. The tweets stopped. So did the newsletters. Complete silence descended. Autumn 2011 passed without a word, then spring 2012. There was no Easter opening in Boston, and although the 2012 Dublin Theatre Festival had also been mentioned for a premiere, there was no sign there either.
Increasingly concerned, I looked up the Facebook page recently and noted again the show’s ominous blurb: “This story of love and pain can only end in tragedy and betrayal.” But there had been no updates of late. Meanwhile, the website had also become inaccessible.
Had somebody countermanded plans for a Rising-based show? Had there been a split in the movement, with a moderate element arguing for another attempt at Home Rule the Musical, and a militant wing conspiring to press ahead, but without newsletters and a Twitter feed? Had those “locked in” creatives ever escaped?
Curiosity finally got the better of me yesterday. At the risk of being invited to another meeting, I tracked down a spokeswoman in London who assured me that plans for the musical remain firmly in place. It’s just that the promoters are “fundraising”, she explained. Yes, they still plan an opening in Boston. As for a date, she added, they’d prefer not to speculate.
Fair enough, I said. And almost despite myself, I was somehow relieved to hear that the project was still alive. I thought about asking the spokeswoman if they’d sent somebody to Germany for help. But fearing the reference might be lost on a Londoner, I just wished her well with the show.