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Static review: A stranded astronaut, an Irish radio ham and snatches of a strange, poignant frequency

Static review: A stranded astronaut, an Irish radio ham and snatches of a strange, poignant frequency

Irish Times2 days ago

Static
Peacock stage, Abbey Theatre, Dublin
★★★☆☆
In 1991 Sergei Krikalev was launched into space on what was meant to be a four-month mission. But by then the Soviet Union had collapsed, and the country that had promised to bring him home no longer existed. Remarkably, during the 10 months for which the cosmonaut was left stranded aboard the Mir space station, he managed to make contact with a handful of amateur radio operators, including a man in rural Ireland.
It's the kind of archival news story that's irresistible to a writer. Unsurprisingly, it caught the imagination of Jimmy McAleavey, who used it as a springboard for Static. But this is not a dramatisation of those events. Instead the play fictionalises this moment of unlikely connection, turning it into something more allegorical and, sadly, a bit flatter.
Visually, the production is captivating. Alyson Cummins's set is simple but powerful, a retro technological dreamscape of blinking devices, stacked in the dark, that evoke circuit boards, night cities and distant constellations. On one side of the stage sits Moonman, a lonely recluse in Donegal, played with an unexpectedly tender touch by Dan Gordon. On the other is Spaceman, the archetypal all-American action hero, played with just the right note of performative tinniness by Seán Mahon. Between them spins a glowing toy Earth.
An acute problem has arisen. Spaceman, stranded in a failing space station, has lost all official channels of communication and will soon drift fatally off course unless someone on Earth intervenes. That someone, unfortunately, is Moonman, who's too anxious to leave his home, let alone persuade anyone that he's in touch with a dying astronaut.
READ MORE
Static: Seán Mahon as Spaceman. Photograph: Rich Davenport
Even if he could bring himself to call for help, who would believe him? And perhaps, deep down, he doesn't really want to save him. Perhaps he's so starved of conversation that he'd rather keep him talking, suspended in a shared solitude.
The characters are drawn from different tonal universes. This contrast brings flashes of humour and unexpected lyricism. McAleavey's dialogue is attuned to the strange intimacy of radio and to the intoxicated grandeur of early American space mythology: the endless frontier, the dream of expansion, the boyish hope and the looming void.
Static: Dan Gordon as Moonman. Photograph: Rich Davenport
But the arc of the play is ultimately too neat. To return to Earth, Spaceman must coax Moonman out of isolation. They both need the other to return to the world. The two men are revealed to be more alike than different: both ruled by fear, one hiding in his room, the other in space.
There's a satisfying symmetry to the structure, but it leans toward the schematic. Dichotomies are set up and then cleanly reversed. The psychological unravelling tracks on a level of sense but never feels true on an experiential or emotional level.
The problem is partly formal: the dialogue-heavy structure becomes an exhaustive sounding-out of themes rather than a dramatic unfolding. It begins to feel, aptly, static. Still, there are moments when the play seems to catch a strange and poignant frequency, something bruised, offbeat and humane.
Static is at the
Abbey Theatre
, Dublin, until Friday, July 18th

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Some other Dublin fan will say, 'Wha, Twink.' Someone else will say Ó Cogaigh Byrne is growing right in front of our eyes. And there it is, a kid with a hooter will blare it in someone's ear for no apparent reason. That same kid will then wave a flag over someone's face. The kid's parents will look on proudly, in awe of their little flag waving, horn blaring angel and wonder how you couldn't love him. Someone will be fuming, but won't say anything. Then it starts spitting rain, and six oul lads put up massive golf umbrellas, prodding everyone around them in the face. And out of the blue, some pissed git with a little wool headband will land in 20 minutes late, wreaking of fags and cider with 10 people having to get out of their seats as he nudges every one of them with his big arse on the way past. Your brain will scream, you should have stayed at home and watched it on the telly, as the big screen blasts out one of those 'Nothin Beats Being There,' ads. 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Up on RTE they'll tell us it's good refereeing and they can hear how nicely he's talking to the players. The rest of us will wonder why we don't have a ref mike. The Lions fans in the boxes are fully cut by now and haven't noticed. Down at the other end, Ross McQuillan will rip past someone's shoulder only to find Jarlath Og Burns has ripped past the other shoulder. Rian O'Neill will lean back and launch over a two point effort from 67 metres. The ball will come down with seagull shit on it and drop over the bar. Tom O'Sullivan will line up a shot with the outside of his left foot. Oisin Conaty will do something electric. While up in the full forward line, David Clifford is down on his knees in praise of the 'three-up' rule, before rising to score 3-6 in four and a half minutes. Paudie Clifford will pass the ball to David Clifford. David Clifford will shoot. Then, off camera, someone rips David Clifford's jersey. An older lady in the front of the stand who is knitting takes out her sowing kit and patches it up. David Clifford returns to score 4-8 in the next 15 minutes. Next up is Ethan Rafferty. Ethan Rafferty flies past a load of outfield players. Ethan Rafferty catches a kick out. Ethan Rafferty hits a two pointer. Ethan Rafferty dummies a man and kicks it over the bar. Ethan Rafferty makes a point blank save. Ethan Rafferty launches a pinpoint kickout. And behind him in the Nally Stand, a niche sports fan claims Ethan Rafferty is better at the road bowling. Armagh fans are waiting for Stefan Campbell to come off the bench, kick two points and a wide, and set up a goal chance, but he's not in the 26. The game will go to extra time. David Clifford will go down with cramp on his way to a 7-14 haul as we move onto a penalty shoot out. After it's all over, Jim Gavin will stand up, adjust his black baseball cap, put away his laptop, text the GAA's Games Intelligence Unit on his burner phone and head off home to prepare a 'Benefit Realisation Model' for first thing in the morning. And all over our wonderful land, the ordinary GAA people at home and in the stands will proclaim this was indeed the greatest weekend ever for the greatest show on earth.

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