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Extra.ie
29-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Want to see Cillian Murphy in Cork? Here's how to attend an exclusive Q&A
Want to see Cillian Murphy live in his Cork? Here's how to attend an exclusive Q&A with the rebel county native. Fans of Cillian Murphy, mark your calendars, because this September, the Oscar-winning actor returns to his home county for a rare in-person appearance. The European premiere of Steve, a new feature directed by Tim Mielants and written by acclaimed author Max Porter, will take place at The Arc Cinema in Cork, followed by an exclusive Q&A event at Cork Opera House. Want to see Cillian Murphy live in his Cork? Here's how to attend an exclusive Q&A with the rebel county native. Pic:This one-night-only experience will take place as part of Sounds From A Safe Harbour and offers audiences the chance to see the film before its wider release in select cinemas in September, and on Netflix globally on October 3. The highly anticipated film is based on Max Porter's acclaimed novel Shy. Directed by Tim Mielants (Small Things Like These), this powerful drama follows a headteacher battling the closure of his reform school alongside the inner turmoil of a young student (Jay Lycurgo). The announcement comes as part of a wider programme release for SFSH's landmark 10th anniversary edition. Taking place across multiple venues in Cork City from 11–14 September 2025, SFSH invites audiences back into a world of music, language, art, and ritual. The programme was lovingly curated by a team which includes; Festival Director Mary Hickson, Cillian Murphy, composer Bryce Dessner (The National), author Max Porter, and folklorist Billy MagFhlionn. Speaking about this year's film programme, Murphy said: 'I am thrilled to be part of the inaugural film programme of SFSH 2025. Fans of Cillian Murphy, mark your calendars, because this September, the Oscar-winning actor returns to his home county for a rare in-person appearance. Pic:'There has always been such a natural crossover between cinema and music, and these delightfully diverse films very much speak to the philosophy and heart of what this festival is all about. 'It is very meaningful for me to have the European premiere of Steve in my hometown of Cork city,' he added. 'Steve is a film that Max Porter wrote listening to 90's Jungle and the film's score is deeply influenced by the rhythms and patterns of drum and bass. The music documentaries in the programme are studies on some of my favourite artists of all time, Jeff Buckley, Broken Social Scene, Donal Lunny, Brian Eno and Conor Walsh. Each one elegiac and sensitive and revelatory in different ways. 'Train Dreams is scored by festival curator Bryce Dessner and is a heartbreaking adaptation of that beautiful novel. We are also thrilled to be presenting Manchán Magan's beautifully intimate documentary Let the Land Speak. I think Cork audiences will truly relish this bespoke selection of unique films, which can be sampled alongside the amazing live music events happening across the city throughout the festival.' Whether you're a die-hard Cillian Murphy fan, a lover of bold new cinema, or simply curious about what promises to be one of the year's most talked-about films, this one's for you. Tickets for all films will go on sale 12 noon, Tuesday August 5 here.
Irish Examiner
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Al Porter: "We judge ourselves by our intentions, but we judge other people by their actions"
Not for the first time, Al Porter is riffing on a memory. 'I found this clip of me on Gerry Ryan when I was 12,' he says, going a mile a minute as he recalls one of his earliest roles in a childhood production of Bugsy Malone. 'I listened to it in the car the other day, and Brenda Donohue says, 'Gerry, I've got a young man here from Tallaght, he's 12 years old, his name is Alan Kavanagh, and he's playing the part of Knuckles. Say good morning, Gerry.' And she says to me, 'Can you do that?' I'm obviously nervous. And I go, 'Good morning, Gerry.' And the unbroken little boy's voice.' And here Porter switches to Gerry's booming broadcast tenor. 'And Gerry says, 'Good morning, Alan Kavanagh, what a great part to get.' And I go, 'It is a great part.' 'And I went: 'That's the top of my show.'' The show is Algorithm but, as the Tallaght-born comedian describes the background to his new material, it's clear why the pre-fame Alan Kavanagh is also name-checked: Porter, now 32, believes his writing — and maybe his life — is now more relatable, and certainly more true to himself. 'I almost welled up when I heard it,' he says of the Gerry Ryan clip, 'because of what it means to me. Because the point is that this show definitely seems to be the most firmly grounded in the present that I've ever done.' We're meeting by the seaside in West Cork, down at Dunmore House Hotel, to which Porter has been driven all the way from Dublin by his friend Alan. Looking slim in his blue Oxford shirt and occasionally tugging on a rhubarb-and-custard coloured vape, Porter is gearing up for a string of shows, including a night at Cork Opera House. He's raring to go — 'I need to stop talking, I'm sorry' — but, over two hours of conversation, he springs a few surprises: how despite his love for stand-up, for all he knows, this could be his last tour; about taking on a lead role in a new self-penned play only because the budget isn't there to cast someone else; why he's not particularly bothered about doing a podcast or being on TV; and — no joke — becoming a certified celebrant for weddings, baptisms, and funerals. It seems there has always been two sides to Al Porter/Alan Kavanagh — but now? 'Oh yeah, I mean, they've met, right?' he says. 'I used to think that being funny was a bit of a mask, like a bit of a barrier. And the suit tied into that. I always talk about how I was able to present as composed on the outside but total chaos on the inside. And when I went to college and I left school, I was actually pretty ill-equipped. In my school, everybody knew me. I was 'our Alan'. 'That's our Alan.' 'That's what Al is like.' And everybody knew me for all my quirks. And then when I went to college, everybody thought I'd be fine because I've been such a good student but suddenly I felt totally lost and really exposed, and like really all this anxiety came to a head, and I went, 'I'm not doing this.' Being a 19-year-old, greasy college student with no friends, I'm not doing it. And I invented something else to be.' For the new show, 'I wanted to have that element of loose, rough around the edges, spontaneous,' he says, referencing his conversational, come-here-and-I'll-tell-you style. 'What I like is the idea that maybe you don't know what you're going to get, because humans are messy and full of contradictions. And if you're sitting there and you're going, 'What's he going to say next?' That, to me, is the excitement in stand-up. 'I only chose the name [Algorithm] because I went, 'What am I going to call the show?' And I went through all sorts of names. I asked my followers online, 'What do you think I should call it?' They gave me some pretty mad suggestions, like, 'What about Al Porter Rides Again? Or Al Porter Back On Top?' And I went, 'No.' And so then I just saw Tommy [Tiernan] did Tomfoolery, Emma [Doran] did Dilemma!, and I went, 'I'll just take Algorithm.' It feels current but, as I've written the show and now I'm looking back at the material, there is kind of a theme.' Those themes hove towards the online world but also reflect on the sometimes daft reality of life in Ireland, not least being part of Generation Stuck. Porter only properly moved out of his parents' home last year but, as with most situations, he can see an upside. 'If there's one good thing that has come from Generation Stuck, it is that we got to spend a lot of time with our parents,' he says. 'And at the time, when you're going, 'I can't fucking cough in this house,' you know, 'I can't move, I have no space,' and you feel like your future is stalled… but, in retrospect, I think we're all going think it was nice. 'Being left with your parents as the youngest, you're left with them at their oldest. My sister says, 'Oh, I remember when me and Mam went to Torremolinos,' and I'm going, 'I remember when we went to A&E,' — I got these different parents. But whatever it is, it seems to be getting this heartier laugh. And also, maybe I wasn't that relatable when I was 21, because how many people are an all-singing, all-dancing, suit-wearing 21-year-old, hosting a game show. As opposed to now, where you go, 'He's living in a house share, he's 32, he doesn't know if he wants to get married.' Yeah, that's real.' Al Porter in West Cork. Picture: Eddie O'Hare ALLEGATIONS And here we must talk about that younger iteration of Al, not least because Al will talk about him. Back in mid-2017, allegations of inappropriate behaviour were made against Porter. By November 2019, a charge of sexual assault against him was dropped in Dublin District Court but it was late 2023 before he really moved to return to stand-up and performing. He had gone from absolute media ubiquity to nothing. It was from those dark and confusing years, he says, that he emerged not only sober but intensely reflective about his past behaviour — a personal reconstruction that continues today. 'The joy of it now is definitely not needing it [fame] for validation,' he says. 'And there's only one reason for that, because I, hand on heart, believe I would have become a very strange person and very maybe unhappy person if I didn't drastically change what I valued once I was not doing it any more. Because what I realised was there was nothing I liked about myself and nothing I valued other than other people's opinion of me back then. And then it was gone. 'And so every night I went out there to convince the audience I was great. I was funny. 'Love me, love me, love me.' And if I got that, great, and then I needed the next fix of that, and now that I don't need that, because there are things I value that are to do with personal intention, and that then extends out to family and friends and your God [etc]. So I don't need the audience to like or love me. I don't need it so I don't want anything from them. So now it's even more joyous because it's more generous. 'Because now I go out and go, 'I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than here tonight. I'm going to give you what I got. I hope you like it.' And then I leave, and I really don't worry about whether they loved it or not. Of course, if they fucking hate it, you go, 'Fuck,'' he adds, laughing. It is a serious business, however; the internet never forgets and Porter says he could never have swept everything to one side. 'I'll never forget,' he says, 'I mean, it's not unrealistic to say that, I think about it every single day. And you've got to be careful, because you'll drive yourself mad, to not relive it every single day. I know the mistakes I made that put me in the vulnerable position that I ended up in, you know, in the sense that I know the ways in which I wasn't respectful to other people, or recklessly was inconsiderate of other people, or regardless of intention, because, you know, we judge ourselves by our intentions, but we judge other people by their actions. "But I know the moments where I go, 'I wish I could redo that,' knowing what I know now. But if you relived that, how can you move on and live your life and be a good person? So when I say I think about it every day, every day, I remember, this is how you fucked up. You know how that all played out, and you've got to renew that commitment to yourself, to, as I call it, living your amends, you know — go 'You've got to be the better person today,' again and again.' Given that we live in the age of the spoofer and the double-down, of zero accountability and shameless non-apologies, Porter, at the very least, appears to be reckoning with this past through how he lives his present. He doesn't see people buying tickets to his shows as either forgiveness or as people forgetting, though it could be either or neither; instead, he sees it simply as a show of support. He says his last show was the therapy, and this one is the party. 'You know, one woman emailed me and said, 'I have my own fucking problems. I don't need to come to Al Porter for 15 minutes of you telling me that you're an arsehole.' But I wrote back and said, 'Listen, I think you'll prefer next year's show, because I think I'll be in a better position to say, 'We already talked about that.'' Yet he's still very much happy to talk about that. 'A good thing to do sometimes is to play a game in your imagination and go, 'If 92-year-old me — please God, I get to 92 — could look back at 32-year-old me and say, 'Was I using the time I got in a way that I'm proud of?' I would say, when I play that imagination game, I go, 'Yeah.' I wouldn't want to come back and shake me and go, 'What are you doing?' 'And I feel like if 18-year-old me could have seen 23-year-old me, like a video, he would have said, 'What the fuck is that?' I really think the person I was who was kind of a smart kid, kind of a nice kid, a smiley kid, and you know, would I have liked the 23-year-old, [who was] very caught up in ideas about ambition and in a haze of money and drink and blah. If 18-year-old me could see me now and know what I've got kind of coming down the line, I think they would go, 'Oh, that makes sense, yeah. That seems like me.'' Porter recently posted an old photograph on Instagram, showing a heavier, drowsier-looking Al. It was posted, he says, as an act of gratitude, a way of signposting his path to today, in keeping with attending AA meetings and in the context of an ongoing autism assessment and all the other facets of his life now. But he draws my attention to an extensive exchange underneath the photograph, in which a woman takes issue with Porter, revealing she knows one of the people Porter says he has apologised to, and querying whether what is on display — the contrition, the reflection, the life rebuild — is for real. 'I tried to respond by making living amends. I haven't gone without punishment but I also believe in rehabilitation,' Al reads from one of his replies. 'I'm saying I messed up, and will try to work on myself. You're saying you doubt the sincerity of it. I'll have to keep walking my path, knowing not everyone will accept it. I wish you the best. She said, 'I appreciate your response... and I sincerely hope that your behaviour has changed.' So the conversation was worth having.' Porter seems to be having that conversation with himself a lot. 'The thing about it is that you can perform authenticity but that's not authenticity,' he says. 'I just feel freer on stage. I just feel I'm not trying to be anything other than good. OK, so I have one mission, like I don't have a podcast to protect, I don't have a sponsor, I don't have a TV show. I'm not a culture warrior. I'm not left wing, I'm not right wing, you know, so I've got one job and I'm going, 'It's simplified.'' NO BUDGET Al Porter on stage. Does he miss all that — the shows, the glitzier opportunities? 'Well, firstly, nobody's asked, so I don't want people to go, 'You weren't fucking asked,'' he says with a chuckle. 'But theoretically, if I was asked, no. Because I've learned from experience that I spread myself thin. I thought the more I did, the better it reflected on me, like, 'I can do everything. I can do radio. I can write for newspapers. I can do TV. I can write pantomimes. I can write plays. I can do stand-up, and then I can host.' And you end up on fucking Big Week on the Farm, or, you know, eating a sandwich on The Six O'Clock Show, and you just go, 'Wait, sorry, what? How did I get here? Why am I milking a cow on Big Week on the Farm?'' Porter references class quite often, in terms of writing a Perrier Award-nominated show while also seeking a broad appeal, the kind of Frankie Howerd effect. 'I do have a sentimental streak,' he says. 'I think it's something sometimes that working-class writers have. Sometimes, like any man in a working-class pub that I hang out with, can be a bit like when Eamon Dunphy gets teary-eyed at the end of the night, but there is that sentimental thing of needing broad entertainment, of needing to laugh because you'd cry otherwise.' His play, called The Kavanaghs and likely to receive a big push in 2027, has been co-written with Karl Spain and with Porter's longtime partner, Mike, acting as sounding board. Porter will play a role but only due to budget constraints, recalling how he was told: 'You have to do it, right, because you're going to do it for free.' He is, he says, 'at a crossroads'. 'I don't know if I'll do a standard tour again,' he says. 'But maybe I will. But I'm not trying to do it like it's the farewell tour. I'm about less bells and whistles now. The less bells and whistles the better. I do a stand-up joke about Instagram speak where I go, 'I am delighted to announce that, due to phenomenal demand,' you know, people say this every day, and then I go, 'I am relieved to announce, that due to financial pressure…' 'The only reason that I would say, 'Oh, I don't know if there'd be another tour like this,' is not because I don't enjoy it. I mean, I really love it. I wouldn't have gone back to it if it wasn't that I loved it so much, and it's like, I feel like I disappear on stage.' The stage is a kind of sanctuary — arguably the most exposed type of sanctuary you can get but the one he's rooted to all the same. Any diverting from it, he says, would be because other things will come along, and he's not talking about going back to presenting Blind Date. Instead, it is the possibility of travel, the reality of studying theology, and the actual process, already under way, of becoming a certified celebrant. But maybe, given how he wanted to be a priest when he was younger and he prays before going on stage, this shouldn't be such a surprise. 'This is a faith-neutral place, it's not humanist or secular,' he explains. 'If you're a humanist celebrant, you absolutely cannot introduce faith. Whereas what I would be doing is a faith-neutral, inter-faith course, so if you say to me, 'I'm Muslim, I'm Christian, I'm not really practising, but Nana would like to hear something she recognises, and Dad would like to hear [something]…' I would be in a position to say, 'I know a little bit about that, I know some readings from here, readings from there, here are some poems, let's mix it up.'' He could be available for the gig 'basically, in a year' and, as to the reasons why, he says: 'To be a part of that special moment in somebody's life, whether it is a funeral, a naming ceremony, or a wedding, which is more joyous, but to be there and to be a part of it. I think a lot of it is word of mouth that you get those gigs. Who is going to want Alan Kavanagh to celebrate their wedding? But some people might.' The younger Al Porter seemed to occupy all the spotlight. Present-day Alan Kavanagh has no such issue. 'If I do my job right it'll be more about them than it will be about me,' he says. And, just for a second, he sounds like the kid who's just landed the role, the fella who's dazed and a little nervous about it all. As Gerry Ryan said all those years ago, what a great part to get. Al Porter is at Cork Opera House on August 31. Read More What we know about that couple on Coldplay's kiss cam
Irish Independent
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Wicklow music teacher and Eurosong finalist to return home on debut album tour
Launched at the Mermaid Arts Centre in January, the album is a heartfelt collection of songs that span themes of love, loss, and life-changing events, showcasing former Eurosong finalist Naoimh's dynamic range as a vocalist and songwriter, with musical arrangements that blend elements of theatre, country, rock, and classical influences. Charting a musical journey that has seen her perform at the Cork Opera House, the National Concert Hall, on RTE, BBC, in musical theatre, and become a music teacher in Loreto Abbey Dalkey, No Fury is an eclectic mix of genres and styles that perfectly mirror the varied experiences that have shaped Naoimh's life and music. Alongside performances at Whelan's (June 29) in Dublin, Wexford Arts Centre (July 18), the Civic Studio Theatre in Tallaght (August 16), Naoimh will return home to Arklow for an intimate concert at Studio 55 in the Bridgewater Shopping Centre on July 12 at 8.30 pm. Giddy with anticipation ahead of her homecoming, Naoimh said: 'It's the most panoramic location in the town, the views are spectacular and it's home to my friend Martina Lynch, director of the Studio 55 Dance Academy.' A limited number of tickets are available for Naoimh's Studio 55 gig via Once sold out, no tickets will be available at the door on the night.
Irish Independent
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Cork singer takes starring role on Opera House stage amid array of concerts celebrating its 170th
Corkman Today at 08:00 Cork Opera House continues to keep the people of Leeside and those further afield entertained as the venue unveils three shows as part of its 170th anniversary celebrations. Following a Gala Concert earlier this year and the launch of its Send It Home campaign to collect historic memorabilia, the venue continues to entertain. The first of the unique shows, Hänsel und Gretel, takes to the stage on Sunday, August 24. The classic opera will be performed by members of the Cara O'Sullivan Associate Artists programme. Cork mezzo-soprano Niamh O'Sullivan (Hänsel) and Wexford soprano Kelli-Ann Masterson (Gretel) debut in the title roles of this fairy tale opera. They are joined by Rory Dunne, Bríd Ní Ghruagáin and Emma Nash and the Cork Opera House Concert Orchestra conducted by Elaine Kelly. A night celebrating Cork and Irish traditional music swiftly follows on Wednesday, September 10, as a collaboration with Masters of Tradition, an internationally renowned Bantry-based festival. Martin Hayes is the Artistic Director and he is set to curate an evening full of music with several special guests, including Hayes' long-time collaborator, the acclaimed pianist, composer, and arranger Cormac McCarthy. The third instalment of this special 170th announcement will present a dazzling evening of music that pays tribute to Cork Opera House's rich jazz heritage. Swingin' & In Time – Jazz Giants at Cork Opera House Through the Decades - is a high-energy, glamorous celebration of jazz, featuring the dynamic Paul Dunlea Big Band and curated by acclaimed trombonist, arranger and composer Paul Dunlea. He will recreate some iconic jazz moments that blessed the Opera House stage over the decades with esteemed performances by Ella Fitzgerald, Mel Tormé, Buddy Rich, Maynard Ferguson, and Blossom Dearie. Swingin' & In Time will hit the stage on Saturday, September 27. ADVERTISEMENT Learn more Cork Opera House CEO and Artistic Director, Eibhlín Gleeson said the newly announced productions are 'a celebration of opera, traditional music and jazz.' 'Created in collaboration with some of Ireland's most esteemed artists and musicians, these performances reflect Cork Opera House's commitment to celebrating everything that makes Cork unique—its culture, its creativity, and its community. 'Each production is a testament to the innovation and artistry at the heart of Cork Opera House. As we mark 170 years of performance, we invite you to join us in celebrating this milestone with works that honour our past, resonate in the present, and inspire the future,' she concluded. Tickets are now on sale for these performances from and Box Office (021 4270022).
Irish Times
07-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Eileen Walsh: Women actors ‘are like avocados. You're nearly ready, nearly ready - then you're ripe, then you've gone off'
What is the longest period of time you have sat in a venue watching a piece of theatre? Three hours? Four? Maybe six for some rare double or triple bill? Well, from 4pm on Saturday, June 14th to 4pm the following day, actor Eileen Walsh will be spending 24 hours on stage at the Cork Opera House , in a one-off performance of The Second Woman. This is an Irish premiere of the show, running during Cork Midsummer Festival , and a co-production with the Cork Opera House. It was originally created in 2017 by Australians Anna Breckon and Nat Randall, and has been performed in various cities around the world, including Sydney, New York and London. The show is described as 'a durational theatre experience', which sounds about right if you are a member of the audience, but how will the person holding everything together on stage for 24 hours manage to endure in this truly epic role? 'I've done 72 hours in labour,' Walsh says matter-of-factly, as she looks through the lunch menu at Dublin's College Green Hotel. 'You stay awake when you have to.' READ MORE The place is busy and noisy, and there is a particularly loud group sitting in the banquette behind me. As we start talking, I fret a little that my recorder won't pick up Walsh's voice amid the general din of cutlery and lunchtime clamour. But later, when I play back the recording, every word of hers is in there, perfectly clear. Of course it is; it's the voice of an actor, trained to enunciate and carry; to cut through all the noise. Walsh is in an orange singlet and black trouser suit, her dark hair in a ponytail. I know what age she is (48, I've done my research) but if I didn't, I couldn't tell by looking at her enviable chameleon face. The question of age is relevant because this theme is woven through The Second Woman, and her character of Virginia. 'Her age is never mentioned,' Walsh says. 'But it's very much about age and ageing, and about how men see us women.' Walsh has been acting for all of her adult life; in theatre, film and TV. Some of her recent appearances were opposite her old friend Cillian Murphy in the adaptation of Claire Keegan's novella, Small Things Like These ; and in Chris O'Dowd's streaming series Small Town, Big Story . The question is, how is she going to prepare for her latest, and longest, performance? 'I don't know if you can prepare for it, because it is all such an unknown,' she says. 'Part of the preparing for it is a bit like letting go, and trusting in the process. Even if you had done it before, it is an unknown because it would be 100 new situations and 100 new people.' Eileen Walsh: Being a mother is so difficult because you are being constantly pulled. Photograph Nick Bradshaw Walsh will not be alone on stage. Her character Virginia plays the same scene 100 times, each lasting seven minutes, each with a different male character, all called Marty, 100 Martys in total. In Cork, as in other cities where the show has been performed, the Martys are mostly amateurs, with some professionals in the mix. Will there be anyone famous? 'I think there are surprises,' Walsh says cautiously. 'I think it will be a mix of people I have worked with before, and who are interested in the theme of the project. But I don't know, and I won't know until I see them on stage on the night – if there are any. The last thing I want is to spend 24 hours wondering if Liam Neeson is coming.' Or indeed, Cillian Murphy. Or Chris O'Dowd. The core of the lines spoken by each character in each scene stays the same, but the scene itself has the possibility of opening in various different ways. The male character, by improvising, can choose what kind of relationship he wants to have with Virginia. None will have rehearsed with Walsh, so until each scene starts, she will have no idea which back story the person playing opposite her will choose. 'The opening of the scene is a window of opportunity for them to say something along the lines of 'As your brother,' if they don't want any romantic interaction. Or, 'As your dad,' or, 'As your friend.' So they can set their own parameters if they want to. Essentially it is all about relationships.' Stage directions allow for various kinds of action, and little pieces of physical exercise and respite for the actor. 'There's an opportunity to have a dance, there's an opportunity to have a drink, there's an opportunity to sit or to eat. You get an opportunity to sit down briefly, but other than that you are on the go. It's very physical. Then there is an opportunity at the end of each scene for the participant to choose to end the interaction in a positive or negative way. As much as my character is having a monumental breakdown, the men remain main characters in their lives all the time.' Walsh does the scene seven times, with some minutes at the end of each hour to reset the stage again. 'The props might have been moved, the drink might have been spilt. You stay on stage the whole time while that is happening, and then every few hours there's a comfort break, to have a pee, or fix make-up.' In The Second Woman Eileen Walsh plays the same scene 100 times, each lasting seven minutes, each with a different male character, all called Marty, 100 Martys in total. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw When the show was performed in London at the Young Vic in 2023, Walsh queued for three hours to watch a three-hour slot. 'We had to wait for people coming out to be able to buy tickets,' she explains. Walsh had no idea that two years later, she herself would be playing this extraordinary role. How do you rehearse for such a role? 'The rehearsal process is two weeks, and by day two you are working with four actors in turn. They will give me a flavour of what to do if someone freezes on the night, or if they are going on too long.' These actors won't be appearing in the performance; they will be trying to work through some of the different possible variations of the same seven-minute scene. But no element of preparation will come close to replicating what the actual night of performance will bring. Both Breckon and Randall will be coming over to Cork from Australia for the rehearsals, and to see her 24-hour performance. The Second Woman will be Cork-born Walsh's first major stage role in Ireland since returning from Britain last October. She lived there for some 30 years, first with husband Stuart McCaffer, and then as a family with their children, Tippi and Ethel. It's impossible to see acting as a life choice in Ireland now. How do you get a mortgage? Have kids? I don't know how young actors do it — Eileen Walsh 'Tippi is 19 and was born in Edinburgh.' (She's named for Tippi Hedren, now 95, who famously appeared in Hitchcock's The Birds; mother of Melanie Griffith, grandmother of Dakota Johnson.) 'I had watched The Birds, and thought Tippi was such a lovely name,' Walsh says. 'Ethel was born in London and she is 16. The girls were partly responsible for us moving back. Tippi was really interested in coming back and maybe doing drama school here. And we found a lovely school for Ethel. It kind of made sense.' When I ask if her children will be going to see the show, Walsh says her rehearsal time in Cork coincides with Ethel's Junior Cert. She thus won't be available at home for reassuring in-person hugs with her exam student. 'Being a mother is so difficult because you are being constantly pulled.' Tippi and Ethel have a better understanding and tolerance of parents being temporarily absent for work than most of their peers, having been raised in a household with two creative parents (McCaffer is a sculptor). After being away from Ireland for 30 years, both the paucity of available housing and the cost of it was a deep shock to Walsh when they returned. 'Looking for a rental for two adults and two kids, the costs were eye watering. Not only could we not get in the door for a lot of places, but the costs involved in trying to rent a two-bedroom flat while we were looking for a house were crazy. 'The costs are crippling. Dublin is laughing in the face of London when it comes to housing prices.' They did eventually find somewhere. 'We bought a wreck of a house we are desperately trying to do up.' Walsh wonders aloud how actors in Ireland today, especially in Dublin, are managing to develop a professional career while also finding affordable housing. 'I moved out of home at 17 and it was possible to pay your rent – and also have a great time. It is just not possible any more, and I don't know how younger versions of me are coping now. 'Financially it's having the result of turning acting into a middle-class profession, because what young kids from a working class background can afford to hire rehearsal space and to live within Dublin? It's impossible to see acting as a life choice in Ireland now. How do you get a mortgage? Have kids? I don't know how young actors do it. Besides, of course, moving away from Ireland.' Eileen Walsh: 'I moved out of home at 17 and it was possible to pay your rent and also have a great time ... I don't know how younger versions of me are coping now.' Photograph: Nick Bradshaw Back in 1996, when Walsh was still a student, she was cast in the role of Runt opposite Cillian Murphy as Pig in Enda Walsh's seminal then new play, Disco Pigs. (The two Walshes are not related.) The whole thing was a sensational success for all three of them, and burnished their names brightly. When the film version was cast a few years later, Murphy remained in the role of Pig, while Elaine Cassidy was given the role of Runt. Walsh said at the time she didn't even know the auditions were being held. It's a topic that has come up over and over again in interviews during the intervening years, the What If's around that casting. It's clear that Walsh was deeply hurt. She was 'heartbroken' at the decision to not cast her in this role that she had first brought to life. One can only imagine the strain it put on her friendship with Murphy at the time, for a start. It must also have been difficult for Elaine Cassidy to keep hearing publicly how something that was nothing to do with her had so affected the morale of another fellow actor. 'I feel like I've spoken a lot about that,' Walsh says now. 'It was a lesson for me very early on. And it wasn't the first or the last time I got bad news. And just because the role was yours doesn't mean it stays yours. They are heartbreaking things to learn. Or if someone says they want you for a job and then they change their mind, that's a f***ing killer as well. It's not something that gets better with age. It just burns more, because the opportunities are better, so the burn is greater.' [ From the archive: Cillian Murphy and Eileen Walsh on 'Disco Pigs': 'It was the ignorance of youth' Opens in new window ] At this point in our conversation, there are a number of other expletives scattered by Walsh, as if this old and sad wound has triggered some kind of latent, but still important, emotion. We talk for a while about how ageing in the acting profession – wherever one is located in the world – frequently works against women in a way it does not against men. 'I think women are constantly being told that for men, acting is a marathon and for women it's a sprint, because you have a short time to make an impact. You're like an avocado,' she says. I ask her to repeat that last word, unsure if I've heard it correctly. 'Avocado,' she says firmly. 'You're nearly ready, nearly ready – then you're ripe, then you've gone off. That's what you're made to feel like. Do it now, while you're lovely and young and your boobs are still upright, or whatever, While you're taut. And I think that is a total f***ing lie. It might be a marathon for men, but to remain in this business as a woman, it's like a decathlon. You have to f***ing go and go and go and it takes tenaciousness and being stubborn and strident to know your values. 'Men are allowed to feel old and to be seen like a fine wine, whereas I think for women it just takes so much boldness to stay in this profession as you age. And also to play parts where you don't have to always be the f***ing mother or the disappointed wife.' Eileen Walsh as Eileen Furlong in Small Things Like These. Photograph: Enda Bowe In the last year, Walsh has appeared in three significant screen productions: Small Things Like These; Say Nothing , the Disney + adaptation of Patrick Radden Keefe's book about the Troubles in Northern Ireland in which she plays Bridie Dolan, the aunt of Dolours and Marian Price who was blinded in a bomb-making accident; and Small Town, Big Story in the role of Catherine, a wheelchair user who is having a steamy affair with a colleague. In Small Things Like These, she co-stars with Oscar-winning Cillian Murphy, three decades on from Disco Pigs. 'A long circle completed,' she says. [ Small Things Like These: Cillian Murphy's performance is fiercely internalised in a film emblematic of a changing Ireland Opens in new window ] Claire Keegan's novella is set in 1985 in Co Wexford, and focuses on what happens when Bill Furlong, a fuel merchant, husband to Eileen Furlong and father of five daughters, discovers what is going on at the local convent, which is also a laundry that serves the town. Murphy – whom she calls Cill – contacted her when she was playing Elizabeth Proctor in Arthur Miller's The Crucible at the National Theatre in London. He asked her to read the script for Small Things, which Enda Walsh had written. 'I know that Cill as producer was very intent on working with people he knows and loves and worked with previously and had kind of relationships with. The whole movie was spotted with friends and long-time collaborators.' After she had read the script, she went to meet director Tim Mielants. She and Murphy 'had to do something similar to a chemistry meet. That meeting was filmed when we worked on some scenes together.' Small Things Like These: Eileen Walsh as Eileen Furlong and Cillian Murphy as Bill Furlong. Photograph: Enda Bowe/Lionsgate The two play the married couple in the movie, Bill and Eileen Furlong. 'It's a very tired relationship. They are a long time into the marriage, and they are very used to each other, so it's a no chemistry-chemistry meet, if that makes sense.' Walsh got the part. I remind her of what she has said earlier in the interview about being fed up of playing roles of mothers and disappointed wives, which one could see as a fair description of her role of Eileen Furlong. This role, Walsh makes clear, was very different from any kind of generic cliche of playing a mother or wife. 'Playing Eileen, she wasn't a put-upon wife, but was a mirror of what an awful lot of women were like at that time in Ireland. [ Irish Times readers pick Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These as the best Irish book of the 21st century Opens in new window ] 'Claire Keegan's writing is such a gift to any actor. Claire's story behind everybody is very dark. Nobody gets an easy ride with a Claire Keegan character, and that's a real draw to any actor. She doesn't soft soap anything. For me to play that character, to play Eileen, meant I saw so much of my own mother and the women that I grew up underneath, [women] I grew up looking up to. It was a hard time. They were trying to make money stretch very hard, at a time when dinners would have to be simple and very much planned to the last slice of bread. They were not women spouting rainbows.' As it happens, Walsh's next big upcoming role after the Cork Midsummer Festival will be that of Jocasta, Oedipus's mother, in Marina Carr's new play, The Boy. It will open at the Abbey in the autumn as part of the Dublin Theatre Festival. She'll play a mother in this interpretation of a Greek myth, certainly, but again, no ordinary one. Rehearsals start in July. [ From the archive: Eileen Walsh: How I reconcile motherhood with playing Medea Opens in new window ] Meanwhile, back to her modern-day Greek marathon in Cork this month. Due to the length of the show, there are a variety of ticket types the public can avail of. You can buy a ticket for the entire 24 hours, and either stay at the venue for the whole time or leave and return. On return, you may have to queue again and wait for a seat to become free. Other tickets are being sold for scheduled time slots for a number of hours. If you choose to come for the 2am slot, for instance, you'll pay a bit less for your ticket. There will also be some tickets available at the door, although it's likely you'll have to queue. There will be pop-up food and drink venues in the foyer to provide sustenance. The Cork Opera House has a capacity of 1,000 seats. If those seats keep turning over a during the 24 hours, thousands of people will have an opportunity to see this remarkable highlight of Cork Midsummer Festival: truly a night like no other this year in Ireland.
