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The Guardian
a day ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Lost Lear review – Shakespeare's king holds court in a care home
A play remains a classic for as long as it continues to yield new meanings. Shakespeare's King Lear, for example, remains open to interpretation. Its story of a retiring king bequeathing his lands to his daughters before descending into madness can, in the right hands, engage with many themes in the modern day including dementia. It was not really necessary for writer-director Dan Colley to construct a whole new play about it, but that is what the Irish theatre-maker has done in Lost Lear. Venetia Bowe plays a retired actor, now resident in a care home, whose memory has faded in every respect apart from a word-perfect recall of Shakespeare's play. To keep her relaxed, the staff take on the parts of Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and the Fool as she loops repeatedly through her favourite scenes of parental regret. The idea recalls Enda Walsh's The Walworth Farce, in which a family protect themselves from the outside world by endlessly performing a shaky comedy, and it has a similar interest in mental decline. The difficulty with plays on this theme is that dementia is a mental state, not a dramatic question. You can evoke the dislocation it creates, as well as the sense of loss and frustration it leaves for loved ones, but you cannot resolve it. In a classy production, Lost Lear evokes it well. Joined by Peter Daly, Manus Halligan, Em Ormonde and Clodagh O'Farrell on Andrew Clancy's institutional set, Bowe is the youthful woman trapped in an elderly body that we see only as the show progresses. First, we know her for her exacting standards, her brusque disregard for anyone but herself and her facility with language. Only later do we see her as a fragile old woman. Nothing can change, but the play has a sentimental appeal. At the Traverse, Edinburgh, until 24 August All our Edinburgh festival reviews
Daily Mail
01-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Sing Street is a feel-good, Eighties Irish fairy tale. Nerdy new boy forms a band and gets the cool girl. What's not to like, says Georgina Brown
Sing Street (Lyric Hammersmith) Verdict: Sounds like teen spirit Rating: The School Of Rock meets The Commitments in this rough but ready Dublin-set film-to-stage musical. In the opening image, a dolls' house is pulled apart to reveal what's happening inside. Three kids are watching Top of the Pops in the bad-old Eighties, drooling over the New Romantics, bopping to Blondie. It's the highlight of the week for this once 'posh' family which has run out of money because of Dublin's flat economy and even worse, run out of luck. Conor's mum is having an affair, his dad is drinking, his dope-smoking brother can't get himself out of the house, his new Christian Brothers school (motto: 'Act Manfully') is run by bullies and the headmaster hates him. In a bid to impress (actually, get off with) a punky wannabe model, Raphina (Grace Collender), Conor asks her to be in his music video. The lad hasn't even got a band. Lucky, then, that Sheridan Townsley's Conor has a fabulous voice and, with a smear of eye-liner and lipstick, is rock-star gorgeous. Oh, and all his gawky, gormless mates just happen to be super-talented musicians. The band is born. Characters are flimsy, the plot schematic and predictable in Enda Walsh's book, which may just as well have been written by Chat GPT on a bad day. Eventually Rebecca Taichman's wonderfully winning production collapses into an all-out gig. But such is the teen spirit, the astonishing energy and raw talent of all involved, with many of the performers making their theatre debut, Sing Street sings loud and clear about the possibility — no, the absolute certainty — of dreams coming true and the irresistible power of music. And a couple of the numbers (music and lyrics by John Carney and Gary Clark) have staying power. 'Girls', sung by Conor and his sister and then reprised by Raphina, is one; Conor's sweet, funny, catchy Up is another. An Irish fairy tale on many levels. What's not to like?
Irish Times
21-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Enda Walsh's The Baby's Room: an evocative moment of self-realisation
The Baby's Room Bailey Allen Hall, University of Galway ★★★★☆ This is a baby's room, or perhaps a livingroom with baby accoutrements: cot with mobile playing, changing table and gear, assorted toys. Stair gate, but retro carpet. Victoriana prints of paintings of children on the wall over the cot. Low lighting, babyhood clutter, a 1970s couch. But this baby, Hannah, is now 32, and about to marry. It's the 12th in the series of Rooms, short, intense, immersive, intimate theatre installations created for Galway International Arts Festival , written and directed by Enda Walsh and designed by the festival's artistic director Paul Fahy. Together they have built, are still building, into a delicious collection of brief vignettes capturing glimpses of diverse lives. In very small groups, an audience of benign voyeurs spend about 15 minutes in a Room, soaking up the sense of place that is the setting for a brief audio monologue. It's like dipping into another person's world at a point in time, eavesdropping briefly on their inner thoughts. The Rooms have premiered in Galway, some touring to Washington, New York and London. READ MORE Here in 2025 in the Baby's Room we join Hannah's consciousness in a wedding outlet in Dublin's northside, and a moment of panic or distress about her life. Kate Gilmore – following her dazzling performance in the Abbey production at the Peacock of Safe House, a song-cycle memory play by Walsh and Anna Mullarkey – voices Hannah. Baby's Room is an evocative moment of self-realisation at a turning point. [ Actor Kate Gilmore: 'I look at myself – no mortgage, my car is falling apart, I have no money in the bank' Opens in new window ] Stood still in the wedding outlet, she rewinds back through her life at breakneck speed, pulled back in reverse through small moments of regret in her life. As a child she lived in the shadow of her sister, was left behind as friends made better lives; her own was one of passivity, lacking fulfilment or direction. The words tumble and stumble out as she spins backwards, realising not much has happened in her life, that it has been defined by other people, that she never found her own voice, never woke up or spoke up. It's a sudden moment of self-awareness, in a life seemingly devoid of it. She hurtles back through time to that point in our lives when the slate is blank and her life is in front of her, a moment of promise and love, when other directions are possible, in the cot as a baby, her voice a wail. Runs until July 27th at the Bailey Allen Hall
The Herald Scotland
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Herald Scotland
The Union flag is an object of sexual desire, is it? Don't be absurd
Glasgow often plays home to the absurdist. Former Tron Theatre Artistic Director Andy Arnold delighted in Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe – and then dad dances to a T-Rex song. Why? We never found out. Nor were we supposed to. At the same theatre, Martin McCormick's Ma, Pa and the Little Voices featured Karen Dunbar as a heavily pregnant 80-year-old who lives with Pa, in a hi-rise flat in which ornaments are plastered to the wall. Why? We don't know. Dunbar also appeared in the same theatre in Samuel Beckett's Happy Days, playing a woman trapped in a pile of rising dirt that wasn't a metaphor for the state of sketch comedy in Scotland, but a . . . Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe (Image: free) Ah, but that's the point of absurdist theatre. We aren't supposed to understand it. Absurdism is 'a philosophy that explores the inherent meaninglessness of existence and the human search for meaning in a meaningless world.' When Beckett's Waiting for Godot tells of two men sitting waiting for something to happen while talking mince, this meaninglessness is supposed to prompt us into thinking about meaning. (Or is it?) Yet, it only prompted the thought; 'Why didn't I pay attention to the Godot crit that said of the structure; 'A play where nothing happens. Twice.' Keen to understand the intent of absurdist theatre I asked a friend, who's a fan. Is Beckett really telling us to get off our a*** and do something? 'That's for the individual to work out,' he grinned, mischievously. Yes, you can see Beckett's roots in existentialism - god will never arrive – but if he is presenting a world where hope and promise are denied should we stand at the bus stop every morning in the full knowing the McGill's No 38 to Paisley will never arrive? Yet, if absurdist theatre is so lacking in meaning and content, why does it continue to fill halls? My absurdist chum suggested its abstract content is wide in its appeal, exemplified by the luring of variety hall star Max Wall to do Krapp, a performer who also appeared in Crossroads. Oh, come on! Crossroads was entirely more thought provoking. And it didn't feature storylines that ran on an endless loop. (Well, not always.) Read more The popularity however could be down to two reasons; theatre critics are reluctant to say it's simply keech for fear of not being considered clever. Indeed, one wrote excitedly of Ballyturk's 'sheer exuberance' and then claimed, 'The great thing is that it's a play you don't have to understand in order to enjoy.' Very often the critics will accentuate the 'fabulous design', or 'the glorious acting' of the likes of Maxine Peake in Happy Days. (Blatantly ignoring Henry Winkler's contribution.) And while audiences may be baffled by the gibberish, they get to meet in the bar afterwards and proclaim in haughty tones. 'I just love the fact that it makes you think.' Perhaps they should think that abstract theatre is, for the most part, lazy. Yes, Rhinoceros, in which the inhabitants of a French village gradually turn into beasts, is an allegory for French capitulation with the Nazis. But when so much of the dialogue is at best obtuse – and kazoos are used to illustrate the rhinos - it's hard to see beyond the bonkers. Of course, modern absurdist playwrights can claim to be following Camus in believing that the universe ultimately undermines any attempt to create meaning or find purpose. But does featuring illogical dialogue, bizarre situations, and a lack of traditional dramatic structure – and covering a naked man in flour and dancing to Get It On - really explore existential questions about life and the human condition? No. What it does is allow writers to come up with a play in double quick time, have it staged and move onto the next one; don't sit for months developing believable characters, giving them relatable characteristics. Don't bother coming up with a strong narrative and a twist at the end. Don't waste your time writing dialogue that's deliciously clever, wicked or funny. And with a simpatico artistic director behind you can pass it off as having real meaning – because you're underscoring the philosophy that life has none. There's a current argument for absurdist work which suggests it's an ideal way to satirise our modern times, that political discourse in particular has become so meaningless we've come to an acceptance of lies, clowns and a blatant refusal to answer a question. But can we really satirise the mangoheid who runs the White House? Do we need theatrical word splattering to confirm world chaos is ensuing? Can we not simply read the Dow Jones? Fawlty Towers with Prunella Scales as Sybil, John Cleese as Basil, Connie Booth as Polly and Andrew Sachs as Manuel (Image: PA) Sure, Ionesco wished to highlight that the human race in general is illogical, filled with loquaciousness and incapable of cogent analysis. But didn't John Cleese manage that wonderfully in Fawlty Towers? Wasn't frantic futility handled beautifully in Galton and Simpson's Steptoe and Son? And if you're keen to explore nihilism or Sartre's argument that god is dead then go see Glengarry Glen Ross next time around. And forget Happy Days; if you want to hear a woman despair for 90 minutes, stand outside the Forge Bingo Hall in Duke Street at closing time. But here's the main reason why I reject absurdist theatre. When we park our collective backsides in an auditorium, we're all too often treated to moments and minutes of joy, of wondrousness, of despair, grief, love and loss – and laughter. Sadly, absurdist theatre takes us nowhere but perhaps deeper into the confusion in our own heads. Meanwhile, as critic Michael Billington writes, 'Audiences are hungry for information and enlightenment.' Yet having said all that, and realising I've come to the end of this column without an idea for a pithy, clever ending I've suddenly realised I actually do love absurdism - and so can abdicate the need to make sense. So just imagine me singing 'Get it on, bang a gong, get it on . . .' Fleg shows from Sat 26 Apr - Sat 17 May 2025 at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow
