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Irish Examiner
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Bernard O'Shea: Five things I had to explain to my kids about video rental shops
Last week, our family movie night ended in chaos over what to watch. I launched into telling my kids about video rental shops: places where families argued in public aisles, vied for VHS tapes, and paid fines as a rite of passage. 1. Friday night was an event When I told my kids that movie night used to mean leaving the house, hunting through aisles, and negotiating a family truce over which VHS to take home—rather than just scrolling and putting Shrek 2 on again — they looked at me as though I'd confessed to eating gravel daily. In the 90s, Friday night meant one thing: a pilgrimage to Xtra-vision or Chartbusters. You didn't 'pick a film' — you committed to an evening-long family summit, complete with heated debates in the aisles. Back then, choice was both a blessing and a curse. There were no algorithms spoon-feeding you, 'Because you watched Mrs. Doubtfire, here's every film Robin Williams ever made.' You had to walk the aisles yourself, judging VHS boxes purely by their cover art and hoping the one copy wasn't already gone. (And when it was gone, oh, the heartbreak. That empty space behind the display box? That was my first experience of grief.) Video rental shops sprang up throughout Ireland during the 1980s, thanks to the advent of the VCR. By the early 90s, nearly every town had one. Xtra-vision alone had over 200 stores nationwide at its peak. If you were under 18 or over 40 and wanted to stay in on a Friday night, this was your spot. The former Xtravision, Douglas, Cork: one of many houses of wonder that used to dot the high streets of Ireland 2. Late fees were real and personal My children have never known true fear. I'm not talking about the modern fears — climate change, AI, or the Wi-Fi going down. I mean the creeping dread of realising at 8.55pm that your rented movie was due back at 6pm… three days ago. I once returned Mulholland Drive two months late — the late fee was more than I could have invested as a junior producer. But the real cost was the shame: the staff would scan your card, look you in the eye, and calmly announce the fee to the whole shop. Culturally, this was Ireland at its best: a system based on guilt. The staff didn't have to say anything. They'd just scan your card, pause, look at you over the top of the computer, and quietly announce the fee. The whole shop heard it. Suddenly, you weren't just the fella renting Speed 2: Cruise Control — you were the community's delinquent. 3. The panic of the last copy Explaining this to my kids was like trying to teach the cat about the emotional impact of the Leaving Cert. In the streaming era, nothing 'runs out.' But in the 90s, scarcity was part of the game. You'd walk into Xtra-vision, desperate for Independence Day, spotting that glorious cover art with Will Smith. You'd reach behind the display box—cold, empty metal. Someone got there first, and you could only imagine them in pyjamas, smugly watching your movie. Back then, this scarcity made films more desirable. When there's less of something, you want it more. In the 1980s and early 90s, this didn't just apply to video shops — it applied to everything from public phones to tickets for Garth Brooks (yes, that one came full circle!). In rental shops, getting the last copy inspired a strange mix of pride and envy. If you got one, you'd guard it with your life. The counter at a Chartbusters' in Galway: a nest of temptations to go alongside your prized rentals. 4. Impulse snacks were a trap Video shops had a hidden agenda: luring you with treats. The counter was loaded with popcorn, jelly snakes, Maltesers, and old-school glass-bottled Coke. I'd go in for Apollo 13, and leave with enough sweets for a rugby team. Culturally, the upsell was genius. Ireland in the 90s was just getting used to the idea of 'treats' not being rationed. Marketing psychology tells us that point-of-sale treats work because you're already in a 'yes' mindset. You've committed to spending money, so your brain is primed for add-ons. In my case, it meant a Topic (yes, a weird choice but still my favourite bar EVER) and 14 packets of Tayto waffles. Make sure that's rewound before you hand it back! Pic: iStock 5. Rewinding was mandatory After watching a VHS tape, rewinding wasn't optional. When my kids heard that, they stared at me as if I had said we used to turn the moon by hand. In the rental shop days, 'Please Rewind' stickers were everywhere — on the case, on the tape, sometimes even on your account if you were a repeat offender. Not rewinding was the height of selfishness. It wasn't just lazy; it was antisocial. It was the film equivalent of leaving the jacks without flushing. Historically, rewinding became such an issue that shops started charging a 'rewind fee.' Americans called it the 'Be Kind, Rewind' campaign, but Irish shops skipped the kindness and went straight to quiet resentment. Video rental shops taught us more than films — patience, compromise, and the adrenaline of winning the last copy of Speed 2 (I still maintain it wasn't a bad choice).
Irish Examiner
24-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Stitch review: Irene Kelleher shines in dark tale set on Cork's Shandon Street
Stitch, J Nolan's Stationery Shop, Shandon St, Cork Midsummer Festival ★★★★☆ Watching a play set at the spookiest time of the year, performed in a dark and gloomy old shop, on the day of the summer solstice, when the sun is splitting the stones outside creates a somewhat jarring disconnect. However, it is an unsettling feeling that is perfectly in tune with the themes of Stitch, a one-woman play performed by Irene Kelleher as part of Cork Midsummer Festival. The play makes good use of its site-specific location — a former shop on Shandon Street, here brilliantly transformed by set designer Jenny Whyte into Pins and Needles, a dilapidated seamstress's premises in a small Irish town. It is Halloween night, 1989, and the shop is about to be turned into an Xtravision but one tenant remains, a girl called Alice. This is no wonderland, however, and soon we discover the sad and horrifying story of Alice's past and the scars she bears, both visible and invisible. Stitch was performed at the a former stationery shop on Shandon Street, Cork. As well as the reminders of real-life tragedies and the repression and pious hypocrisy of Irish society, there are disturbing echoes of the folk horror of The Wicker Man as Alice talks of the crowning of the Samhain Festival Queen, and The Butcher Boy, when she dances around wearing a pig mask. It is truly heartrending to witness Alice, with her hair in girlish plaits, cuddling her beloved cat and crying for her mammy. When she fantasises about how all of the locals who colluded in her nightmarish existence will burn on the Samhain pyre, you feel like picking up a torch and joining her. Irene Kelleher in Stitch. Picture: Marcin Lewandowski Kelleher is also on writing duties for Stitch, and the ingenious use of rhyme effectively conveys the horrific adult experiences Alice has been exposed to as a child. Her performance too bursts with imagination — she conjures up entire characters from the rags and remnants that surround her — although the splenetic rage can sometimes tip over into melodrama. Overall, it is a feat of extraordinary commitment, made even more impressive by the fact that Kelleher performed Stitch in tandem with another one-woman show in the festival, Footnote. Her vision is realised with skill and verve by director Regina Crowley, while production, overseen by Michael Anthony Greene, is outstanding, with sound and lighting design by Cormac O'Connor and costumes and masks by Valentina Gambardella adding greatly to the overall atmosphere.
Irish Examiner
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
A Stitch in summertime: Shandon Street shop to host one of Irene Kelleher's plays
Cork writer and actor Irene Kelleher has two one-woman shows at the Cork Midsummer Festival (CMF) in June. One of them is site-specific, taking place in an old shop on Shandon Street. The former J Nolan Stationery shop felt perfect for Kelleher's show, Stitch, which she describes as 'haunting". The play is set in a garment alteration shop in 1989. Pins and Needles, as it is called, is about to close down and be taken over by Xtravision. 'It was a family business but the only people left are seamstress Alice and her aunt Katie who live over the shop,' says Kelleher. 'It's going to be a huge change for Alice who, when the play opens, has been down in the basement for seven months, only coming up at night when there's nobody on the street. She has been doing her work in the basement. The place has quite a history.' The play, loosely inspired by Frankenstein, is set at Halloween. Alice is particularly busy getting costumes ready for the spooky night ahead. Kelleher says that for her character, the past is lingering in the walls. Why the site specific setting rather than a traditional theatre space? 'When I performed my show, Gone Full Havisham, in the penthouse of the Clayton Hotel in 2019 for the CMF, there was something incredibly special for audiences about seeing it there," says Kelleher. "We created a world into which the audience was thrown. When I write a play, I always think of the audience experience, trying to create it in my head. I thought it would be amazing if Stitch could be done in a shop where there's ghosts in the walls. "When I went to see the shop, there was an old Singer sewing machine there which I took as a sign.' Irene Kelleher. Kelleher's other play, Footnote, set in a bookshop, will be performed by her at the Cork Theatre Collective Studio at the Triskel. The comedy already had a performance as a work-in-progress on Culture Night at Cork City Library last year. It was inspired by Kelleher's experience of working in the former Liam Ruiseal's bookshop while she was studying English, and Theatre and Drama Studies at UCC. It is directed by Laura O'Mahony who also worked in the shop as a student of drama. 'We always thought a bookshop would be a great setting for a play. Laura has done some brilliant comedic sketches set in a bookshop over the years. I always wanted to write something in that setting but it took me a while to come up with the central character.' Kelleher created the character of Noreen, a struggling writer, who lives in the shadow of her famous (fictional) mother, a poet and feminist activist. Whether Kelleher's real-life daughters will live in her shadow remains to be seen. The writer/actor is no pushy stage mom. While Marie (three-and-a-half) and Katie (two) will be free to pursue their own interests, which for the eldest child, involves attending dance classes, Kelleher says, half-jokingly, she hopes Marie will go into credit control. Such is her attitude to the insecure nature of working in the arts. However, Kelleher says she would 'go insane' if she had a more regular job. 'I always knew this is what I wanted to do. It's important for me to keep working and to keep creative. I know I'm in a privileged position in that I don't have to work full time.' Cork Midsummer Festival As the chief carer for her daughters, Kelleher says she is now very particular about what work she will take on. Writing plays was initially an outlet for performance but Kelleher has really grown to love the art form and she can work at it around her children's activities. Her husband, Denis O'Sullivan, works from home for an American IT company and Kelleher says he is very supportive. Kelleher will be busy for six weeks in the lead up to and during the CMF. 'We make it work. Denis will be off for two weeks during my busy time. After that, the cavalry – the grannies and aunties – will help out," she explains. The two shows are produced by Mighty Oak Productions, with Stitch directed by Regina Crowley. Cormac O'Connor has designed the soundscape and has also branched into lighting. Costumes are a huge part of Stitch and are designed by Valentia Gambardella. Kelleher says she feels honoured to have two shows being staged in the CMF. 'They are very different and they reflect me as an artist.' Stitch is on from June 13-22 apart from June 16 and 17 at J Nolan 21, Shandon Street. Footnote is on June 14, 16 and 17 at the Triskel. See
