Reviewstoday looks at Rita Dunneat the Civic Theatre in Tallaght and Students of Sheffield University/Lawrence-King in St Bartholomew's, Dublin
Rita Dunne
Civic Theatre, Tallaght
The opportunity for political theatre in Ireland appears to have shrunk in the 21st century amidst tabloid trends and demands for "transparency", not to mention the 24-hour live theatre of the ongoing tribunals. Sensationalist headlines and phone-in-show speculation has made every hack writer a potential dramatist and every citizen a political philosopher.
This is something that Pat Talbot, writing and directing here for Everyman Palace Theatre, is keenly aware of. "What is reality anyway?" his fictional taoiseach, Willie Dunne (Frank Melia), asks on the eve of his resignation. "Is it what you see on the telly? What you hear on the radio?"
However, in Rita Dunne, Talbot's inspection of the contemporary political sphere cuts no deeper than mere reportage. The eponymous heroine, Rita, is the taoiseach's ex-wife, separated from her husband for eight years. The compact 90-minute play is set in her living room, where Rita, daughter Aileen, and eventually Willie himself, take refuge from the paparazzi whose voracious appetite has been piqued by the recent revelations of the tribunal. Personal life, the unfolding drama reveals, is under constant siege by political events - "You were never a leader in this house," Rita makes clear.
But as Willie gradually resigns himself to resignation, his family is finally set free.
Rita's personal recollections, framed in poetic monologues, are interspersed with the naturalistic exposition of the domestic drama, but the balance between the two dramatic styles is never fully achieved. Rita's memories are suffused with a strange nostalgia that suggests a martyred mother and willing victim complex, and Deirdre Monaghan's unflappably buoyant performance adds another layer to this surface-thin characterisation.
Meanwhile, the struggle between Rita and Willie and Aileen seems hysterical by contrast, with the rudimentary ingredients of a soap opera despite - in fact because of - the real-life parallels with Bertie Ahern's lately collapsed career. Amidst the bickering and cliche-laden banter (perhaps fittingly, all "cloak and dagger" and "crazy games"), Vanessa Keogh's spirited performance as "soldier girl" Aileen is the most believable and realistic.
Talbot's play is often quite funny - the familiar gaze of hindsight providing ample opportunity for irony - and the exposition provides a faithful account of Ireland's political leadership over the last few decades.
However, its determination to dramatise the most recent events in Irish political history - events that are less than three months old - is the undoing of Rita Dunne, and the imaginative leap that Talbot makes is perhaps more fit for the pub than for the theatre.
• Run continues at the Civic Theatre, Tallaght, until Sat, July 19, then transfers to the Everyman Palace Theatre, Cork, from July 22 to Aug 2
SARA KEATING
Students of Sheffield University/Lawrence-King
St Bartholomew's, Dublin
Spanish opera, like English opera, is almost a contradiction in terms. Both nations succumbed to Italian influence after 1700, but not before producing notable home-grown prototypes. With a text by Pedro Calderón de la Barca and music by court harpist Juan Hidalgo, Celos aun del aire matan( Even groundless jealousy can prove fatal) assertively supplants Italianate arias with strophic songs in catchy Hispanic dance rhythms.
Its rediscovery has been a long time coming, and the Sheffield University students who gave this, the first performance in Ireland, clearly knew they were up to something very special. Not for the first time, Hispanist Tony Trippett had brought together the infectiously wise minds of director Jane Davidson and early-music luminary Andrew Lawrence-King.
As in the 1660 premiere, women took most of the parts, including male ones. Rosie Williamson (as ill-fated nymph Pocris) and Lauren Hart (as philandering servant Clarín) both combined classical thespian poise with glimpses of burgeoning fioratura. Jessica Walkinshaw gradually developed angst as tormented shepherd Eróstrato, while Chloë Saywell lived up to her name with impeccably enunciated recitatives as the nymph, Aura.
Gareth Lloyd made a splendidly boisterous bumpkin in the part of Rústico, Sarah Graves was homely and engaging as his bemused wife Floretta, and Alexandra Ward held a commanding presence as the goddess Diana.
Cutting their incisive way through swathes of memorised Spanish, all these performers revealed degrees of potential for vocal professionalism. Laura Packer, as the handsome stranger Céfalo, fully realised hers.
It was possible to keep pace with the labyrinthine plot thanks to the colour-coded costumes, the foolproof direction, and some explanatory English insertions recited in earnest panto mode by Adam Youssefbeygi.
Leading the percussive accompaniment from the harp, Lawrence-King radiated confidence in his motivated collaborators.
ANDREW JOHNSTONE
