IN the world of fiction writing and it's a hitchy planet, a catty cosmos, a universe of emerald jealousy - a certain protocol is expected to be observed before the brilliant beams of success and acclaim are allowed to shine on the apprentice practitioner. Under the stringent terms of this protocol, the writer is expected to have stoically endured the torments of that lonely garret, to have spent bleak midnight of despair toiling after the mystical secrets of his craft.
It's a skewed logic, as if the muse of creation must be nourished by hunger. Happily, the cheery Dubliner Conor McPherson has bypassed the rocky road, effortlessly accelerating to success down the dual carriageway of theatre and cinema. His last two plays have had the normally cynical, seen it all London critics blubbing with joy. This week the film of his first screen play premiered at Cannes. "I suppose I've had a fairly easy time of it, with a film company just coming to me and asking for a script," says McPherson who, sickeningly, has been drawing breath for just 25 summers.
The way it happened: director Paddy Bhreathnach (previously responsible for Ailsa) and producer Robert Walpole (numerous documentaries) breeze along to a tiny Dublin theatre to see an unhyped play (The Good Thief) by an unheard of playwright. They get chills and in the summer of 1995 haul McPherson into their cramped production office in Dublin and chain him to a word processor. "It was actually a fairly comic set up because I was suddenly discovering the difference between theatre and film. In theatre, the temptation is to write the big speech whereas with film, you can write far more naturally - it's more terse, with a bit more edge. But I was only learning this so I couldn't understand why Paddy and Rob had a problem with my first draft. I'd knocked out this really dark, violent thing and when they said they wanted something lighter, I was going `what's f---ing wrong with youse?' It finally hit home that in film, you have to collaborate."
Two drafts later, I Went Down was ready to roll. It's a densely plotted story of sexual jealousy, emotional blackmail and criminal intrigue in a shadowy Irish underworld. It's also a comedy. "It is funny but I hope we avoided that kind of Commitments speak, with people spouting wisecracks all the time. The characters in the story tend not to back down on things. These are awkward people who won't co operate easily and they use a very demonstrative Dublin language to express that." The film, which stars Brendan Gleeson (Braveheart, Michael Collins) and screen newcomer Peter McDonald, is expected to go on general release later this year.
Though until recently a screenwriting virgin, McPherson is already an old hand when it comes to spinning yarns. He has written a total of 12 stage plays, most of them since graduating from UCD with an MA in philosophy in 1991. "I honestly have no idea why I started writing. My big thing was to be in a band, I used to sing and play guitar in pubs."
So, with pen clutched in sweaty paw, the narratives started to emerge. "Although I've done 12 plays, there are only three or four of them that I'd consider to be any good. When you start off, I think you have to write a lot of shite, just to get it out of your system." It's one thing to write a play, quite another to have it performed. How did he do it? "Basically, I started off with a gang of mates, we called ourselves Fly By Night Productions. We'd just put stuff on in the back rooms of pubs around Dublin and from there, it sort of progressed to the point where we were doing plays in the City Arts Centre. Out of necessity, I directed most of them myself, which was absolutely brilliant training. It was a real hands on sort of approach, which was vital."
The quality of the writing and an originality in McPherson's approach to the conventions of the stage couldn't be ignored for long and The Good Thief was awarded the 1995 Stewart Parker Award. But it was his next play, This Lime Tree Bower, that saw things go supernova. A quirky take of a bungled heist in a seaside town, it unravelled through a series of inter connecting monologues, laced with salty dialogue and enthralling plot twists. A hit in Dublin, it was brought to London's Bush Theatre last summer. The enraptured critics tripped over each other in heralding the arrival of an enfant terrible. The fuss was such, in fact, that Handmade Films were soon on the blower, demanding a film version.
"They asked me to develop a screen play and I said grand and then they tell me they want me to direct it and I'm going `Wha'? I wouldn't know where to start!', even though I have directed most of my own theatre work. But they talked me into it. They reckon I'm good with actors so they'll give me a good director of photography and a good editor and it should turn out fine." It must be a headache, adapting your own play for the screen? "Yeah, I'll have to change the language a lot. In the play, I used monologues but I don't really want to use the cinematic equivalent, voice overs. Anytime I see a film with them I think it looks lazy. Then again, if we're half way through production and the whole thing is going f---ing haywire, I can fall back on them."
McPherson has just completed a highly productive year as writer in residence at the Bush Theatre. While there, he wrote St Nicholas, which went on to enjoy his by now customary success. It's the story of an embittered Dublin theatre critic, a beast for the bottle and with an eye for the ladies. He falls in love with a young actress, follows her to London and, genre hopping ahoy, is adopted by a vampire. A sophisticated work, it plays postmod tricks with the audience, developing and commenting on, the constantly evolving relationship between writer actor and audience:
Noted thesp Brian Cox apparently turned in the performance of a life time. How did he snare him? "It was strange actually. When I wrote the role I had an image in my mind of a build of man so I said `can we get someone like Brian Cox?' The people at the Bush said, `well, why don't we get Brian Cox?' So we faxed him the script, and he immediately said he'd do it. Then, I began to have my doubts. I was thinking, what's he going to be like? I've only seen him in a few films, he might be shit, what the f--- was I at? But as it turns out, he was absolutely amazing, he really brought something new to the role." Were you nervous directing him? "F--- yeah! At first, I was literally shaking but he's this really humble fella and he's all, like, `what go you want, Conor, what would you like me to do next?' So in the end, it was really easy to work with him."
Wasn't he worried what theatre critics might make of a play about an alcotheatre critic who takes up with vampires? "Well the thing is, the play isn't about critics, it's about a character who just happens to be a critic." Yeah, right. No, honestly! As it turned out, I was very lucky with the reviews. St Nicholas was reviewed by 20 publications and it only got two bad ones. Guess where they appeared? The Irish Times and the Sunday Tribune! I thought to myself, `ah, would they not shag off and leave me alone'!"
How is he about reviews generally? Nervy? "To be honest, I always find it very difficult to recognise my own work in the reviews. If I thought about them too much, if I reflected on them, I probably wouldn't write plays. I'd Just go mad."
Conor's schedule is pretty dizzying right now. Along with the premiere of I Went Down, and the imminent filming of This Lime Tree Bower, his new play, The Weir, opens at the Royal Court in July. Prestigious mate! "Yeah, innit! I'm looking forward to it, it should he a buzz.
I'M not directing this time, I we've got this really hot young London guy called Ian Rickson who's supposed to be amazing.
It's a story about a bunch of middle aged men sitting around in this rural pub and a woman walks in, who they don't know, so they all start telling ghost stories to impress her. Eventually, she outdoes them all by telling the strangest tale. Basically, it's an evening of ghost stories." Sounds tasty. "It's got a nice enough hook alright. I couldn't write something that didn't have that sort of hook, that sort of storytelling element. I'm a bit of a philistine when it comes to writers, all I tend to read are these cheap, paperback thrillers. I think they're great because the writers have very little room for arsing around with description, they just have to keep the narrative drive going."
McPherson still lives in Coolock with his parents. He has two sisters, one older, one younger. Increasingly, he has to spend a lot of time in London. "The work is drawing me there, which isn't ideal. It's alright but when I've been there for a while, I get this feeling that I'm not where I'm from."
Finally, cutting to the car chase, how does he write his plays? "Well if I'm doing a first draft, I'll only write for a couple of hours a day, that's enough. But when I'm doing the rewrites, I put in a normal day's work, eight hours. I've been very lucky in that I've never been stuck for something to write about. I think the secret is that if something isn't working out on the page, I won't try to force it cause I'd only upset myself. So I just get up from the chair and go to the pictures or down the pub, whatever.