Parallels between the electoral approach of Micheál Martin and the 1980s soap are riveting
THERE IS a rumour that the great American drama Dallasis to be revived. The prospect appears likely, as Dallaswas very popular in the 1980s and, as is the way of these things, the actors who starred in it have not been as successful since. But in Ireland, Dallasnever died. Micheál Martin is Bobby Ewing. Not a lot of people know that. And we are Pam; not a lot of people know that either.
We’re the ones looking thoughtfully at our dressing table as we contemplate corruption, bankruptcy and ruin. The only thing that brings a bit of light to our day is the prospect of defaulting on our debts. Next thing, Micheál bounces out of the shower and says “Morning, honey,” like the last 14 years never happened. Time to talk about the new politics, he says.
In Dallas, Bobby's shower scene took place in 1986, but right now in Ireland it is happening every day. In Dallas, the shower scene covered the one-year absence of the actor Patrick Duffy, who had left the series to do other things (big mistake). At the time, this plot device was regarded as outrageously daring, and we all marvelled at the writers of Dallasand their sheer nerve.
In those distant days, everyone in the Republic watched Dallas. It was a communal experience. And its most famous admirer – or at least the most famous Irish person willing to be associated with it – was the then taoiseach, Charles Haughey. Haughey was famously photographed at the races with Larry Hagman, who played JR Ewing, Bobby's evil brother.
The parallels were obvious, and gleefully pointed up by Haughey and JR standing convivially together, with matching shark-like grins. In the spirit of all soap opera, Haughey and JR could have been twins. At that point we did not realise Haughey was a better actor than Hagman, or that he was appearing in a fictional series that would run for an even longer time than Dallas did. Perhaps Haughey himself had not yet realised these things.
Haughey being photographed with JR Ewing elicited two responses. In the blueshirt/liberal corner, which was surprisingly crowded in those days, we gathered up our skirts and thought it a disgrace. In the blueshirt/liberal corner we called Haughey "That Man". We knew the photo of the two villains had been deliberately contrived to annoy us. In Haughey's corner, they had a right old laugh. Along with the horses, art collecting and handmade shirts, Haughey's favoured pastime was épater le bourgeois. Loved it, he did. Haughey was a chartered accountant.
I'm trying to show that the television series Dallashad real resonance in the Ireland of the time – and not just with our architecture. Younger readers should note that Southfork, the family home of the Ewings, was reproduced, more or less faithfully, up and down the country in a Texan/Palladian mix, which suited us wonderfully well.
But when a sizeable proportion of the national population watched Bobby’s shower scene, we didn’t realise that Bobby’s shower scene was being analysed and assimilated by young would-be politicians as a useful electoral tool to be stored away, like some sort of nerve gas, for use on the Irish masses of the future. How were we to know?
Perhaps coincidentally, Bobby Ewing had at one point been a politician himself. He was a senator in some episodes of Dallas, apparently, although I don’t remember that.
Memory is a strange thing. When Bobby came out of the shower, suddenly Pamela, his loyal wife, was in the wrong. Everything Pamela remembered, everything she had been experiencing in front of the viewers’ very eyes, was wrong. Pamela had been having a dream. The whole 1985-1986 series of Dallas was wiped from the record.
It is the same with Micheál Martin. Micheál looks like Bobby, handsome, with small eyes. Like Bobby, Micheál is sincere and likeable, and palpably good. (Bobby was the favoured son of Jock Ewing and Miss Ellie. This unalterable fact drove JR mad with sibling jealousy.)
Now, Micheál wants us to forget it was his party that was in power when the State was debauched. He wants us to hold hands with him to build a new Jerusalem – or a new Southfork. We are left wondering whether we have gone mad – or has he?
Perhaps Micheál does not remember anything of the past decade or so. Perhaps he is looking round the Ireland of today, with its ghost estates and stinking hospitals, with the eyes of a newborn. Bless him, we like him. But the problem is we that cannot alter our jaundiced gaze.
People are saying that, numbers-wise, Micheál Martin is like that old joke about the communists: they had nothing and were willing to share it with everybody. But there is no doubt that Micheál is working with scriptwriters of absolute genius. The Bobby Ewing tactic might just work amazingly well. Because we must never forget that a large part of what made Dallas so successful first time round was the fact there was nothing interesting on the other side.