Review: Little Gem at the Peacock Theatre, Dublin

"Love, sex, birth, death and salsa classes. Three generations of women. One extraordinary year"

I'm delighted I took the opportunity to go to tonight's opening performance of Little Gem, the award winning play by Elaine Murphy, running at the Peacock Theatre until February 27.

Starring Anita Reeves, Hilda Fay and Sarah Greene, Little Gem is a wonderfully touching, sentimental and - though I dislike the word for its maudlin overtones - heartwarming story of a year in the life of three women, three generations in the one family, told by each of them in turn.

"I loved this play, i went from laughing out loud to wiping a tear from my eye!  The characters are so real, you end up wanting to be part of their family!"

(Review by Norma Quinsey from the Abbey website)

The Peacock Theatre really is an ideal venue for a play like this. Its intimate size means that you're close to the actors, close to the stage and quite part of the story, and indeed, the audience play a part in this by just listening. What do I mean?

Well, each character, first Amber, the 19 year old on her way to the debs, then Lorraine, her mother who works in retail on Mary St and then Kay, Lorraine's mother and Amber's grandmother all tell us their stories directly, stories of their days and their memories, which weaves itself into a very ordinary story told in what seems an extraordinary way - there's no interaction or dialogue shared between the actors.

The set is simple. Three chairs on a stage, one lamp, one tartan effect plastic shopping bag, the backdrop of a sitting room. It struck me while waiting for the play to begin that the three chairs were all very different, but put it down to a simple mismatch, rather than design. That assumption I made followed me throughout the play and surprised me in so many pleasant ways that at the end of the play I was giving a solo standing ovation.

"She drags me out. Haul Dean and his mate Lee onto the middle of the dance floor and gyrate like a pair of lezzers in between them. The lads are all over us like a cheap pair of jocks from Japan - Henry Street, not the country"

When Amber starts her monologue of debs preparation, we're immediately transported to the front room of a Dublin home - it's probably northside, definitely not D4. I loved listening to Sarah Greene, despite her accent slipping ever so slightly the odd time, because her mannerisms and her presence conveyed that certain energy that girls the age of her character tend to have.

The audience, all probably invited guests, chuckled along to some of the funnier lines but when Hilda Fay started her story of her day working in the shop is when the script really kicked into gear and the laughter resounded around the theatre.

"Is there anything you want to share with us, Lorraine?" He says. Afraid to say anything, don't want to stretch my mouth open wider to fit my other foot in. "Are you sacking me, Mr Grant?" Looks at HR bird and then back at me. Wonder if he's riding her?"

Stories written in a Dublin accent tend to be a bit hit and miss. While there's no denying the success of stories like Brendan O' Carrolls 'The Mammy' and Paul Howards Ross O'Carroll Kelly saga, there's also what I'd term the Sunday World version of Dooblin, where situations, personalities and especially use of language are exaggerated and you're left with a sense of knowing what the author is trying to convey, but being unconvinced because you've only heard of people like the characters, never actually experienced them.

Not so with Murphy's creations. While Amber and Lorraine are both wonderful characters, it was Kay, the granny, played by Anita Reeves that I adored. Reeves' performance is excellent, but the script shines through bringing this lovely, aging woman to life and delivering us laughter and loneliness time and time again. Telling us about her recuperating husband, she says

"He's not the easiest of patients. In fact, to put it mildly, he's a cantankerous oul' fuck. I don't mean to go down this road but sire I've started so I'll finish. I'm dyin' for me bit. We've always been very compatible in that department, which is a miracle by itself, because by the time you get to our age you'd normally be lacing the cocoa with arsenic not Viagra."

and by the time she described her journey on the 42B to Ann Summers to buy a certain object recommended to her by Marjorie Burke, not only was everyone in the audience laughing, but I could see the smiles of the actresses on stage, all who had no doubt heard the script hundreds of times, smiling at the audience reaction and knowing there was more to come.

Scribbling notes throughout, I scribbled one to Niamh beside me "This is VERY good" while a woman behind me whispered to her companion "She's great" as Hilda Fay took her seat after another brilliant delivery. Tonight's audience were a delight to experience - they laughed in the right places, were silent in the poignant moments and I'm sure more than me had a tear in their eyes at the particularly emotional and personal points.

There-in lies the charm of Little Gem - there's no high dramatic ideals here, no allegories or inaccessible language, no moral or intellectual lessons being delivered - it's a story of an ordinary family and what happens there, and that's why it has the power to affect people the way it did.

The applause at the end of tonight's performance was loud, sustained, well deserved and full of appreciation. While I'm sure the cast must be tired after their recent return from the run in New York, they put in a marvellous performance, one which, by the end, we wanted to continue, and to find out more about. "That was brilliant" I heard one person say on the way out, "Really surprised by how funny it was." Another woman was wiping her eyes, tears streaming down as she assured her male companion "I'm fine, love, it's just with dad passing, well, it's all so real".

In her author's note, Elaine Murphy, herself an actress (Prosperity, The Clinic, Pure Mule), whose playwriting debut was Little Gem, says

"When you start out writing, people always say: 'Write about what you know.' being an actress for the last couple of years, I always had a yearning to write something myself. Decent parts are thin on the ground and I rarely recognised any of the women portrayed on the stage in front of me.

I work part-time in a women's health organisation. Little Gem grew from there. It's a mishmash of all the women I've met over the years: hardworking, not particularly rich or poor, ignored by the Celtic Tiger, and the recession probably won't make much of a difference to them either, you know women like us, getting on with it."

Her play, staged in conjunction with the Civic Theatre Tallaght (21 years old this year!) by the multi award winning independent Gúna Nua Theatre Company, founded in 1998 by Paul Meade (who directs this production) and David Parnell has won the Fishamble award for best New Irish Writing and the Best Female Performance at the Dublin Fringe Festival, 2008. It also featured in last year's Edinburgh Fringe Festival where it won the Carol Tamber Best of Edinburgh Award and has just completed (on Jan 16) an 11 day run in the Flea Theatre in Tribeca, New York.

If I could offer you five reasons to see the play, they are, in no particular order:

1. It will make you laugh long and hard because it's a great script.
2. It will make you want to hug someone after, because it's a story you'll recognise
3. Anita Reeves as Kay
4. Sarah Greene as Amber
5. Hilda Fay as Lorraine

I'll be back to see it. Genuinely. I'll be bringing my parents. I'll be going with my friends.

It plays at the Peacock, as above, until February 27. Tickets are from €20 and can be booked online or from the Abbey Box office at +353 (0)1 87 87 222.

Following its run in the Peacock Little Gem will tour to 5 venues around Ireland: Draíocht in Blanchardstown; The George Bernard Shaw Theatre in Carlow; The Belltable in Limerick; The Axis, Ballymun and back to the Civic Theatre, Tallaght.


Thanks as always to David in the Abbey Press Office for the tickets. I owe you a pint.

Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors at the Abbey Theatre

You'll already have seen the chance to win tickets to see Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors at Dublin's Abbey Theatre over on Culch.ie. Here's the new promo video for it.

...two sets of identical twins are separated in childhood. Years later, they all show up in the same place at the same time. The Comedy of Errors tells the story of a father, mother, brothers, sisters, masters and servants, all of whom find themselves confused, baffled and bewildered by the events of a single day.

I'm off to see it tomorrow night. From what I'm hearing, it should be great.

Lost friendship, rivalry and bourbon: Ages of the Moon

Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, OKAY!!

Okay so maybe it's a guy thing, but do you remember your first proper best friend? I don't mean someone you just knew and played with in school, I mean the friend you had that you were convinced you'd be best friends forever. You went to the cinema, you went together to matches, you went to parties and nights out, on holidays and for quiet contemplative pints in the pub.

You laughed with them, applauded their triumphs, shared their gains as they did with you. You were unstoppable together, a regular Holmes and Watson, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Asterix and Obelix, Batman and Robin, Bill and Ted, Dastardly and Muttley, Ernie and Bert, Spongebob and Patrick. You were known as friends, you were best friends - everyone could see and admire it.

It wasn't just friendship, it was brothers. You admired each other, encouraged each other and your life was better because they were in it. And you grew older together, heading towards adult and all that involves and you meet each other's partners, you promise to be each other's best men and you may even dance at each other's weddings.

Of course there's arguments. There always is. Misunderstandings, slights, slaggings. Not exactly nice but friendship is also about accepting, ignoring, just going with things and putting the grudges, the judging and the "sins" out of your head. It's knowing someone's faults but loving them anyway for it.

And then something happens. It may be a small thing, it may be a big thing, it may be nothing at all, but the friendship is paused. A new friend or circle is introduced, one that takes up some of the connection time. One of you moves away or gets a shiny new job or attentive partner or start a new chapter in your life. Maybe it's just you forget a birthday or an appointment. You fall out of touch.

It's not a malevolent or vindictive choice - it may not even be a choice. You don't 'do' arguments, you just accept and move on, right? This just falls into one of those things that you keep on meaning to do, but keep on putting it off until you have the time that it needs, the time it deserves.

The longer it goes on the more awkward it is to just pick up the phone or send a text or an email, but sure you know that they know you're thinking about them and if they needed you they knew where you are and sure you can always pick up where you left off, right? That's what friendship is, isn't it?

But as much as it's all well and good there's a bit of bitterness there. Your friend wasn't there for important things. Where before you could divide and conquer the problem, you had to face this one on your own. You didn't need them really, you could have fun without them!

As much as you knew it wasn't anyone's fault the friendship had died, you justify it within by thinking - well if only they'd put in more effort, if they were as much into it as you were. It takes two.

And then you meet up again after time has passed. One of you calls or writes or emails and it's on again. The same opportunity to catch up, to rekindle the fire of friendship, to sit and have a drink and talk. You meet but suddenly, despite the build up, the excitement, the potential to regain what was lost you realise that it's not the same. Every difference that existed between you is magnified, everything you may not have liked but accepted unconditionally becomes an issue.

They're not big matters but they serve to mask or overwhelm the absolute hurt you really feel about their absence as you realise just how much you missed them, how much time you've lost and how ashamed you are for letting it get this far.

So you try talking. Let's talk like we did in the old days, eh? You know when you could sit and talk for hours about anything at all and you'd still have fun, still be interested, still enjoy it. But now you really have nothing to talk about. The words won't come and the ones you choose are just masking the fact that what you had is gone and you both know it. You'll talk about anything so you won't be talking about nothing or even worse, about what is now gone between you. Things are different now and that's not good.

That is what Sam Shepherd's Ages of the Moon made me think about last night.



Stephen Rea (Ames) and Sean McGinley (Byron) play with considerable skill two friends reunited after a long time apart. Time was they were great friends. Time was they were the Lone Ranger and Tonto, facing the wild west together after a chance encounter on a highway in 1962.

It's now 2007 and Ames has made a mistake. He's messed up his personal life and with nowhere else to turn has run away from it all. Alone with just nature and thoughts he replays the past, finds no escape or resolution and it comes to a drunken phone call to Byron which results in their reunion.

"That's why I'm here, some sort of moral support or something... Long story short, you got yourself into some doggy do do, Mr Frisky." - Byron

It takes a lot of skill for two actors to sit alone on a stage with a minimum of props, a lot of dialogue and a script that demands both silence and awkwardness to be as big a part as the action that follows. The freedom that Jimmy Fay as director gives each actor makes what happens all the more watchable and enthralling.

No dramatic gun-toting, action filled piece this, the true skill of Shepard is the response it provokes in the watcher of this long, slow, pregnant-pause-filled confession of "God I missed you" between two men. "We're not exactly spring colts" admits Byron, the change between them unspoken but increasingly apparent. "Used to be we could talk about anything, the two of us, years ago. There wasn't all this judging" says Ames.

A line about "brimming with guilt and remorse, flooded with regret" spoke more strongly to me than any of the other lines.



This play is hard to define. It's not a theatrical "experience", it's not a life changing event, it's not actually all that serious.

Perhaps a more skilful critic could draw themes of contemplation, self-realisation and nobility, which all exist in their own place, but overall it's the decay of people, of opportunity to connect and of time that I left the theatre with. Is it entertaining? I prefer the best of the word 'interesting' to describe it.

"You called me". "I appreciate that" "You'd do the same for me?" "I would. Of course I would!" "Of course I'd never get myself into a jam like this." "WHAT?!"

Whatever Ages of the Moon is not is eclipsed by the opportunity to see two extremely talented and full-of-presence actors push this script and the thoughts of the playwright into your brain, to watch them in an intimate setting and see just how well chosen they are for the roles and how skilfully Shepard has woven this tale around them.

McGinley and Rea are believable - they could well be these two old men trying to recapture youth, slagging and bettering each other, playing to their roles while all the while circling the fact that god damn it, they like and missed each other. Though set in America this could be a typical Irish-or-anywhere story, a warning for friends and a memory of old friendships.



If you do see this, be prepared for the surprising and unexpected emotions brought about by McGinley's soliloquy on recent events in his character's life.

The contrast portrayed here between his thus far steady and quiet mannered presence (compared to Rea's manic and attention seeking one) and the tender, romantic eloquence in which he describes his own despondency, his journey back to his friend, his shock at seeing "the grey, the shoulders stooped, the eyes sunken deep inside the ragged fleshy masks" is so stark, so piteous that just those few simple lines and the incredible story it contains makes the slow build up worth it. Gone is the bitterness, the disputes, the grudges and petty jealousies.

This is what friendship should be about. Connection. Presence. Sharing. Just people, people on a planet with one sun and one big, old moon.



Ages of the Moon is on in the Peacock Theatre, Dublin 1 until April 4 - you'll find more information here. Show time is 8pm and tickets are €22 or €18 for Saturday Matinees. There's a sign language interpreted performance on Saturday 21 March 2.30pm and an excellent opportunity to see both actors in conversation on Thursday 26 March after the show.

A big thank you to David at the Abbey for arranging the tickets and to Colm Hogan for the use of the photos.

Sam Shepard's Ages of the Moon coming to the Abbey Theatre

David from Dublin's Abbey Theatre was in touch to let me know about the new Sam Shepard play, Ages of the Moon which has its world premiere in March.

Written especially for leads Seán McGinley and Oscar-nominated Stephen Rea, this is:

"a gruffly poignant and darkly funny play. Byron and Ames are old friends, re-united by mutual desperation. Over whiskey on a hot summer’s night, they sit, reflect and bicker until fifty years of love, friendship and rivalry are put to the test at the barrel of a gun."

Sam Shepard is a Pulizer prize-winning US writer, director and actor. His 2007 play, Kicking A Dead Horse premiered in the Abbey. It was written by Shepard for Stephen Rea, and then went on to tour to New York and London. Ages of the Moon follows the Abbey's other sell-out productions of Shepard's Fool for Love (2008) and True West (2006)

Fiach Mac Congail, Jimmy Fay, Sean McGinley and Stephen Rea were interviewed in a short video about the play:



The play opens Tuesday 3 March, with previews February 24 to 28 and March 2 and it runs to April 4. Booking is now open on Dublin 01 87 87 222 or via AbbeyTheatre.ie

Mary Robinson talk at the Abbey tonight cancelled

Just so you know: due to unfortunate circumstances, tonight's talk with Mary Robinson, former President of Ireland and United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, at Dublin's Abbey Theatre has been cancelled. This news might save you a trip in bad weather!

In the meantime though, you could check out the website of Realising Rights, The Ethical Globalisation Initiative.

How many miles to Basra: interview with Colin Teevan

A stage empty but for ten chairs. Actors walk out, taking their seats. No costumes, no props, just scripts and water. The audience is here for a play reading of Colin Teevan's play "How Many Miles to Basra?", one of the Abbey Theatre's series of talks and readings in their Bearing Witness season, a celebration of 60 years of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

The play, about "Four soldiers take a chance to redeem themselves after an accidental killing, while their journalist companion learns that the nature of truth is always distorted by the media" deals with the Iraq war and the uneven relationship between the media, politicians and the armed forces. At times comedic, at others poignant and disturbing, we are treated in two acts to a provoking look at the reality of today.



Can ten actors do a play with such important undertones and aspirations justice through just a reading? Yes, yes they can. Director Conall Morrison and his cast took the audience from the offices of BBC radio to Iraq and back again through convincing passion, accents, emotions and a storyline that resonates with all of us. It's hardly surprising, given the prevalent question - did the British government lie about Iraq? Was the weapons dossier sexed up? What was it like in Iraq for the soldiers there?

Through the eyes of Freddie, Stewart, Geordie and Dangermouse, four soldiers based in Iraq, completely bored by their station, the answer is "boring". We're introduced to them through reporter Ursula Gunn, there to find a story, a woman racked with guilt over her brother's death in a RUC shooting years before. When action happens, it happens in a big way, disturbing the routine of all involved and creating a situation none of them could envisage and a reality the audience cannot ignore.









"That's not how it happened" "What are we doing here?" "Why does this Iraqi have so much money? Why shouldn't an Iraqi have 400 dollars?" "I don't feel anything for him, I hate him". "That's what we're doing here, trying to liberate them from living like this. It's what we're here to do, leave the country a better place" "The war is over, according to my editor" "Tell your editor I would gladly swap houses with him. "I wish the world would stop trying to help Iraqis" "To remove this monster Saddam who you made to keep us in our place, you have bombed us, destroyed us. You have reduced this country to rags, then you call us ragheads".

The script is harsh and unforgiving, brutal in its assault on the lies perpetrated, constantly seeking the truth of the situation and inviting us to do the same.

I sat with playwright Colin Teevan after the performance to find out more about him and this play. Colin, from Dublin, is a playwright and translator, whose work has been produced by theatres including the National Theatre, London, the Young Vic, the National Theatre of Scotland, The Abbey Theatre and off Broadway. He has lectured widely in Britain, Europe and the US on theatre and writing for the stage and is currently Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of London.


(Please excuse the sound and lighting - still practising on the N95!)

Reading and acting in How Many Miles to Basra? were Roisín Coyle, Fiona Bell, John Cronin, Anthony Brophy, Ronan Leahy, Barry John O' Connor, Raad Rawi, Christopher Simpson, Janice Byrne and Ali White.

The Bearing Witness series continues this week with talks and readings address how Irish people bear witness to international events through art, debate, and politics.

Wednesday 17 and Friday 19 December sees two more readings. Returns by Joshua Casteel tells of Torture, guilt and post traumatic stress are explored through the memories of James and his companions, who have returned from Iraq only to find they cannot escape their past. Zero Hour by Tea Alagic is a biographical piece of how the playwright is just another student – until the cracks in her society are exposed by civil war. Zero Hour parallels her journey into adulthood with the transition of Bosnia from war to peace.

All readings take place at the Peacock Theatre at 2pm. Tickets €4/€2 concession each, and booking is on 01 87 87 222. The Abbey Website is here, and you can become a fan on Facebook here.